Drive Me Crazy (38 page)

They were out there. I felt it.

“Nice night,” Arizona said.

“Get to the business.”

“You’re pissed off.”

“I don’t like being played.”

“No one does, Driver. No one does.”

We took bites of our burgers. Tasted like heaven. Seemed like I hadn’t eaten in days.

She asked me, “What gave me away?”

“Freeman still had his passkey. When we got back to the hotel Freeman still had his passkey. Pickpocket never lifted his wallet. I don’t think she intended to get it. It was a show.”

“If you had dropped them off and left, you never would’ve known.”

“But I didn’t drop them off and leave. I hung around.”

Again she smiled, this one like she was happy to know where her scheme fell apart. She said, “I’m still learning. Seems like something always falls through the cracks. That’s the thing about this business, in every operation something always goes wrong.”

“So, it was all a show.”

She looked down at my ankle. “Pull your pant leg down.”

I looked down and saw why it had bunched up, pulled it down, looked around.

Arizona smiled at me. “It’s cool. Everybody is too busy eating to notice your little wardrobe malfunction. Straighten your collar too.”

I nodded and looked around, then back at her.

She went back to our conversation, asked, “What was a show?”

“LAX. Come clean. How many wallets did your girl lift at the airport?”

She sipped her soda, chewed a fry. “When you picked up Freeman? One. Just yours.”

“The stash of wallets you showed me at the pickpocket’s apartment?”

“Wallets she had lifted here and there, but not that day. Not at LAX.”

“A million limo drivers in L.A. Why me?”

“In this business you have to pick your mark. Have to pick your team. Have to read everybody. Find out what people need or want, play their emotions. I learned from the best.”

“Is that right?”

“Pussy and money, Driver.”

“What about ‘em?”

“The man who taught me all I know, he told me that the promise of either draws men in.”

“Pussy and money.”

“With you it was about the money. After I had picked the limo service, I pulled bank statements for a few people. You had the profile. Newest employee. No real job for a long time before that one. Bank account was low. Pay not that good, just enough to cover your bills.”

“That’s everybody in L.A.”

“You were one paycheck away from being homeless.”

“Give me a break. Motherfuckers in Malibu are one paycheck from being homeless.”

“True. But you had a prison record that didn’t exactly leave you upwardly mobile.”

I told her, “A man’s heart and soul, what he’s about ain’t in a damn computer. You couldn’t pull up my ethics on a credit report or a bank statement. Or on a prison record.”

“Or how good you were going to look. Saw you at Back Biters and ... and ... damn.”

“Don’t start with that you-love-men-in-nice-suits-and-chocolate bullshit.”

She laughed.

I said, “So you walked in Back Biters and dangled a carrot.”

“Your profile. Low bank account. Felony. Easier to get a criminal to do a crime.”

“Bullshit. Most niggas would rather die than go back to jail. It ain’t Club Med. It’s a cage. And when you get out that cage comes with you, stays in your mind twenty-four-seven.”

“When you get angry you slip, your speech changes, gets gruff, sounds so street.”

“Then don’t piss me the fuck off. Hate to show you how street I can get.”

Her expression was smooth and easy, never intimidated by my size or irritation.

Without sounding apologetic she said, “I digress.”

“That getting a criminal to do a crime, straight bullshit.”

“Most times, not all the time. But you have to remember that I’m the craftswoman at this table. You’re the working stiff pulling a nine-to-five. A legit man might be too hard to sway, and if he sways he’s too unpredictable. They might have a moral attack or something.”

“The felony. My record. That was what drew you to me.”

“Of course. That and your bank account needed some re vitalization.”

I took a breath.

She said, “Be real. A felon doesn’t get a lot of chances to make this much money.”

“Martha Stewart.”

“You know what I meant.”

I said, “So, you’d never planned on breaking into Freeman’s room.”

“It was still a big improvisation. Yeah, I planned on getting the computer. That’s original and could be profitable. But I had to get you to do that for me, boo.”

