Drive Me Crazy (28 page)

“Looks that way.”

I gave him an update, told him what they had done to Panther’s apartment.

I asked, “You feel like taking me for a drive in that expensive Hyundai? Want to see how this talent lives. Might have a conversation or two and you could help me do some talking.”

“Me and my baseball bat could use some fun, but man I got the kids.”

“Where’s the wife?”

“In jail.”

“Jail? What the fuck did Marissa do?”

“Things got outta hand on the picket line. They locked strikers up, civil disobedience.”

“You serious?”

“I’m proud of Marissa. I really am. The kids understand. They’re proud too.”

“Tell Marissa I said the same. Proud of her. But I gotta handle my situation over here.”

He gave me the address. Had to hold my anger at bay. Wanted to go out and hunt them down, but now wasn’t the time. Didn’t want Panther involved any more than she already was.

But she was getting up, putting on her damp clothes. She’d bur glarized her way into my conversation with Pedro. She picked up her gun, put it in her bag. Grabbed her shoes.

My cellular beeped. Arizona’s number came up on caller-ID.

I let Pedro go, clicked over. Arizona came on the line and told me the pickpocket was gone for the night, her needs sent her out on a booty call. She invited me over for the same lesson in sexual healing. I paused, glanced at Panther, told Arizona I’d see her tomorrow.

She said, “Occupied?”

I licked my lips, rubbed my eyes. “Tired.”

“I’m really horny. Really want to hook up with you. I’m laying here with the lights off. Touching myself. Would be nice to have you inside of me right now. Getting it from the back.”

Her tone was so damn sensual. Saw her naked in my mind, the way she had been with me a few hours ago, that honey-brown skin, long hair and Filipina features, standing on her tiptoes, turning a slow three-sixty. Remembered how she had kissed me. Tasted her tongue.

My eyes went back to Panther, then down to the floor. Exhaled. Didn’t want to burn no bridges on either side of the phone line, not before I had my business squared away with Lisa.

Arizona said, “I could come to you.”

I kept my voice stiff and distant. “Next time.”

“Just thought I’d give you first right of refusal.”

“Thanks.”

She laughed. “Get your rest. See you tomorrow. I’m depending on you.”

I hung up. Stared at my cellular phone to keep from facing Panther. My cellular had zero bars across the top and the LOW BATTERY message was flashing its warning. My cellular was a minute from becoming as useful as a paperweight.

She said, “Whassup?”

“Battery needs to get charged.”

I got the charger and searched for an outlet, ending up facing Panther. She looked at me with jealous eyes but didn’t say anything. That last call left me in a fucked-up situation. Panther had been supportive and vulnerable. For a moment I saw that look in her eye, the one a woman gets when she wants to know who else was sucking your dick.

I put my cellular on its charger.

She said, “Ready?”

I suited up, grabbed my two guns. Fitted the .380 in the leg strap, the .357 in the shoulder holster. Was nervous. Not about the mission, but about Lisa tracking us. About the police.

I told Panther, “Leave the burners.”

“Are you crazy?”

I took my hardware out, undid the leg strap and shoulder harness. “If the po-po stops us again, they might search your ride next time.”

“Why didn’t they search us then?”

“Think we just got lucky.”

She hesitated, then made a face, handed me her burner. I tucked all three in a drawer.

Outside, I spent a few minutes going over Panther’s ride. Popped the hood. Looked underneath. Men and women came out while we were in the lot. Playtime was over for the working man. Back home to the family. I searched high and low. Couldn’t find a tracker.

The address Pedro gave me was twenty minutes away, up Crenshaw to MLK Jr. Boulevard, then west to Coliseum Boulevard. We sat there staring at an empty lot.

She said, “This can’t be right. This used to be a small church.”

“Give me your phone.”

I called Pedro. Verified the address. I hung up, gave her the cellular back.

I agreed with Panther, said, “This ain’t right.”

I looked around at the fading darkness and streetlights. We were in The Jungle, where Denzel Washington had filmed
Training Day.
Smelled some ganja in the air. Second-rate apartments lined the area, but on this one corner, nothing but potholes and an empty lot. Cars passed by. Nobody slowed down, nobody shot at us. No police rolled up on us.

