Hi Five Page 8

  “Yes. Something horrible.”

  “Did someone pick her up?”

  “I think so, yes,” Gia said. “I heard a horn honk and then she ran out.”

  Isaiah was aware that Dodson was listening intently. He ended the call and turned away to concentrate. Okay, he thought. Tight skirt, heels, perfume, honking horn. She went on a date and was going to have fun, but not like Oh, boy, I’m going to Disneyland! fun. More like she was going someplace reliable, where she’d had fun before. Good thinking, Isaiah, that narrows it down to ten million places.

  All right, back up. Start where you always do. What do you know about her? The first time he’d heard Marlene’s name was when he met Christiana. She was embarrassed because she smelled of booze and was wearing Marlene’s clothes, salacious like the ones Marlene was wearing tonight. Wherever Christiana had been, it had been Marlene’s choice, not hers. He remembered Christiana talking, soft voice, graceful, hands fluid as she gestured. Her hands. There was something about her hands. What was it? Something didn’t fit. Isaiah nodded to himself. There was blue paint between her forefinger and middle finger. Wait, was it paint?

  No. It was on her left hand. The alters were right-handed. She also didn’t smell of paint and who wore clothes like that to touch up the bathroom? Okay, so how else would you get blue coloring between your forefinger and middle finger? What, Isaiah, you know this. What is it? Shooting pool. You chalked the tip of the cue stick with blue chalk to give it a little more stick. When you stroked the cue, that’s exactly the spot where the chalk would leave residue.

  Hypothesis: Marlene had been shooting pool before she switched out with Christiana. It was likely a one-off. Being good at pool required discipline and patience, and judging from Marlene’s room, those were not qualities she admired. There were no pool halls in Long Beach itself but quite a few in the surrounding area. Christiana smelled of booze though. That meant Marlene had been drinking, and no pool hall Isaiah knew of served hard liquor. Okay, so maybe she was shooting pool but not in a pool hall. There were bars that had pool tables but a place to have reliable fun? That seemed unlikely, and why would Marlene dress like that to shoot pool in a bar? It didn’t fit—Marlene bent over a table in a tight skirt and heels drinking Grey Goose on the rocks while she lined up a shot on the nine ball? No, back up again. Let’s suppose she was someplace where playing pool and drinking were secondary activities. Something you did while you were waiting to do what you came for.

  Isaiah’s avatar stood in the doorway of Marlene’s room. There were loose poker chips on the floor, the heavy embossed kind used at casinos. When Christiana came in wearing Marlene’s clothes, she’d said to Gia, “I think Marlene lost again.” Had she lost money betting? Okay, maybe she went to a casino. Which one? Bicycle Shop, Hollywood Park, Pechanga, San Manuel, Morongo? There was a stack of clean T-shirts on the bed, the one on top said UST. This was like Jeopardy!, which Isaiah never watched because it was too easy. The T-shirt didn’t say LUST. It said HUSTLER. There was a Hustler Casino on Redondo Beach Boulevard, where you could drink, shoot pool and gamble the night away.

  “Gotta go,” Isaiah said.

  “You got something?” Dodson said.

  “Maybe.”

  “Can I come with you?” Dodson said. There was an awkward moment. Dodson had revealed himself. He wanted to be included. Isaiah considered it but he had to get on with this.

  “Not this time,” he said.

  Isaiah drove away from the house, wondering about Dodson. Why did he want to tag along? They’d dissolved their partnership by mutual consent. Had he changed his mind? Deal with this later, he thought. Then he downshifted, punched the accelerator and felt his head sink deeper into the headrest.