“You could’ve done it yourself.”

“Oh, no. I’m not a thief. Not that kind.”

“Uh huh.”

“That hotel has too much security. A smart grifter never shows her face. My girl knows that too. She’s rising up in Hollywood, so she wouldn’t take any chances on getting busted.”

“You could’ve rented a room on the same floor. Worked it like that.”

She shook her head. “Never show your face.”

“I’ll jot that down in my criminal notepad.”

We ate some more, each bite tasting better than the one before. The night air became cooler. L.A. was always like that at night. The bitch always sent you to bed with a chill.

I asked, “How did you know I’d steal it?”

“Didn’t. Just fed you enough information. You didn’t know me. Didn’t trust me.”

“Still don’t.”

“I know. And I don’t trust you. So that keeps us in a good position.”

“I hit Freeman. I straight up double-crossed you.”

“I would’ve done the same. Like I told you, a million dollars on a truck.”

I told her, “I’m not buying all of that bullshit. Somebody put you on to me.”

“Kill the conspiracy theory. It was random.”

“Like searching for a four-leaf clover on a sidewalk.”

“Nice analogy. Can I use that?”

“Stop the bullshit. Yesterday you said you protected your sources. Today it’s random.”

She gave another one of those cute and criminal smiles.

I asked, “You pulled Freeman’s bank info?”

She reached inside her purse, handed me a golden envelope. Making red lights change to green. Pulling a man’s bank information. I was impressed and nervous with what she could do.

Freeman had six thousand in his savings. Around three hundred in his checking.

I said, “To be a baller, he’s conservative.”

“Look here. He bounced quite a few checks in the past year.”

“Damn. He sure did. On his old Quitman, Mississippi, bank account.”

“He needs a better accountant.”

“This is just checking and savings. Checking gets no interest and savings is so low it might as well be no interest. He has to have his real money somewhere else.”

“I expected him to be like the typical Nuevo baller, big money in useless accounts.”

I said, “Doubt if he hooked up with a woman like Folasade because he’s stupid.”

“Well, I wouldn’t sleep with my nest egg under my pillow. I’d diversify my investments, buy property. Any disposable income would be in a high-interest account.”

“He got a seven-figure deal, so this is his chump change. He probably has more accounts than he can count. What else did you come up with?”

“My contact is still on it. You done eating?”

“Yeah. Shoulda picked up a bottle of JD to wash this down.”

I tossed our garbage. We headed back toward the theater. She fired up another cigarette while we strolled, stood at the corner and smoked more than half before she tossed it. Once again she made the light change in our favor. Pushed a button, made the world stop for her.

I asked, “Besides using the lot to fence hot goods, what’s your connection to the play?”

“What makes you think there is one?”

“The way the valet and doorman looked at you. Like you’re a queen.”

“I tip well.”

“They looked at you like that before you tipped.”

“We have some money invested.”

“Legit money?”

“Yeah. Me and Mrs. Robinson.”

“Your personal pickpocket.”

She laughed.

I said, “Saw her headshot on the wall. Pamela Quinones.”

“The one and only. That’s my partner. I’d prefer to do it alone. That way there is no split. All the guts and all the glory. But she’s cool. We’ve been hanging tough for two years now. Rent scams. Vending machine scams. God, we’ve done more shit than I can remember.”

“Quinones. Spanish?”

“Part Puerto Rican. A mutt, just like me.”

“Lovers?”

She laughed, shook her head, but didn’t answer with any words.

I said, “That’s how she got the lead. Invested in her own play, hired herself as the star.”

“It was either that or do like Angelyne—buy herself a pink Corvette and lease a billboard on the Sunset Strip. You have to showcase. You do what you have to do in this town.”

“Tummy tuck. Breasts enhanced.”

“Teeth capped. You name it and they do it in the name of Hollywood.”

“What about you?”

“No upgrades.”