I asked, “You sure this was a church?”

“Yeah. I know this area. I go to church right up the street by Baldwin Hills Mall.”

“Where?”

“Maranatha. By the swap meet.”

“You go to church?”

“Of course I go to church.”

I had a bad feeling. Thought about calling my brother. Panther handed me her phone again. I called my cellular number, checked my messages. Nobody had called.

She said, “We better get back.”

“Yeah.”

“Try to get some of that oomph ... oomph ...”

“Omphaloskepsis.”

“Yeah. Get some of that.”

I closed my eyes. No sleep for the weary.

“Driver, I know this is a bad time, but this is what I feel.”

“Panther, do we have to do this now?”

“We have to do this now.”

“Save it.”

“I have to be straight up. I’m not seeing or sleeping with anybody else. If you don’t feel the same way, just let me know. I’ll still be cool with you. I just have to know.”

I didn’t open my eyes. “What do you want from me, Panther?”

“Respect.” She didn’t raise her voice, just said that in a level tone. “That’s all. I’m not trying to marry you or trap you. I like you and I care about you. I’m trying to get to know you. Maybe spend some time with you. That’s all I’m doing. All I want is respect.”

She took to the street, Speed Racer with breasts and an ass that wouldn’t quit, and hurried us toward our wonderful accommodations on the gritty side of our second-rate Sin City.

I didn’t say anything else while she rode back down Crenshaw, not for a couple of minutes. In my silence, I wished I had a shot of JD. Didn’t have any but I saw that liquid lover in my mind, its color as beautiful as a memory gone by.

I said, “Marriage is overrated.”

She repeated, “Marriage is overrated? Where did that come from?”

My mind moved from my ex-wife to Lisa. On my bitter channel, Lisa was the clearest, had the best reception and focus.

I said, “Was married once. Ever tell you that?”

“No. Divorced?”

“Yeah, I’m divorced.”

Don’t know why I chose to talk about that. Fear was rising up inside me. When a man was scared he had to talk about something, anything, even if it was driftwood.

Then she simply asked, “What happened?”

“I went to jail.” I smiled. “She felt like I chose my brother over her.”

I told her that my brother used to have a drug problem. My wife and I were heading to her hometown in Tallapoosa County. We were taking our Explorer on a cross-country trip. Part of the reason I planned the trip was because of Rufus. A cousin knew about a good rehab program for Rufus to get in down in Memphis. We’d crossed into Shelby County when we were pulled over. My wife was sleeping. Rufus was in the backseat. He jumped nervous. Saw it in his pale eyes. Dogs went apeshit before they made it to the Explorer. Rufus was breaking down. A hundred pounds of marijuana and a shitload of cash were in his footlocker. The police dragged my wife out of our SUV. Left her handcuffed and sitting on the curb, sweating, crying, screaming, confused, her yellow and blue sundress blowing in the summer breeze. Shit went down faster than I could think. They were on me like they owned me. Always after the big black man. I started yelling that everything was mine, just knew I had to protect my brother.

Panther sounded surprised. “You went to jail for your brother?”

“Did two years.”

“And your wife didn’t stand by you?”

Right then I remembered Memphis, being on the Gray Goose, shackled, trying to stay awake so I could take in all the sights because it was the last thing I was going to see for years.

I said, “She never accepted a phone call. I wrote her a six-page letter. Poured my heart out. She never wrote back. Never came to see me.”

My hands closed tight, tried to strangle that memory.

Blood was thicker than platinum, but handcuffs were even thicker.

I’d do it again. I’d go to jail hundred times a hundred for Rufus if I had to.

“That’s horrible.” Panther’s voice finally came to me. “You two have kids?”

“Yeah. No. I mean, had a stepson.”

“How old?”

“He should be ten or eleven now.”

“Was he ... was he with you when ... when ... ?”

