she was a mind reader.
She said, “Hate the smoke. The smell brings back memories.”
“Good or bad?”
“The same kind that were in your eyes when you were sipping your drink last night.”
“You’re a regular Miss Cleo.”
“No, but I recognize the reflection of myself in others. Saw it in you. You loved somebody.” She leaned against the counter, pulled her hair away from her exotic face, hummed along with the classical music. “You’re a good-looking man, Driver. So fucking beautiful.”
“As beautiful as the man you’re trying to forget?”
Her eyes turned sensitive. That memory softened her conniving heart and stole her edge. She regrouped and gave me her one-sided smile. “Before we go any further, you in or out?”
“On the fence.”
“You’re even agnostic about business decisions.”
I told her, “You haven’t guaranteed me a cut.”
“There are no guarantees. Sometimes it’s jackpot, sometimes it’s a dry run, a bust.”
“Bust or jackpot, I need an advance.”
She thought on it. “Let’s say I advance you ... mmm ... two thousand.”
“Seven.”
“Two. Be glad I didn’t tell you to walk.”
I considered my situation and my lack of options before I said, “In.”
“Be sure. No cooling-off period.”
I repeated, “In.”
She smiled like I had said the magic word. I halfway expected her to sit me down and make me watch an Amway-type videotape about this scamming business, maybe even have people who worked with her pop in and give testimonials about how much money they made and how they loved their jobs. We shook hands, straight business. Her skin was warm.
She looked for trust in my eyes. I did the same with her. Thieves were liars and cheats. There was no honor among thieves. I knew because I lived with the best the South had to offer for two years. Still I nodded my agreement anyway. She held her grip and did the same.
She said, “I’m the boss on this operation. Everyone answers to me. Everything comes through me. If you have a problem working for a woman, let me know that now.”
“Long as a paycheck is on that end, no problem on this end.”
I let her hand go first. Her thin fingers made an erotic trail across my wide palm, made my Adam’s apple dance in my throat. Her eyes moved up and down my frame.
I asked Arizona, “Who do you serve?”
“When you have money, everyone serves you.”
15
Arizona rubbed up against me as her sugary walk took her into the bedroom.
The sofa welcomed my weight with an easy give and a mild sigh from the springs.
She came back in the room five minutes later, hair down, face made up, looking like the siren who had played me last night. She had her dark purse on her shoulder and a long leather coat across her arm. Her perfume had a light scent, the kind that could easily go unnoticed.
She said, “Let’s go for a ride.”
“Where?”
“You want that advance, right?”
She pulled a box filled with garment bags from the other side of the bed. We packed up the fancy outfits, put one in each garment bag. I carried the awkward load. She led the way. I followed. To the elevator. Then to the garage. She hit her remote. The lights on her silver BMW flashed. Doors unlocked. Engine started purring before we made it to the car.
She made a frustrated sound. “Keep hitting the wrong buttons.”
“New toy?”
“Something like that.”
She fumbled with the remote until the trunk opened, crept up nice and easy.
I loaded the merchandise. New car smell perfumed the air.
I envied her ride in silence. A car told you about a person’s character, how they saw themselves, how they wanted the world to see them. Cars weren’t just transportation, they were symbols. All about perpetrating and projecting. L.A. people were attached to their rides. Ugly women and mackless men could hop in a ride like this and let the car do the sweet-talking.
The leather seats were like warm butter, smooth and soft to the touch.
We passed by my ride. That back window shattered.
Arizona drove toward Hollywood, went down Ventura, a strip that had a lot of stores like Gap and Baja Grill, a regular Traffic Light Row. She dug in her purse and took out a small black device, pointed it at the intersection and pushed a button. The traffic light changed back to green, just like it had done for her last night when she left Back Biters.
I asked her, “What’s that device?”
“It’s a MIRT. Mobile Infrared Transmitter.”
I was impressed. “How does it work?”
“You point it and it changes red