Drive Me Crazy (24 page)

“I told you, you igg’d it.” She let out a wounded chuckle. “Just like you’re doing now.”

“What was I supposed to say? I mean, it was a statement, right?”

“A statement. Like ‘The sky is blue.’ ”

“Well if you had said that, that would’ve been different because the sky is gray.”

“Not funny.”

I sighed.

She said, “Doesn’t matter.”

“Then why are you so angry?”

“Not angry. Frustrated. Disappointed. Don’t matter. Love ain’t done nothing for me but get me in no-good relationship after no-good relationship, had me doing immoral and illegal shit for niggas that I knew I shouldn’t be doing. Never should’ve left Atlanta. Never.”

“I ain’t never asked you for nothing.”

“Rrright. Now I’m a damn gun runner.”

That hollowed me out. I said, “It matters.”

“I cook for you. Sleep with you. And I don’t even know you, you know that?”

“You didn’t have to get the guns. I asked. You coulda said no.”

“I just hate ... all day ... regret I said ...
that. To you.
I don’t understand you. What we have is real fucked up. I mean, I admitted I loved you ... no response ... your prerogative.”

I shifted a bit. Wished I had a shrink to come in, tell me why I couldn’t open up. Why when women got this deep I wanted to pack up and run to a river that had shallow emotions.

She stayed where she was, arms folded.

I asked, “What about that dude you were seeing?”

“Married man?”

“Yeah.”

“That was a one-night stand that lasted three years too long.”

“So you’re saying that’s over.”

“Was over last Christmas. Had a revelation. Got tired of being the cleanup woman.”

“Sure about that? I mean, you moved out here to be with him.”

“Oh, I’m sure. It got ugly. Real ugly.”

“How ugly is real ugly?”

“Restraining-order ugly.”

That was the way of relationships. Everything overlapped until something good came along, then all others went on standby until that something good became something permanent.

More women came out, caps and sweats, dressed down, escorted by bouncers.

I said, “You were all over homeboy up in there.”

“This is where I work. That’s what I do. So don’t trip.”

“I know.”

“I’m a lot of men’s fantasy, Driver. Women too.”

“You’ve been with women?”

She said, “You’re good at changing the subject when I try to be real with you.”

Panther looked at the back window of my car, saw that hole where a window used to be, shook her head, looked at me. “How’s your injury? You’re looking pretty bad. Head hurting?”

“Aches. Need to change the bandage.”

She caught herself, backed down from her feelings, looked away, made a noise that said she was getting cold, but didn’t move from where she stood. “You in a serious bind?”

“Yeah. My place is hot.”

“How hot?”

“Hella hot. Couple of motherfuckers are playing the terrorist role. Broke in. Trashed it.”

“And that’s why you need the burners.”

“Yeah. I’ll give you the story later.”

“Tell me now.”

“Tired as hell now. Look, my spot is hot.”

“Stay with your brother.”

“My brother’s roommate ... We don’t get along ... that wouldn’t work.”

“Sounds like you’re burning bridges all over town.”

“Look ... Panther ... Need a place to crash for a minute.”

She leaned away from me, still shaking her head. “So you need me.”

“Yeah, I do.”

She sighed, her frown so deep. That love she had for me already turning to hate.

I told her, “You’re right. Look, I’ll call you.”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t call. Don’t call me, Driver.”

I nodded, waved her ass off, and headed for my ride, long strides, not looking back.

She called my name, snappy and demanding. Not the way for a woman to talk to a man.

I ignored her.

She called my name again, this time her tone better to my liking.

I turned and faced her.

She said, “Look ... Driver ... you can come over.”

“That’s okay.”

“Let’s not do this circle dance.”

“Didn’t you just tell me not to call your ass anymore?”

“Just come over.”

I hesitated, stared at her a moment, my frown as deep as hers, then I nodded.

She cursed and shook her head.

Panther yanked up her gym bag and got in her convertible.

I got in my ride.

That was the longest drive I’d made in a long time.

I thought I had time to rest, time to think, but the night would only get worse.

Panther got to her studio before I did. Street parking was limited. I’d parked uphill near Highland, grabbed my last suit from the back of my car, hoofed it down the concrete hill to her place, had that and the heavy backpack with my weapons of mass destruction at my side.

She ran out of her front door, saw me coming, called my name, sounded terrified.

She rushed back inside, turned her light on, cursed and screamed.

I double-timed, that pain kicked in my knee, reminding me that I had gone down on it hard chasing Lisa yesterday. It slowed me down, but adrenaline masked the agony.

When I got to her porch, she was on the floor, holding her eye, sweat suit damp.

I asked, “What happened?”

I grabbed her arm, pulled her to her feet. Her floor was soaked.

“Slipped and hit my eye on the end table.”

“You okay?”

“Hell no. That shit hurt. All this damn water on my floor.”

Her door had been kicked open. This time they didn’t try to be discreet. Like they had rushed. The scent of bleach met me on the streets. We stood and looked at her studio. Her futon cut at a thousand different angles, colorful quilt ruined, a lot of her clothing had been shredded.

Panther held her eye, tensed up. “That bitch Selina broke in here and did this shit.”

She cursed, thought her married friend’s wife had done all this damage.

I grabbed her arm, slowed her down, said, “Wait, Panther ...”

Panther pulled away, ran into the bathroom. The shower had been running long enough to flood the living room floor. I didn’t have to follow her into the bathroom to know that her clothes were stopping the drain. Her place was small but her walls looked familiar.

