“So, do you drive getaway cars, the space shuttle, go-carts, what?”
“You got jokes. I drive for Wolf Classic Limousine.”
She nodded. “I bet you hear things, bet you see things.”
“What kinda things?”
“Things people don’t want the world to know about.”
I stared at my drink, admired that warm liquid that soothed me. Started drinking after my divorce. The hue of my drink was the same as my ex-wife’s complexion, golden-amber.
She pressed on, asked, “What have you seen?”
The way she was pressing me about my job should’ve sent up a red flag. But a man sat next to woman like her and wanted to do all he could to get her not to leave.
I shrugged. “White-collar customers get in asking me if I knew where they could score crack. Or West Hollywood bathhouses. Last month people in town for a religious convention wanted to hit the strip clubs, then came right out and asked if I knew any hookers.”
Without looking impressed or disgusted, she sipped, said, “So you hook ‘em up.”
“Depends. I do what I can to stimulate financial growth in our depressed economy.”
“So, if the pay is right you’ll do a lil’ somethin‘-somethin’ on the low-low.”
Sounded like she’d moved from flirting to interviewing me. I didn’t like that.
I said, “Somebody sounds a little drunk.”
She shook her head, wiped her long hair back and made a face. “Not even.”
“Damn. I’m wasting my money.”
“Look at this.” She’d turned the page on the newspaper. “Rent scam bilks fifteen families, nets nearly fifty thousand over one weekend.”
Pedro was passing by. He didn’t disturb us, just moved on.
I said, “Fifty thousand in a weekend? Amazing.”
She smiled, gave me direct eye contact, then went back to the article.
Arizona said, “Maybe we could do some business together.”
“What kind of business?”
“You hear people, Driver. Their conversations, things they don’t want anybody to know about. That information you’re sitting on, the right person gets it, it’s worth a mint.”
The years I’d lost did a number on my stomach. I faced her, took our words eye-to-eye.
I asked, “What you running?”
“Who said I was running something?”
“Don’t bullshit me. Squares don’t come up in a joint like this.”
She smiled. “Are you a police officer?”
“Hell no.”
She swayed with the bluesy music, like the alcohol was making her ramble out things she should keep to herself. “Let’s just say I’m investing in a few real estate opportunities.”
I stared at my drink, at that golden liquid that did some of us in. “Short or long?”
She knew what I meant. “Long con, but I’m working a short to generate cash flow.”
My eyes stayed on my drink. On its color. Drifted to an old memory. Tommy Castro was singing his electric blues. Served me right to suffer. Served me right to be alone. A man like me was born to suffer. But I didn’t like being alone. Couldn’t stand the silence. I sipped. Tonight alcohol made me remember what being with a woman might help me forget.
She said, “Looks like you’re a long way from here.”
I blinked those memories away. “Look, I’m not trying to revisit the Gray Goose.”
That was prison speak. A language she understood. The Gray Goose was the wonderful bus that drove you to the free motel, chaperoned by sheriffs with shotguns, handcuffs on your wrists, chains on your ankles and between your legs, while the man next to you either cried for his momma, or puked his brains out from the fear of getting his sphincter supersized.
“Relax.” Her words remained gentle. “Just having a conversation, being hypothetical.”
“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. Are you a police officer?”
“No.”
“Working for law enforcement?”
“No. Relax. No one’s trying to trap you. Guy I used to ... date ... learned a lot watching him scam. He used to pull thirty large just like ...” She snapped her fingers. “He was good.”
The word was echoed. I asked, “Where is he now?”
Her grin remained strong, but sadness erupted in her eyes. The absence of crow’s feet and presence of grief told me all I needed to know. He was either in jail or dead. Or had died in jail. If he was living and had left her for another woman she would’ve said that with bitterness in her tone, no smile on her face. Women always dogged a man out when they were dumped.
She never answered about her friend. I didn’t expect her to.
She said, “It’s all about reading people. Finding out what they need.”