from Atlanta.”
I nodded. “Okay Miss Atlanta, why does it sound that way to you?”
“He has to have it backed up somewhere. Like five or six copies lying around.”
“I thought the same thing. But he did an interview this morning, said he didn’t show it to anybody. Not even his fiancée. Anyway, the grifter I met, she’s been in contact with him, think they might be freaking or something, and she seemed to be sure about it.”
Panther raised a brow, made a thinking face. “And they’re gonna give you a cut.”
“Trying to come up on enough to get out of hot water.”
I changed the channel on the television. Stopped on a movie channel. Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis, Jr., and the rest of the Rat Pack were in the original Ocean’s Eleven. Men trying to come up on their fortune by ripping somebody else off. Two white men were talking about how they always had to take what they wanted growing up, always had to fight. My life had always been just as unpretty as theirs. Not a complaint, just a fact.
Panther fell into that movie just like I did. Listened to the schemers scheme.
I told Panther, “After that, I’ll be back to zero because I’m quitting that gig.”
“Broke and jobless. Now that’s attractive. Tell me more, tell me more. ”
“Broke ain’t nothing new. I can always walk around and find some labor. Fuck sitting in a damn car all day getting soft. After I pay Lisa her money, I’ll figure out something.”
“That’s some bullshit.”
“What?”
“As far as Married Woman’s concerned, you don’t owe that heifer a damn dime. Matter of fact that terrorist owes us. And when I see her, it’s on. I’m gonna collect like I’m the IRS.”
I rubbed my head, let her talk shit awhile. Then we went back to talking about Freeman.
Panther fell silent. She got up and walked the room, paced in the nude, the cornbread and buttermilk walk taking her gifts from above from wall to wall, highlighted hair in a loose ponytail, arms folded under her modest and firm breasts, anger stiffening her tongue, her tongue pushing out her top lip. I watched her. She saw me staring then came and sat by me, kissed my head, touched my hand, opened her mouth to say something, then paused until I looked at her.
“Driver, if that book is worth a million ... that’s a lot of money.”
“Uh huh.”
“Hypothetically, what if we cut out the middleman and jacked his briefcase?”
My eyes studied the seriousness in hers. She didn’t blink.
I told her, “Don’t think like that.”
“I was joking.”
“Don’t.”
Silence fell over us. The energy between us changed, moved in a bad direction. Money had a way of doing that. I got up, went to the bathroom to get some space, came back, sat down.
My eyes went back to the movie. Smooth criminals, every last one of them.
A couple of thinking minutes went by. The passkey to Shutters stayed on my mind. It would get me to the elevator, and after that the key would be useless. Kick the door down, call in a bomb threat and hope they clear the hotel, I just didn’t have any idea what to do after that.
Money changed people. Made people who didn’t have it go crazy trying to get it.
We got into the bed, the mattress sagging, the box springs giving and squeaking under our weight, the headboard slapping the wall when we moved too much. If a motel room could talk. It took a minute, but we got in a comfortable position and cuddled up, half-watched the movie, fell into a series of yawns. Moans and squeaks wormed into the room, then a series of earthquakes. All around us beds were squeaking, people were on fire, sending us their heat.
Panther shifted her butt up against me, rubbed her legs against mine, then looked back at me, her eyes dreamy, those nipples erect. I had the desire to join the festival, but I didn’t have the energy. An erection would’ve helped too. I rubbed my hand up and down Panther’s skin. Kissed her here and there. She reached back and touched my dick, held that softness in her hand, moved it up and down, made it raise up a bit. She turned around. We kissed. I sucked on her breasts, put my finger between her legs, massaged her nice and slow.
But every time I heard someone walking the stairs, every time I heard a car, I was on my feet. Wasn’t the