The scent of bleach met me on the streets. We stood and looked at her studio. Her futon cut at a thousand different angles, colorful quilt ruined, a lot of her clothing had been shredded.
Panther held her eye, tensed up. “That bitch Selina broke in here and did this shit.”
She cursed, thought her married friend’s wife had done all this damage.
I grabbed her arm, slowed her down, said, “Wait, Panther ...”
Panther pulled away, ran into the bathroom. The shower had been running long enough to flood the living room floor. I didn’t have to follow her into the bathroom to know that her clothes were stopping the drain. Her place was small but her walls looked familiar.
I cursed and went to the bathroom door. Makeup, clothes, her expensive shoes, all of her work clothes, all of that was piled up in her shower. Five bottles of bleach. Crime of passion.
I told her, “Panther, this ain’t about you. This is about me.”
“What the fuck you saying?”
“Married woman. The one I was dealing with. She did a B&E at my place.”
“What are you saying? She came down here and did this?”
I told her that this was the same thing they had done to my place. I ran outside and looked around. The streets were quiet. Ran back inside and told Panther to grab her bag, what she could, so we could get out of here. She didn’t move. I couldn’t describe the look she gave me if I tried. A woman had never scowled at me like that, not even my ex-wife had glared at me that way in Memphis. My ex-wife’s glare was close, was bone-chilling, but it didn’t unnerve me the way Panther’s scowl did. This situation was different. Maybe because my ex-wife was handcuffed, on a curb, was no way she could get her claws on me.
Panther held her eye and sloshed through her damp floor, still looking for something to salvage. She found a few things. She was wet from her backside down to her ankles.
A single black dress had been left hanging in her closet.
Funeral clothes. Something for her to wear while she cried over my cold body.
I leaned against the wall, dialed Lisa’s cellular. Got her message center.
Lisa knew I was in the valley. Knew when it was cool to break in my apartment. But that was different, I was on the clock. But I hadn’t been here, not since I went to work.
But I had slept here in Manhattan Beach, got here late last night, left early this morning.
The lion and jackal followed me down here last night, tracked me like I was an animal.
My mind went back to work. To this morning. The extra red dot on the computer screen. What I had seen when I glanced over Sid Levine’s shoulder when I was at work this morning.
I took my cellular again, called the job on the private line. Sid Levine was in, working late or working early, I didn’t ask. Was glad he was there burning the midnight oil.
I asked Sid, “Yo‘, Sid, you in front of the computer?”
“Yeah, Driver.” He sounded nervous, my calling had thrown him. “Having probs with some software. Came in to reinstall. What’s the deal?”
“Check it out. You have access to the screen with the car info?”
“Scheduling?”
“The GPS thing you were showing me this morning.”
“Yeah. I can look at global positioning.”
“Where are Wolf’s cars right now?”
“What you mean?”
“Where does the GPS tell you the cars are?”
He told me that a limo was heading back in from Hollywood, another driving a customer who had refused to fly since 9/11 out to Palm Springs. He listed several of Wolf’s rides.
I asked, “What about Manhattan Beach?”
“No.”
“Alright. Thanks.”
“Wait. Somebody is down in Manhattan Beach. Near the ocean.”
“Which car? What car are they in?”
“Dunno. It’s not ... let me count ... hold on two seconds ... well, all of his cars are accounted for. It’s like an extra ... maybe it’s a glitch. Been like that all week.”
“The glitch moves?”
“Strange. It was in the valley a while ago. Stayed there a while. I went to grab a bite to eat and when I came back it was close to South Central. Now it’s in Manhattan Beach.”
I’d been tagged. Didn’t know when I’d been bugged. She had plenty of opportunities.
I asked, “Does the boss call in and ask where his rides are?”
“Wolf? Nah.”
“The wife?”
“Mrs. Wolf? She doesn’t have to.”
“Why not?”
“She has a handheld tracker.”
“A handheld?”
“It’s cool. Wolf is tight on the technology, ain’t he?