  Dodson was embarrassed. He shouldn’t have reached out to Isaiah so soon. He’d been too needy. Patience, he told himself, but he had none. He had to get going. He had to get off his ass. Desperation hung you out there, exposed and vulnerable. Shit, he hated that. And he’d been troubled by something else too. He wanted to go back to the hospital. He didn’t know why. Beaumont wouldn’t know he was there and he owed Merrill nothing. Or maybe he did. Like what? He wondered. He hadn’t seen Merrill since they were kids. This kind of bullshit was agonizing. You didn’t have answers so you couldn’t make yourself feel better, especially when you didn’t know what the questions were in the first fucking place. This wasn’t like him, all this confusion, inner turmoil. “Get on with your gettin’ on,” he said aloud. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  Chapter Seven

  Deep-Fried Baseball Mitt

  The Hustler Casino was just another casino. Bordello colors, brass railings and sparkly chandeliers, dozens of tables and hundreds of gamblers playing Hold ’Em, Omaha Hi/Lo, Pai Gow, No Bust Blackjack and three-card poker. It seemed like people should be smoking. Off in an alcove were pool tables. No one was playing. You came here to gamble, baby. If Marlene was here, she was playing cards.

  Isaiah’s clients had told him numerous times that his ability to pick a face out of a crowd bordered on supernatural. Instead, it was a product of rigorous training and retraining himself to observe and remember. At a glance, he took in your facial features, profile, eye and hair color, body type, posture, tattoos, shoes, clothing, hand gestures and how you walked. It took him nine seconds to locate Marlene.

  Marlene was playing Hold ’Em at a no-limit table, no chips in front of her. She was fuming and had evidently lost everything. She got up to talk to the supervisor. Mischievous, overtly sexual, her hand on his chest, she asked him something. He shook his head. In the next instant, she was a snarling bobcat, cursing at him. She shoved past him and went to the bar.

  A man was waiting for her. Big, brush cut, a no-neck behemoth wearing a red muscle shirt and gold chain. How’s that for originality? Isaiah thought. Marlene complained to the guy, who nodded sympathetically while he stared at her tits. They ordered drinks, Marlene bitching, unceasingly. She went on so long the guy got tired of nodding and looked past her at the big-screen TV. When Marlene seemed to be winding down, Isaiah left. The couple would have to wait for the valet to bring their car around.

  Twenty minutes later, they came out of the casino and Marlene was still bitching.

  “Okay, okay, I get it,” the guy groaned.

  “No, I don’t think you do,” she said. “And by the way, I saw you with that girl, the one with her skirt slit up to her navel?”

  “What about you and that dude in the suit?” he retorted. “Why didn’t you just take your tits out and motorboat him?”

  “He was nice and polite, okay?” she said. “Something you should learn about. Where’s the fucking car?”

  As good a time as any, Isaiah thought. He walked toward them. “Marlene? Hi. I’m Isaiah.”

  “Oh, Christ, not now, okay?” she groaned.

  “It’s important and you know why,” Isaiah said.

  She glared. “I said not now.”

  The guy stepped between them. He actually said, “You heard the lady. Now start walking, pal.”

  Isaiah avoided confrontation but this was urgent. “How about I buy you both a drink?”

  “How about you go fuck yourself?” the guy replied.

  Marlene put her hand on his bulging arm. “Yeah, tell him, Tony.” His name was Tony? Of course it was.

  “Look, it’s really important,” Isaiah said. “It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  “Didn’t I tell you to fuck off?” Tony said. He came toward him with his palms out, ready to give him the Big Shove, the bully’s first move. Most people backed up, which put them at the point of greatest impact. Isaiah swung his left forearm around and knocked Tony’s right arm inward, then stepped left out of the big man’s grasp. Tony’s momentum carried him forward. Isaiah stuck his foot out. Tony tripped, staggered forward, and sprawled on the pavement. He stayed there groaning a couple of moments and got up slowly, bleeding from his nose and mouth.

  “Great. Nice going, Tony,” M
arlene said. “A guy half your size is kicking your ass.” She wasn’t going to cooperate now, Isaiah thought.