I cursed and went to the bathroom door. Makeup, clothes, her expensive shoes, all of her work clothes, all of that was piled up in her shower. Five bottles of bleach. Crime of passion.

I told her, “Panther, this ain’t about you. This is about me.”

“What the fuck you saying?”

“Married woman. The one I was dealing with. She did a B&E at my place.”

“What are you saying? She came down here and did this?”

I told her that this was the same thing they had done to my place. I ran outside and looked around. The streets were quiet. Ran back inside and told Panther to grab her bag, what she could, so we could get out of here. She didn’t move. I couldn’t describe the look she gave me if I tried. A woman had never scowled at me like that, not even my ex-wife had glared at me that way in Memphis. My ex-wife’s glare was close, was bone-chilling, but it didn’t unnerve me the way Panther’s scowl did. This situation was different. Maybe because my ex-wife was handcuffed, on a curb, was no way she could get her claws on me.

Panther held her eye and sloshed through her damp floor, still looking for something to salvage. She found a few things. She was wet from her backside down to her ankles.

A single black dress had been left hanging in her closet.

Funeral clothes. Something for her to wear while she cried over my cold body.

I leaned against the wall, dialed Lisa’s cellular. Got her message center.

Lisa knew I was in the valley. Knew when it was cool to break in my apartment. But that was different, I was on the clock. But I hadn’t been here, not since I went to work.

But I had slept here in Manhattan Beach, got here late last night, left early this morning.

The lion and jackal followed me down here last night, tracked me like I was an animal.

My mind went back to work. To this morning. The extra red dot on the computer screen. What I had seen when I glanced over Sid Levine’s shoulder when I was at work this morning.

I took my cellular again, called the job on the private line. Sid Levine was in, working late or working early, I didn’t ask. Was glad he was there burning the midnight oil.

I asked Sid, “Yo‘, Sid, you in front of the computer?”

“Yeah, Driver.” He sounded nervous, my calling had thrown him. “Having probs with some software. Came in to reinstall. What’s the deal?”

“Check it out. You have access to the screen with the car info?”

“Scheduling?”

“The GPS thing you were showing me this morning.”

“Yeah. I can look at global positioning.”

“Where are Wolf’s cars right now?”

“What you mean?”

“Where does the GPS tell you the cars are?”

He told me that a limo was heading back in from Hollywood, another driving a customer who had refused to fly since 9/11 out to Palm Springs. He listed several of Wolf’s rides.

I asked, “What about Manhattan Beach?”

“No.”

“Alright. Thanks.”

“Wait. Somebody is down in Manhattan Beach. Near the ocean.”

“Which car? What car are they in?”

“Dunno. It’s not ... let me count ... hold on two seconds ... well, all of his cars are accounted for. It’s like an extra ... maybe it’s a glitch. Been like that all week.”

“The glitch moves?”

“Strange. It was in the valley a while ago. Stayed there a while. I went to grab a bite to eat and when I came back it was close to South Central. Now it’s in Manhattan Beach.”

I’d been tagged. Didn’t know when I’d been bugged. She had plenty of opportunities.

I asked, “Does the boss call in and ask where his rides are?”

“Wolf? Nah.”

“The wife?”

“Mrs. Wolf? She doesn’t have to.”

“Why not?”

“She has a handheld tracker.”

“A handheld?”

“It’s cool. Wolf is tight on the technology, ain’t he? The one she has, everything that’s on my screen, she can get on a device the size of a Palm Pilot. Cool, huh? Think she has it hooked up at their crib too. That way, if Wolf is away on a trip, she doesn’t have to come in.”

I clenched my jaw, gritted my teeth. Panther faced me, silent, arms folded. Nothing was salvageable. Couldn’t tell if she wanted to shoot me or stab me in the throat with a knife.

Sid Levine said, “Glad you’re on the phone. Freeman’s people called not too long ago. Didn’t know if you already know it but you’re dealing with that Freeman guy tomorrow.”

I told him good night.

I faced Panther. Too many emotions running through me, no way to latch on to one.

She stared at the damage, chest rising and falling, each breath deeper than the one before.

I said, “Panther ...”

“
Get that bitch on the phone
.”

“She’s not gonna answer.”

“
Give me an address. I’ll call my girls.
”

“It’s not safe. She didn’t do this. Her bullyboys, they’re crazy.”

“Well, I’m crazy too.”

She was already heading out the front door, bag over shoulder, keys in hand, her emotional barometer operating in the red zone. Hate had replaced the blood in her veins.

I wanted to go up the hill, tear my car apart and find that GPS, but now wasn’t the time.

Panther drove her ride like she was Batman, her pissed-off foot heavy on the pedal.

She sped north up Sepulveda to Rosecrans, east to the 405, north to the 10, then east, got off at Crenshaw, headed through the refried bean section, sped toward Hancock Park.

A motorcycle officer came out of nowhere, pulled up behind us. Panther cut her speed, cruised below the limit. He followed us for at least two miles. She changed lanes. He did the same. Never backed off. We stopped at a light. His lips were moving, calling in the plates, maybe just talking to somebody. I swallowed. Panther did the same. We were five minutes from Lisa’s home. He hit his siren, put on his flashing lights before we made it to Wilshire.

Panther pulled over.

“
Turn off your engine.
”

That voice came over the P.A. system. Panther obeyed.

I said, “These are her people.”

The motorcycle officer didn’t engage us in any way.

Panther asked me, her voice cracking, “Who is this bitch?”

“Her old man used to be chief of police. Compton. She was an officer. LAPD. She killed a couple of people on the clock. Wanted me to ... paid me to kill her husband.”