Drive Me Crazy (37 page)

“I know. She knows it too.”

We both took deep breaths.

He said, “Like I said, I wanted to apologize.”

“I want to apologize myself.”

He nodded.

I asked, “Want to meet at Back Biters tomorrow? We can talk it out. Man to man.”

He shook his head. “I’m taking the Cessna to Vegas tonight. My daughter has a part in a play at school. Plays the part of a tree in a forest. I have to be there. Have to keep my promise.”

“Thought you and the wife were taking off for a few days.”

“Can’t break a promise to a kid. They’re the ones who love you no matter what.”

“The wife’s not going with you?”

“No. It’s easier dealing with them separately. Easier and hard. It’s like I have two separate lives. Running this business is easier than managing a wife and ex-wife. Not to mention my parental obligations, which I have no problem with. My children are my heart.”

“I understand.”

We stood there, eyes on each other, motionless. Still dancing around the truth.

I told him, “Thanks for the chance. But I want to give you my two weeks notice.”

“I accept it.”

Nothing was said for a moment.

“You knew about me and Lisa.”

“I knew.”

“How? You have her followed ... what?”

“The way you two regard each other. I could tell. The office knows.”

“How long have you known?”

“A long while. Before the night you came here.”

I nodded.

I asked, “Why did you want me to work here?”

He paused, then said, “Friends close.”

The phrase was friends close,
enemies closer.

I understood the method to this madness. I’d never been his friend. Friendship had a foundation made of honesty. Ours was built on laughter and lies. If he had me under his thumb he could monitor my comings and goings. Giving me work benefited me, but it also gave him comfort in knowing where I was most days, knew I couldn’t be with his wife during those hours.

He asked, “How long did it go on?”

“Few months. Not while I was working here. Ended the night I came here.”

He struggled. “Were you in my home?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

My simple word struck him like a meteor slamming into the dark side of the moon. I’d tried, but I’d never hit a man that hard with my fist. Words had more power than the hands.

His home. His car. His wife. I’d been in them all.

He shook his head. In angst on the surface, most of the damage on the inside.

I told him, “She paid me to kill you.”

With all the words I know, I couldn’t describe the look on his face. Maybe it was the pained expression a man had when denial was being scrubbed away with a Brillo pad of truth.

He asked me how much, a man wanting to know what dollar amount had been put on his life. I told him she had given me fifteen large, half of a thirty-large payday.

He repeated, “Thirty thousand.”

I nodded. “Gave me fifteen up front.”

A moment went by. He understood how deep this was.

Those meteors never stopped slamming down on him.

He asked, “Why didn’t you?”

I’d stolen. I’d beaten down more men that I could remember. I’d violated more than half of the laws some people believed Moses brought back down that hill and gave to the people.

I was born a sinner and had fallen from grace more times than I could remember.

My eyes went to the pictures of his children, to the images of his parents.

I answered, “I’m not a murderer.”

We all had our lines in the sand, even if they didn’t run deep.

I waited for him to go off, demand some explanation of the madness that had been going on around him. He was a rational man. Too rational for his own good. Looked like a million thoughts heated up his mind. Sweat popped up on his nose, could almost smell its acid.

He said, “You’re not a murderer.”

“No.”

“But you ... you took the money, came to kill me.”

“Yeah, I did.”

We stood there, his expression never changing for the better, the pain never lessening.

He said, “Before you walked in, I knew ... knew death was coming.”

“And you waited. You sat here and waited.”

“I waited. Then you came inside. Like you were struggling with yourself.”

“My mother had just died. Told you that.”

He asked, “If your mother hadn’t died that evening?”

I felt heaviness in my chest, like my soul had been encased in a cement tomb and dropped in the ocean.

He asked, “Did you love Lisa?”

“Thought I did.” Felt like my mouth was filled with cotton. “Thought I could.”

“What was it?”

“Need.”