  He went back to the Audi to wait it out. He’d tail them to wherever and try to get Marlene alone. The couple was heading toward Tony’s car. She was yelling at him, telling him he was a pussy and why didn’t he do something. Isaiah sighed and closed his eyes, put his head back. God help me. He heard Tony’s car door open and close. They were leaving. Isaiah sat up, started the engine, used the paddle shifter, and put the car in drive. Sometimes he didn’t have the energy to shift manually. He was about to engage the seat belt when Tony yanked the passenger door open. He was bleeding and raging, and frightening. He lunged over the console, grabbed Isaiah with one hand and hit him with the other. Isaiah put his arms up to protect himself. He wished he’d taken up Dodson’s offer.

  Marlene was pounding on the window, egging Tony on—and then she shut Tony’s door. The two men were trapped in the front seats, a space no bigger than a bathtub. Isaiah was six foot, one sixty-five. Tony was taller, wider and sixty pounds heavier. The only way to maneuver was by squirming, and neither of them could get his legs out of the footwells, their knees stuck under the dashboard. Isaiah tried to get out of the car but Tony yanked him back.

  “Get him, Tony! Get him!” Marlene shouted gleefully.

  Tony pulled Isaiah’s upper body across the console. Isaiah couldn’t get loose and there was no room to throw a punch. They thrashed like two bears fighting in a closet, growling and grunting, greased in their own sweat, breathing in gulps, their body heat trapped inside, the windows dripping. Tony’s blood was splattering on the seats, the dashboard, Isaiah.

  Tony got his massive arm around Isaiah’s neck and squeezed. Isaiah felt his head swell and his lungs clamp shut. He tried to pull the arm away but it wouldn’t budge. He kicked and wriggled but it was no use. He’d pass out soon or suffocate and die. Think, Isaiah, think. The car was in drive and starting to roll. His foot couldn’t reach the brake pedal. He had a flash memory of fighting Gahigi at Seb’s house. He bit down on Tony’s arm. Tony screamed but didn’t let go, squeezing even tighter. Think, Isaiah, think. The car was picking up speed. Marlene was running alongside, shouting, “Stop the fucking car! You’re gonna crash, you idiots!”

  Isaiah let one hand go and the pressure around his neck doubled. He was breathing through a throat the size of a dime, his face expanding, his eyes about to spurt out of his head. He squiggled a hand underneath him and depressed the cigarette lighter. Endless moments passed while it heated up, the black tide of unconsciousness lapping at his brain.

  At last, the lighter popped up. He plunged the glowing hot coil into Tony’s arm. The big man screamed and let go. Gasping, Isaiah struggled to sit up but Tony didn’t quit, his rage morphing into lunacy, his features masked with blood, a tooth missing from his raving, open maw and Isaiah realized, Tony’s on steroids!

  Tony grabbed him and tried to pull him over to the console again, screaming with uncontrollable rage. Isaiah held on to the steering wheel but Tony kept yanking like a pit bull clamped onto the seat of your pants. There’s a four- to five-percent grade on parking lots so that rain doesn’t pool and the car was in drive. It moved faster. And faster.

  Tony finally looked around. “Hey,” he said stupidly.

  “Let…me…go!” Isaiah croaked.

  Tony released Isaiah and tried to get out of the car, but the door locks had locked automatically. He pushed the wrong button and the window buzzed down. “How do you open this fucking thing?” he yelled. He rammed his shoulder against the door and when that didn’t work he tried to climb out of the window. His bulk got stuck there. He panicked and started screaming, “Get me out of here! Get me out!”

  Woozy from the lack of oxygen, Isaiah struggled back into the driver’s seat a moment too late.

  “Oh, shit!”

  The Audi bumped over a parking block, the jolt nearly bucking Isaiah out of his seat, the car smashing through a thick hedge, branches scraping and snapping, Tony’s upper half taking a beating while he screamed like a toddler. The car slowed as it came out of the hedge and then plunged down a steep dirt incline, bulldozing through ivy and azalea bushes, a chain-link fence coming next. It was no match for thirty-five hundred pounds of steel and aluminum. The car mowed down the fence and hit an even steeper concrete incline, the front end of the car crashing into a culvert, the shocks bottoming out, the momentum carrying it forward, nose down, sparks flying as the bumper scraped against ground, coming to a stop in a trickle of mossy water.

