She nodded again, this one meant she understood. “That money you took ... the fifteen thousand ... have you tried to pay any of it back to Married Woman?”
Again, I quieted. Alexithymia and ADHD held my hands, led me around the room.
It didn’t make sense in my mind, but I was searching for some justification, and all that came to mind were words, weak words, couldn’t think of a ten-dollar phrase to elevate what I’d done to a literary level. I cleared my throat and shrugged, told her, “Guess I thought that after what happened, my momma dying, hoped she’d let it go, cut a nigga some slack.”
“Sweetie, nobody lets fifteen thousand go.”
“I know. But it ain’t like it was her money. It was Wolf’s money.”
“Moot point, Driver. It wasn’t your money either.”
“I know it wasn’t my money, dammit. She dumped cash money right in front of me. I was broke as hell, couldn’t get a fucking job, barely had two nickels in my motherfucking pockets. What the fuck would you have done? Shit. Now get off my damn back.”
She stared at me, at my sudden burst of anger, her eyes wide, mouth open. Exhaustion had robbed me of sanity and patience. Hands were fists. I felt irrational, like I did when Lisa had made me lose it out on La Cienega, when she had hit me with that 7-Up can, when she had told me that a nice suit couldn’t hide the real me. Maybe that illegal money, maybe this legit job I’d taken, maybe all of that was about me trying to get away from the real me. I knew I wanted what Wolf had, wanted a life like his. Where I lived there wasn’t a ladder that went up that high.
Panther said, “I’m on your team. Remember what my place looked like?”
Head hurt like a stroke was coming on. Had to sit down where I stood.
Panther’s voice followed me, soft and sincere. “Would you rather a woman lie to you and tell you everything is all right, or would you want the truth, no matter how bitter the taste? Let me know what kind of woman you need so I can know what kind of woman I need to be.”
My eyes remained tight. Darkness running over my mind. Ran hands over my forehead.
She asked, “How much time she give you?”
“Three days.”
“A spiritual number.”
“What you talking about?”
“Three. Something biblical about the number three. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Jesus rose up in three days. Three is a spiritual number.”
“It’s not.”
“Is.”
“Three Stooges. Three’s Company. Three the Hard Way.”
“Whatever.”
Stairs rattled again.
Panther turned the TV off, made the room dark, wrapped a blanket around her naked frame, rushed and peeped out the window again. Nothing. She turned the TV back on.
I sat on my thoughts, the ones that told me I was a failure on both sides of the law. A hired killer who didn’t do the job.
She came over and kissed me awhile. Tried to get lost in her tongue.
She said, “First thing we do is get your brother. Then you let that job go.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Have to go in at least two more days.”
“Forget that job.”
I shook my head. “Working on something.”
She looked at me, her Southern eyes telling me that she had been born a hustler, would be a hustler until her last breath. Panther shifted around, asked, “What kinda plan you got?”
I told her about Arizona and the pickpocket. About getting the fifteen large.
She said, “A scam artist comes up to you at a bar. What’s her angle?”
Then I told her about Freeman. What Arizona had in mind. That I was the inside man.
She nodded. “Again, ask yourself why this heifer picked you.”
I leaned against the dresser and thought. Again exhaustion and aggravation made everything opaque. Searched, tried to wade through that mental black ink, but thoughts fell in and vanished like a man in quicksand. No answers. All I could do was wonder. Wondered if there was some connection between Arizona and Lisa. Didn’t make any sense for there to be.
Freeman’s face appeared on the television. My unibrowed salvation haunted me too. I imagined that the pickpocket and Arizona were in Sherman Oaks watching the same broadcast.
Panther raised a brow, cleared her throat. “Thomas Freeman? I know that guy.”
“How you know Freeman?”
“I don’t know him know him. Went to one of his book signings.”
“When was that?”
“Long time back. Years ago. At least three. Maybe four.”