In my mind she had promised me heaven, clouds filled with naked angels. But if the soft stir of a butterfly’s wings could cause a violent storm a world away, Lisa could kill us all.

I stood there scared for him, ashamed for myself. I should’ve felt a sense of relief, but there was none. Wolf was a good man. Like another brother. I’d been the Cain in his life.

Back to silence.

He said, “On that two weeks’ notice, I accept it.”

We shook hands, tight and strong. Warriors at the end of a battle. Two flawed, morally impure men who just wanted life to work out in a good way.

He said, “We’re all murderers, Driver. We all kill what we love.”

The memory of my ex-wife came to me hard and strong, then I pushed it away.

But he wasn’t talking about how I had killed what I had loved.

He said that like he was confessing that his lie about being able to have children and his one-time infidelity had killed the love between Lisa and him, but whatever she had done hadn’t put a damper on what he felt for her. He blamed himself. His lies had given her a pass card.

I reached in my suit pocket, took out the Pilot pen I had borrowed from his desk. I handed it back to him. He took the pen, nodded, rolled it over and over in his hand.

I said, “Your snitch won’t have to worry about me lifting your pens.”

“There is no snitch.”

“Who told you I had your pen?”

“My children. My relatives. My family. They watch over me. They see everything.”

He motioned at the wall, somewhere over the pictures of his ancestors.

My eyes went to that same wall. I said, “Camera?”

He nodded.

I asked, “Lisa knows about that hidden camera?”

“Was her idea. One of her connections gave us a good price.”

We stared at each other, two men who had been bitten by the same snake.

With that knowledge, I left his office.

Panther was waiting for me over at Carl’s Jr. She drove me back down to Manhattan Beach. All the way she talked about getting back at Lisa for what she’d done to her apartment and clothes. All the way I told Panther to be patient, to wait a little while longer.

I told her about the commotion at Shutters.

Panther said, “China Doll had an attack of the sticky fingers in Freeman’s room.”

“What all she take?”

“All she could. I told her to just get the briefcase. Her rougish butt.”

“Don’t think that matters too much right now. What’s done is done.”

“Regrets?”

“I’m accumulating regrets every time I breathe.”

My car was right where I left it. Had a parking ticket to go along with the dirt and bricked-out window. Panther popped her trunk. I took Freeman’s briefcase from her ride and put it inside my trunk. Stared at it for a moment. Tried the lock. Decided not to break it open.

I told her, “Don’t go back to your place.”

“Why not?”

“Won’t be safe. Get a room. Call me.”

She asked, “Where you rolling?”

“Have to see a man about a horse.”

“I’m going.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You gonna have to trust me.”

“That’s a million-dollar prize, Driver.”

I nodded.

She said, “I should go with you.”

I shook my head. “They might follow me.”

She asked, “You know how they’re doing it?”

I told her.

She bit her lip.

I pulled her to me. Kissed her. Looked in her brown eyes and saw that she didn’t trust me, not on the level I needed her to. Money put that kinda barrier between people. I couldn’t ask her to trust me. I didn’t know what I was going to do. Didn’t know what I would have to do.

We kissed and kissed and kissed.

She said, “When this is done, maybe we can go to the museums, jazz cafés, hook up and do all the touristy sightseeing stuff. Haven’t really done any of that since I’ve been out here.”

“Sure.”

“Picnics?”

“Cool.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die, stick a needle in your eye?”

“Yeah. All that.”

She smiled at all of my lies. She was a smart woman, read my face, knew it was all a front. We were talking about tomorrow because we didn’t think there would be one, not for me.

Lisa had destroyed all Panther’s clothing, left her that one black dress. A dress to wear when she watched them give me back to Mother Earth. A dress for my pending funeralization.

I touched her face, said, “One of us is gonna have to come up on some furniture.”

“All we need is a bed and a nice sturdy chair.”

“Cool.”

“And someplace for me to cook.”

