Chapter 12

The next day I had to move out of my crib. I'd been trying not to say anything about this, but Wilma and Nap had to have some way to contact me.

"I didn't realize," Wilma had said on the drive back to L.A. the evening before.

"I'll get it back 'fore it's sold. We got the information now, right?"

She put her hand on my crotch, massaging me. "That's right, baby, everything's going to be ours now."

So here I was watching the movers take my shit out of the pad. I had to get out from under that rock of a mortgage. To save dough I'd arranged to rent the place out for a couple of months while it was on the market to be sold.

Most of my stuff was gonna have to go to storage 'cause there damn sure wasn't enough room to put it in the apartment in Lennox. Maybe I was being too cocky, but what better place to chill out before the job than Davida's old pad? I mean, it was empty and Fahrar would have to think twice to look for me there. Plus the landlady knew who I was and had given me a break on the move-in costs.

I put my box of trophies in the rear, then closed the back of the Explorer. I fired up the SUV and started to drive off.

On the way out, I passed Candy and Dandy, my demon statues. The men from the prop shop I'd sold them to were digging around the pair's feet, getting to the cement base they were bolted to. I sure was gonna miss those two. If I didn't get over on this job, I was gonna be fucked worse than a sissy in San Quentin.

Wilma was out of town through the weekend dealing with the broadcast negotiations. Nap and his color consultant boyfriend Pablo were also getting away for a couple of days. As I got on the 101 heading south, I thought about giving Isabel a call later to see what she was up to. But I nixed that, knowing it wasn't a good idea to get too involved with her, what with Fahrar on my jock. Besides I knew I'd be pushing my luck with the job coming up. Where was my favorite asshole these days anyway? He'd been laying low, but that only meant he was waiting for me to slip. And now, especially now, I had to be careful. I couldn't let anything happen to blow the operation.

The next few days I was nervous as a long-tailed cat on a porch full of busy rocking chairs. Every goddamn noise had me going like it was Trace and a couple of his holy-rolling buddies come to settle his debt with me. But that didn't happen. I supposed Wilma was right, but I still couldn't see Weems' angle. Was his Jesus jive all a front? Was he as crooked as the rest of them? Shit. The waiting was eating me up.

Then there was the apartment. I never really paid attention to how fucked up the area was. I mean, I wasn't blind or anything, I knew Lennox wasn't no Newport Beach. What dough she had she'd put into keeping up appearances with that car of hers.

Most of the people who lived in the area were Mexicans or Latinos or whatever they call themselves these days. Some of 'em worked in the hotels near the airport, which weren't far away. They also slaved in other hotels in El Segundo and downtown, and restaurants too.

The noise was the worst part. Every other goddamn minute it seemed like some jet or another was buzzing by above heading to Hawaii, Montana, Bofunk, Iowa, wherever. The windows would rattle, glasses dancing to the edge of the table. Jesus, how in the hell did she put up with this bullshit? I guess when I was over here I was either figuring what new way we could sex each other down or worn out after doing it, so the goddamn planes weren't big on my mind.

I had to fight the urge to score some crack or coke. I wanted to be as sharp as a motherfuckin' tack when it was time, but I had to cut the edge. I drove back to the Canyon and worked myself as hard as I could. More than halfway up the mountain, my hip started aching like a mother and I had to stop. The fibula had a new twang in it I hadn't experienced before. The fight with Trace and Randy, and me showing off by leaping over that barbed wire fence, had done its job on me. I managed to limp to the top, sweat coming off me by the gallon.

From that spot I looked over at my house, or what used to be my house. If things didn't go right there'd be another name on the title. I bent over, the palms of my hands pressed hard against my lower legs, then went back down the hill. Walking toward the drinking fountain I saw a beat-to-fuck Camry do a U-turn from the curb and head west on Fuller. Fahrar. I was wondering when he was going to show his dead eye again.

The problem was not so much that he'd showed up again. I expected that. What bothered me was I hadn't noticed him. He was smart not to use his own boat 'cause that lame-ass Toronado was too easy to make. But I also had the feeling he wanted me to see him do his turn, wanted me to know he was still on me. I had to be more careful.

That meant no illegal shit. Better to stick with the legal highs I enjoyed. I picked up the phone and called Isabel even though I knew I might be bringing bad luck down on myself. But I was just weak that way, always had been.

''What's up?"

"Hey, good to hear your voice," Isabel said on the other end of the line. I could almost see the smile on her face.

"Busy tonight?"

"Yeah," she giggled, "you know I have to get this report"

"How 'bout we go check out Ozomatli at the Locker Room?" Danny at least threw me a bone after I bugged him. The little punk got my name on the VIP list.

"I shouldn't." She was hesitating, figuring out which way to go. I could sense it more than hear it. "Maybe you're too much for me to handle, Zelmont."

"Oh I think you handle it just right, honey girl."

We had some chow at the Pacific Dining Car on 6th, then bopped to the club. We got in with no effort and made our way around, checking out the action. Ozomatli was the kind of band, what with their blend of salsa, rap, and ska, that pulled in all kinds of people. I was wondering if Danny was really hip enough to have anybody but one of his gangsta-rappin' homies play the set. My silent question was answered when I saw Nap as we went up the stairs.

"Hey, man, I want you to meet Isabel. Isabel, this is one of the original bad boys, Nap Graham, All-Pro and all right."

Nap, looking fly in a purple suit and black and yellow checked shirt, clicked his heels together like Basil Rathbone in an old school flick. "Good to meet you." He shook her hand and bent over.

"Same," she said.

"So the band was your idea?"

"Yes, I've been trying to get these cats to play here for more than a year."

The band came onstage and everybody gave it up for them. We were next to the rail and had a pretty good view of the band. They started playing one of their popular numbers.

"This is cool, thanks for inviting me." Isabel kissed me quickly and turned back to watch the band.

I went over to speak to Nap. I kept my voice down. "Negro, I thought you was supposed to be layin' low till we did the do."

"Pablo can be so trying after a while, he's so high maintenance. Plus Wilma convinced me it was probably better I started showing my face again. Stadanko and Chekka are out of town anyway, and it would look more natural that I'd come back around like nothing was up."

When did Wilma talk to him, after the trip to Ridgecrest? Did she tell him she peeled some fool's cap? What I said was, "Say, man, you and me got each other's back, right?"

Nap put his large hands on each of my shoulders. "We down for each other. That's how it's always been."

At that frozen moment in time I believed his words. "Yeah, you got that right."

We stayed for the first set, then left to find a quiet place. It wasn't my idea I like noise and crowdsbut no sense getting into a fracas with her. I was hoping to get a little 'fore the night was over. She guided me to a tequila bar over on North Broadway in Glassell Park.