I checked my watch. It was getting to be that time of night, the time when trouble woke up and took to the streets. Lisa’s bullyboys should be on the prowl by now.

I was ready to get it over with, but I wasn’t going to rush.

I asked Arizona, “How’s the play going?”

“Losing money. This production has turned out to be a money pit.”

“Why don’t you shut it down?”

“Not yet. It’s a great way to clean up some dirty money.”

“You’re doing a lot. Got your hands in a lot of pots.”

“I want to work my way up the ladder and be Queen Scamz one day.”

“Credit cards. Ripping off the Internet. Sounds more like organized crime.”

“A fool is born every minute and there’s enough business for everybody.”

“Ambitious.”

“Would love for you to tag along. For personal reasons if nothing else.”

She tiptoed and kissed me. Her tongue got reacquainted with mine.

I thought about Panther.

Arizona said, “When I was naked in front of you, I wanted you to take it.”

“That’s what got Kobe in the situation he’s in now.”

“Baby, this ain’t Denver.” She laughed. “Was so wet for you.”

We kissed again.

She whispered, “Imagined your tongue moving inside me ... just ... like ... that.”

I wasn’t into her, not like I was the night we met. Was playing the role. I was doing like Panther did at her job. In the back of my mind I saw how she let men touch her, how she teased them with her real estate in order to get over. Ten dollars a song. Slow dance to heaven.

Arizona pulled away, held my hand, looked me in the eyes, her eyes dreamy, that cunning smile back on her lips, and asked me, “That package you have ... ?”

“Back to the money.”

“Yeah.”

“Told you I don’t like being played.”

She asked, “What are we going to do about Freeman?”

“The ball is already rolling.” I let her hand go. “I want a bigger cut.”

“Define a bigger cut.”

I said, “My crew gets fifty. Your team gets the same.”

“You’re insane. No deal.”

“Fifty percent.”

She laughed, still gloating from the work she had done.

I didn’t laugh. I told her, “So you get a dime, I get two nickels.”

“And if I get nothing?”

“I get half of that.”

She twisted her lips. “Fifty percent. Geesh.”

“My crew bumped it. Now it’s between you and Freeman.”

She ran her tongue over her bottom lip.

Time danced around us while I waited for her decision.

She said, “Guess we should look at the merchandise. Right, partner?”

I told her, “I’ll get the briefcase.”

Her lips went back up into that slick smile. “I already have it.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Bummer.”

“Expected your valet guy to go through my car. I’m guessing that’s what you told him in Spanish. Figured that was why you wanted to take a stroll over to Pink‘s, to buy some time.”

“You’re thinking like a con man. I like that.”

I said, “One more thing.”

“Uh huh?”

“Let’s say I buy the bullshit you sold me about picking me at random, about looking at all the employees at Wolf’s company. That meant you could find me at work. Or home. But how did you know I’d be at Back Biters? That’s not on my resume or in my credit report.”

She chuckled, didn’t give up any answer. Kept that answer to herself.

I followed her around the corner. Her car was there. Another one of her workers was waiting for her. More Spanish words and he used the remote to open the trunk. Her trunk was filled with more high-end clothes, all sorts of designer dresses and shoes. Freeman’s silver briefcase was resting on top of it all. She checked the locks, then said more Spanish words. Her worker ran off, came back with a black bag, pulled out tools that would make any lock useless.

She asked, “In a hurry?”

I wasn’t. Nothing but trouble and death were waiting for me.

“Let’s inspect the merchandise.”

I nodded. Didn’t expect Arizona to let me raise up without an inspection. Didn’t want to leave before I knew what I had given her. I hadn’t opened it, not because of the lock, could’ve broke that myself, but I was scared of what might be inside. Or what might not be inside. Scared that what China Doll had grabbed might not be the real prize, but a briefcase loaded with those damn bobbleheads. The lock popped. I held my breath. Expected it to fly up and see a hundred little Freemans running for freedom, heads wobbling, images of the new black aesthetic with two books held high, the Moses of the book world.