We kissed again. If I could’ve packed up and moved inside that kiss, I would’ve.

I got inside my car, took a long look at her. And I stared long and hard. It was like when a man was on the bus heading to prison. He stared at things long and hard, tried to absorb and memorize them, etch them in his mind. I was absorbing, remembering, etching.

I rolled down the window and asked Panther, “You working tonight?”

She shrugged, wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. Her face had reddened, heated up by her insides. Her fearful tears were about to come on, but she was holding them back.

She asked, “What you need me to do?”

I told her, “Don’t go to work. I don’t want you anyplace they can find you. Do like I told you and get a room. Go to San Bernardino if you have to. I’ll call you in a little while.”

“Take me with you.”

“No.”

“Driver—”

“No.”

She nodded.

I asked, “You know any good clubs near Hollywood?”

“A few. Club 360 is tight. That hot spot is on Highland and Willoughby. Why?”

“Get that room. I’ll call you if I can.”

“What do you mean if you can?”

We looked at each other. Her sadness was about to erupt. What saved us was her cellular phone. It rang. It was her mother calling. She answered, still staring at me.

I drove away, took to the madness in L.A. traffic once again, Club 360 on my mind.

A newspaper clipping was on my seat. Read it while I drove. Police had reported to the scene of a car on fire in Lake Terrace. When they put it out they found a body in the trunk.

I tossed that threat to the wind.

My cellular rang. It was Lisa. My number one
jeva.

I answered talking, told her, “Wolf knows everything.”

She didn’t say anything.

I said, “Lisa, and I know that his family keeps their eyes on him. I know. Smart move.”

Nothing on her end.

I said, “You there?”

“Look in the mirror. Look in the eyes of a dead man.”

My
jeva
hung up.

His family keeps their eyes on him.
She knew what that meant.

I loosened my tie, let my window down, put my hand in the wind, let my fingers dance while I drove from Manhattan Beach to the edges of Hollywood, made a stop on Willoughby, drove in circles, checking to see if they had picked up my scent, then moved on.

La Brea and Melrose.

Bright lights were shining. Mrs. Robinson was on stage, in diva mode, once again in her fur coat, high heels, and thong. Once again that ass, tummy tuck, and upgraded breasts were seducing her young costar. She sang, she moved those hips, she seduced, had the room three degrees hotter than hell.

Arizona came to the doorway, motioned at me. She had on leather pants, high heels, makeup done, hair down, long and wavy. Her finesse peppered the air.

She said, “You double-crossed me.”

“You don’t sound surprised.”

She gave me a one-sided smile. “Where is the Maltese Falcon?”

“Talk first.”

She pushed her lips up, looked like she was trying to figure out what to do with my tense mood, how to play me away from my anger. She knew I needed her to make this happen.

Right now I had more desperation than anger. That was her saving grace.

Arizona said, “If I told you there was a truck down the street and it had a million dollars inside, and we were going to rip it off at noon tomorrow, tell me, would you wait until noon, or try and get the jump on me, be there at sunrise and claim that million-dollar prize for yourself?”

“Smart woman.”

Her expression was slick, cunning. “Let’s walk.”

“Sure. Let’s put one foot in front of the other and take a stroll.”

She handed me her leather jacket. I held it while she slipped it on. Valet ran up as soon as we stepped out the door. The worker was anxious to please. She spoke to him in Spanish. I don’t know what she said, but he looked at me, then looked away. She lit up a cigarette. Cloves scented the air, mixed with the exhaust from bumper-to-bumper traffic. The light was taking too long. She took out her MIRT and made the light change in our favor. She walked like she kept a bottle of time in her pocket. By the time we crossed La Brea she’d tossed her smoke to the concrete. Over at Pink’s we stood in the long line, mixed with everybody from regular Joes to dignitaries and grabbed two turkey burgers, fries, and sodas. Arizona found a table and we sat down. I sat down with my back to the wall, had to be able to see who walked in.