a line of people getting fried catfish, trout, snapper, salmon; that high-cholesterol aroma fattening the air. The Washerette was packed with apartment dwellers, reminding me I had a couple of loads to do tomorrow. At least four women were inside Platinum Beauty getting their weaves and perms hooked up at midnight. One was sleeping underneath a dryer. Music bumped from every passing car.
Arizona was moving her honey at a mellow pace, taking deep breaths like she was trying to get it together. Halfway across the uneven parking lot, I stopped her stroll, brought her to me.
She tiptoed, put her arm on my waist, let the spirits on her tongue dance with mine in slow motion. I held her face in my hands and drank her for a while, the brisk air flowing over us.
I kissed her neck, her ear, whispered, “What we gonna do?”
She slid her hand between my legs, rubbed John Henry, gave me her tongue again.
“You’re a fine man with so much duende, you know that, Driver?”
“You have a lot of charm yourself.”
“I’m serious.” She moaned. “Something about you excites a woman and makes her want to do things she knows she shouldn’t be doing. You have pheromones to be reckoned with.”
Jermaine Dupri had Janet Jackson. Tonight I had Arizona.
Bright lights covered us when somebody sped into the lot, hit a speed bump hard enough to make some noise. I jumped, blinded. Arizona reached into her purse, grabbed something and turned defensive. Vehicles had body language and that ride moved like a death threat.
It looked like an armored car with chrome rims, but it was a Hummer. The nose-and-mouth-shaped grille looked like bared teeth. Those bright lights like angry eyes.
That vehicle bulldogged past other cars, came to a sudden stop near my ride.
The driver killed the lights, got out, moving fast.
A few people stopped and checked out the bringer of the drama, others moved on.
Five-five, but her heels made her five-eight. Caramel skin. Bambi-like eyes. Shoulder-length auburn hair underneath a scarf, Audrey Hepburn style. Low-rise jeans and a leather coat with leopard fur around the collar. My eyes went to her left hand, my way of reminding her that she wore a five-carat emerald-cut in platinum. She cranked up a harsh smile as she came toward me and Arizona, got close enough for me to see the cleavage that pimped out the curves in her upgraded boobs. Head to toe, wedding ring to thong, everything on her was paid for by Wolf.
Arizona stayed at my side. She was alert, body ready like a warrior. That let me know she had some enemies out there, the kind that could roll up on her at a moment’s notice.
When the owner of the Hummer was closer, I licked my lips and said her name. “Lisa.”
Lisa held up a few feet away, stared at Arizona, dissected her, then glowered at me.
“Whassup, Playa,” she said, her voice small, tight, and cold.
“My name is Driver. Same name your husband calls me.”
“Is that right, Playa?”
Lisa’s thin nostrils flared.
I told her, “You just missed your husband. We had a couple of beers and he left. Said he was on the way home before it got too late.”
Her eyes cut deep. Lisa’s father used to be chief of police in Compton, then mayor of the same city until a stroke took him out of office and sent him to a convalescent home. Her old man lived in Compton but she grew up in Ladera with the Black and the Bourgeois.
Lots of people were around. Too many for anybody to act a fool without notice.
Lisa did an about-face and went back to her Hummer, sat there in the darkness.
Arizona asked, “What was that all about?”
I shrugged, told her that Lisa was my boss’s wife. They were having problems.
“That grenade has a loose pin.” Arizona glanced Lisa’s way, then turned back to me, read my face, said, “Pretty woman. Worn around the edges, but pretty.”
I diverted where she was taking the conversation, asked, “You strapped?”
She reached into her purse again, showed me her switchblade. It was the kind that you flipped open when you gave it some wrist action. She put it back inside her bag.
An engine revved, lights flashed, a horn blew. We moved away from the middle of the aisle. Lisa zoomed by us. Behind her angry eyes I saw the edges of her dark side glowing.
I swallowed the regret in my throat, asked Arizona, “You following me home?”