I shook my head, remembered the sheer hurt in my ex-wife’s face. The last expression I saw, the one etched in my mind. I hoped nobody else in the world ever had to respond to hurt at that level. Hard to hurt like I did and try and show no emotion for the choice I’d made.

I whispered, “Two roads diverged, but I could not travel both. A man cannot be two travelers, only one. Most choose the fair road, not the one with hills and undergrowth.”

“That from a book?”

“Yeah. Something I read when I was in that cage.”

Panther’s warm fingers grazed my flesh, then her hand lingered on the back of mine. I told her all those things to push her away, but instead she put her hand on mine.

She fell silent.

I was silent too.

Panther got in the bed with her clothes on. I got in behind her.

I kissed her neck. She moaned in a way that let me know she’d wanted that for a while. I sucked her skin. Slow. Pulled her top up, took out her breasts. Massaged and licked one, then the other. She shivered, held the back of my neck. My hand moved between her legs, massaged her pussy through her clothing. Her legs opened and she welcomed me, let my hand slide inside her clothing, let my finger go inside. She was damp, her heat rising. Felt her climbing that stairway. I hardened. She moved slow against my hand until she couldn’t move slow anymore. She was there, eyes tight, mouth shaped like the letter O, all ragged breaths.

Her back arched when she began crossing that threshold, a moaner, a wiggler, a screamer.

I kept fingering her, suckling her breast, watched her face cringe and glow.

She came in jerky motions, whining, moaning my name.

Her eyes opened wide. She swallowed.

I pulled her clothes off. Took mine off. Her legs opened, welcomed me.

Day’s break eased into the room, squeaks and moans fading with the rising of the sun.

The clock told me it was time to shower, get dressed, head toward LAX.

Panther asked, “You gonna be able to make it on no sleep?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t know.

Her cellular rang. It was her mother, calling for their morning conversation. Panther went into Southern-fried daughter mode, all smiles and giggles, restless, moving that cornbread and buttermilk body back and forth. Since she didn’t have pajamas and slippers, she put on my suit coat and shoes. My clothes swallowed her. She paced, checking the window every time she heard a noise, her voice sounding like nothing was wrong. Overheard her asking about her sister and her nieces, then they went on talking about her brother being deployed in Iraq, another man living in a combat zone.

My cellular blew up.

Lisa’s number showed up. My head wound came back to life, throbbed.

I touched my old Band-Aid, stepped into the bathroom and answered.

She wanted to meet.

Lisa’s Hummer was in the employee parking garage of the Hilton. She had told me to meet her on the lower level, right outside the entrance for 24-Hour Fitness. Panther had dropped me off across the street at Carl’s Jr., then I had walked over.

There were a few people downstairs, blue suits and dark dresses. Some were setting up for some sort of technology convention.

Lisa was standing next to a column, dressed in a black suit, low heels, hair in a bun.

Smiling.

She asked, “How’re you coming on getting me my money?”

“I should slap the fuck out of your crazy ass.”

“Penalties and interest, Driver.”

“That shit wasn’t necessary.”

“Whatever you said to my husband wasn’t necessary.”

“Oh, you’re the good wife now.”

“I hope that’s where you and your whore were heading last night, to bring me what you stole from me. And instead of lying up in a cheap hotel with your whore, you’d better get busy trying to get my money.”

She knew where I was last night. That stopped me. I’d looked around last night, made sure we weren’t being followed. I snapped, “What, you put a GPS on my friend’s car?”

Lisa laughed.

I asked, “You got somebody following me?”

Her laughter grew.

My chest rose and fell, out of sync with my throbbing head. A few people came our way, stared at us, walked by without saying a word, got on the elevator.

I sucked in a hard breath, eyes burned from being open all night, head hurt from not eating. Despite all that, I took it down a notch, said, “Here. I have three.”

“Three? This some kind of a joke?”

“Working on the rest.”

I handed her the money I’d gotten from Arizona. A rubber band held it together.

She held the three large in her right palm, like her hand was a monetary scale.

She sounded like she was in a state of extreme agitation, said, “That’s not the deal. You have a problem with integrity, a serious issue honoring your end of the contract on all levels. I said get me half, and you give me three?”