The one she has, everything that’s on my screen, she can get on a device the size of a Palm Pilot. Cool, huh? Think she has it hooked up at their crib too. That way, if Wolf is away on a trip, she doesn’t have to come in.”
I clenched my jaw, gritted my teeth. Panther faced me, silent, arms folded. Nothing was salvageable. Couldn’t tell if she wanted to shoot me or stab me in the throat with a knife.
Sid Levine said, “Glad you’re on the phone. Freeman’s people called not too long ago. Didn’t know if you already know it but you’re dealing with that Freeman guy tomorrow.”
I told him good night.
I faced Panther. Too many emotions running through me, no way to latch on to one.
She stared at the damage, chest rising and falling, each breath deeper than the one before.
I said, “Panther ...”
“Get that bitch on the phone.”
“She’s not gonna answer.”
“Give me an address. I’ll call my girls.”
“It’s not safe. She didn’t do this. Her bullyboys, they’re crazy.”
“Well, I’m crazy too.”
She was already heading out the front door, bag over shoulder, keys in hand, her emotional barometer operating in the red zone. Hate had replaced the blood in her veins.
I wanted to go up the hill, tear my car apart and find that GPS, but now wasn’t the time.
18
Panther drove her ride like she was Batman, her pissed-off foot heavy on the pedal.
She sped north up Sepulveda to Rosecrans, east to the 405, north to the 10, then east, got off at Crenshaw, headed through the refried bean section, sped toward Hancock Park.
A motorcycle officer came out of nowhere, pulled up behind us. Panther cut her speed, cruised below the limit. He followed us for at least two miles. She changed lanes. He did the same. Never backed off. We stopped at a light. His lips were moving, calling in the plates, maybe just talking to somebody. I swallowed. Panther did the same. We were five minutes from Lisa’s home. He hit his siren, put on his flashing lights before we made it to Wilshire.
Panther pulled over.
“Turn off your engine.”
That voice came over the P.A. system. Panther obeyed.
I said, “These are her people.”
The motorcycle officer didn’t engage us in any way.
Panther asked me, her voice cracking, “Who is this bitch?”
“Her old man used to be chief of police. Compton. She was an officer. LAPD. She killed a couple of people on the clock. Wanted me to ... paid me to kill her husband.”
“What?”
“Paid me, but I didn’t do it.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“That’s why she has those motherfuckers after me.”
I waited for her to ask me what kind of man I was. If she did, I didn’t have an answer. Saw a thousand images in my mind, the strongest being that memory of me, Reverend Daddy, and Rufus, all of us in that alley, Rufus’s shaky hand pulling the trigger on that gun.
Panther stuttered her words, “How she know we ... ?”
“Don’t know. She told me that if I came her way, I’d be dead before I hit Wilshire.”
Panther swallowed hard. Hate became fear. LAPD had a way of making that happen.
Her voice owned some tremble, she asked, “Those guns I gave you ... in your backpack?”
My jaw clenched, teeth gritted. All that and a hard breath was my answer. Somewhere along the line my ride had been tagged with a GPS. Looked like Panther’s had been tagged too. But Sid Levine had only seen one dot moving around in Manhattan Beach. Mine. Had to be mine because Lisa had tracked me all over the city. That was how Lisa knew I was up in the valley. Just don’t know when she would’ve tagged Panther.
I asked Panther, “You have a record?”
“Aggravated assault. Did a few days. Married man’s wife came down acting crazy and I had to break her off proper. She filed a restraining order on me after that.”
I let her words settle a moment before I said, “I’ll claim the burners.”
She ran her hands over her wet clothes, thinking. “Driver, you have a felony.”
I took a breath, told her, “You got ‘em for me.”
She inhaled, let it out slow. “My burner is in my backpack too.”
“Why do you have a gun?”
“Long story. Look at this shit. My damn eye feels like it’s the size of a grapefruit. I’m soaking wet.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Great. Catching a damn cold.”
My mind kept doing inventory. Three guns. Over three thousand resting in my