I asked myself why I was going to work. Why I bothered working for Wolf. My job wasn’t much, but right now it was all I had. If that was taken away, I’d go back to being nobody. Just another lost soul wandering the piss-stained and dilapidated boulevards. Months ago there were no Italian suits, just living hand-to-mouth, nothing but borrowing and hustling.
I took out my phone, called Lisa’s cellular. Got her voice mail. Hung up. Cursed.
I didn’t worry about Wolf finding out it was me calling his wife. My number didn’t show up because I had it blocked, only read RESTRICTED on her caller-ID. But she knew it was me.
7
The office and cars for Wolf Classic Limousines were on Century, right outside LAX.
I parked my car in the reserved underground section Wolf had for employees. Employee parking was on P2, one level below the spots he had for sedans and town cars.
Lisa’s ugly-ass Hummer was there. Wolf’s Lamborghini wasn’t. They slept in the same bed but never rode in together. Nobody in L.A. rode together. Barren car-pool lanes told you that this was a city filled with selfish people. Maybe just people who didn’t have any friends.
I put on my work face and went in to grab the keys and paperwork on the sedan I’d been assigned. The paperwork told me that I was picking up Thomas Marcus Freeman. I grabbed a marker and made a sign, my client’s last name in block-style letters. While I did that I talked to a co-worker, Sid Levine. Thin boy who always wore the same jeans with a different T-shirt. Pimply face and orange spiked hair. He was a young cat, a UCLA student who maintained the computer systems. Time to time he came in at four in the morning to man the phones until the receptionist made it in. He could get some studying in while he clocked in a few dollars.
I told Sid I’d seen the Hummer in the garage, then asked, “Where’s the boss’s wife?”
“She had an early pick-up.” He put his C++ book to the side, pulled up the sleeves on his tattered Old Navy sweatshirt. “A Michael Jackson impersonator.”
I laughed. “Heard they weren’t getting too much work these days.”
“Not with all the child molestation charges.” Sid shrugged. “I think this cat worked as one of Michael Jackson’s decoys or something.”
I redirected the conversation again. “So, the boss’s wife is actually working.”
“Surprised me too.”
Everything seemed normal. Too normal. Like Disneyland. I kept talking to make it look like my asking about Lisa was no big deal. “What’s that screen on your computer?”
“Updating the GPS software. Wolf got a new car in. Making sure GPS is on point. Easy stuff, grunt work.” He showed me that one of Wolf’s cars was in Sherman Oaks, another heading down the 5 to San Diego. “Wolf knows where all of his property is at all times.”
I nodded. Wolf’s system was tight. That electronic surveillance let him know if his drivers were exceeding the speed limit or if his car was going outside of boundaries. Reminded me of men and women on house arrest. They had the same electronic leash strapped to their ankles. They stepped too far beyond the front door and Big Brother was notified.
I said, “A man has to protect his investments.”
“He’s expanding his fleet big time. Gonna go head-to-head with Davel.”
Sid talked about stretch limos, luxury cars, SUVs, fifteen-passenger vans, cargo vans, minibuses, even a couple of additional Cessnas that Wolf was acquiring to beef up his arsenal.
Jealousy made me clench my jaw tight.
A lot of the cars were already out there, picking up and dropping off. The system showed six cars were in the lot across the way. I’d only seen three sedans and two stretch limos when I pulled in. I peeped toward the front to see who had pulled up since I got here.
I held my breath and waited for Lisa to come inside. Nobody walked in.
I asked, “Where is the boss’s wife driving the impersonator?”
“Mrs. Wolf rolling a limo to San Diego. She’ll be gone at least four hours.”
I sipped a cup of coffee, then stuck my head inside Wolf’s office, double-checked to see if he’d just shown up. Lisa’s face stared back at me. Her image and the pictures of Wolf’s kids were on his desk. His deceased parents were in bigger photographs on the wall.
This could’ve been my office. Those could’ve been my pictures.