Free Drive Me Crazy by Eric Jerome Dickey Page B

didn’t paralyze me; it motivated me toward a violent conclusion, usually in my favor.
    My neighbors unloaded, went into their building. That’s how long we stood there.
    I said, “Why wait? Bring it on.”
    The lion looked at the jackal. “He’s an arrogant fuck.”
    “Yeah, he’s an arrogant fuck.”
    “He won’t be in three days.”
    “Not at all.”
    The lion took a step back. He kicked the 7-Up can toward me again, letting me know he had kicked it on purpose the first time. He turned around and headed in the other direction. The jackal took a few steps backward, then followed. They headed down La Cienega toward a black Expedition. Same one I’d just seen stalking outside Rufus’s place. I ran to get back inside my car and catch them before they left this concrete jungle. By the time I fumbled my keys out of my pockets and got my car started, they had vanished into the night. I went down La Cienega with as much speed as I could handle, but about a mile away the street split. Either they had zoomed to the left and got on the 405 South, or stayed right and went deeper into Inglewood.
    I stopped chasing that vapor trail and drove back home, found another space. Sat there holding the steering wheel with the car engine throbbing in my hands, thinking deadly thoughts.
    I wanted to hunt them down, but it was better to kill a master than hurt a slave.
    My cellular rang. Lisa’s cellular number showed up. Her bullyboys had called her.
    I answered with a snap, told her, “You have my attention.”
    “Do I? And how did I finally get your attention?”
    I battled with my breathing, fought to hold on to the last edge of my calm the way a drowning man held onto a rope. I rocked, my damp hands still struggling to dry each other.
    My brain was working overtime, looking for something to say to fix this. I remembered what Rufus had told me to do. Wolf was my friend, but if that would get his wife off my back, I’d do what I had to do. I never should’ve started up with her. She’d become my bete noire.
    She said, “My husband is waiting for me to come to bed and be his wife.”
    I wiped the stress sweat away from my eyes, said, “Lisa—”
    “You’re a big guy. A rock-hard body. Rough around the edges. A bona fide certified playa. Laying the pipe all over the city. Get my money from your women, Playa.”
    “I’ll drive to Hancock Park.” My tone was raw. “All three of us can have a sit-down.”
    “Come this way, I’ll activate an acceleration clause in your three-day grace period.”
    “Meaning?”
    “Start driving toward Hancock Park, you’ll be dead before you make it to Wilshire.”
    She hung up.

6
    Sunrise tapped on my shoulders three hours later. Hours had gone by like minutes.
    My tension headache didn’t let me sleep much. But I dozed long enough to get rid of the edge and keep from feeling postal. I woke up to the smell of Tunisian oils, gurgling grits, and turkey sausage. Rollerblades and snow skis were on the wall by the front door. Peach and red walls with erotic art by Kimberly Chavers, another artist I’d never heard of. Lots of pillows and scented candles. I wasn’t at my apartment. I’d grabbed a few things and left Inglewood last night. Headed south of LAX and squatted at a colorful studio apartment in Manhattan Beach.
    “For real, Momma? The IRS went to Buckhead and jacked all of Peabo’s stuff? Everything in the man’s house? How much he owe in back taxes? A million dollars. Dag.”
    She had been up all night. She didn’t get off work until somewhere between one and two-thirty and was as nocturnal as Dracula. Daylight wasn’t her friend.
    “Momma, you have to go online and sign the petition. Uh uh. Then send it to everybody you can. Yes, ma‘am. Got a pen? Okay, it’s Helpmarcus.com . Uh huh. It is absurd. I mean, they found something to make him guilty. Well, that’s what those women do. Have consensual sex then when their daddies find out start hollering rape. No, ma’am,