  Quiet. Metal creaking, something hissing, the smell of gasoline. Isaiah groaned and moved a little to check for broken bones. He had to shoulder the door to get out.

  Tony was still stuck in the window, cuts all over him, his muscle shirt torn, his gold chain ripped off, blood oozing from his nose. “Could you give me a hand?” he said.

  “Fuck you,” Isaiah said. He blinked twice and his stomach lurched. “My car.” The bumper was on the ground, the grill smashed, the front tires were blown out, the headlights and windshield broken, mirrors dangling. Green antifreeze was leaking, oil dripping. Isaiah couldn’t speak. Dazed and disbelieving, he walked around the car. “Could you please help me?” Tony said.

  Isaiah put his head in his hands.

  He found the ’09 Audi S4 when he was a teenager, working at TK’s wrecking yard. It had been totaled in an accident and he’d lovingly restored it. It took him years. It cost him money he couldn’t afford. It was the only car he’d ever wanted. He couldn’t look at it anymore and turned away. Marlene and a security guard were standing at the top of the dirt incline.

  “You guys okay?” she said.

  “You stupid bitch,” Isaiah said.

  “You guys stay put,” the security guard called down. “An ambulance is coming.”

  The paramedics pried Tony from the window, checking him and Isaiah for injuries. Neither wanted to go to the hospital and had to sign release forms. The cops took statements.

  “You know what’s wrong with this world?” the cop said, looking at Tony. “Too many assholes.”

  The police left. Tony took off before Isaiah could kill him. A tow truck came and yanked the Audi out of the culvert. When Isaiah got back to the parking lot, Marlene was waiting for him. Oddly, she was calm and seemingly puzzled, like she couldn’t imagine how something like this could have happened.

  “Well, that was a disaster, wasn’t it?” she said. “You never know what life is going to throw at you.” Isaiah was too pissed off to speak. “I never liked Tony,” Marlene went on. “He was such a show-off. And what a temper! He flies off the handle, just like that.”

  Wait a second, Isaiah thought. You never know what life is going to throw at you? He flies off the handle, just like that? Was this the same woman who cussed out the casino supervisor, trapped Isaiah and Tony in the car and urged Tony to bust Isaiah up?

  “You’re not Marlene, are you?” Isaiah said.

  “Me? Oh, heavens no. Not for all the tea in China.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Bertrand, of course,” he said with a bright smile. “I’m hungry. How about we get something to eat?”

  They took an Uber to Denny’s. “I like Denny’s,” Bertrand said. “I come here all the time. Try the country-fried steak. It’s really good.”

  It had taken Isaiah a few minutes to recalibrate. Marlene was Bertrand now. The raving bitch was suddenly cheery and mannerly and, well, nice. A grown-up Opie in a woman’s slutty clothes.

  Bertrand drank a glass of water in a long series of gulps. “Ahh! That really hits the spot. Sorry about the runaround. What a night, huh?” He shook his head with weary affection. “Marlene, Marlene, Marlene. That girl is—how should I say it? Loose. Very loose, if you catch my drift. She’s constantly getting herself into scrapes. Tonight wasn’t unusual. Not in the least. She is definitely cuckoo.” Bertrand crossed his eyes and made circles with his forefinger. “And if you can believe it, she gets jea
lous! Some nerve, huh? I mean, really jealous. Women. You can’t live with them and you can’t live without them.”

  The waitress was standing there, looking at him. Her nametag said JANET. Bertrand held up his glass. “Hi, Janet. Could I get a refill, please? It’s excellent water.” She looked at him a moment and moved off. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Isaiah,” Bertrand said.

  “From who?” Isaiah said.

  “Oh, I hear things in passing,” Bertrand said. “Nobody really talks to me. Not very polite, given what I do for them.”

  “What do you do for them?”

  “I am—what should I call myself?” Bertrand said. “It’s hard to talk about these things without tooting my own horn.” He looked off as if the right word were over there by the kitchen pass-through. “I am…the guardian, so to speak,” he went on. “When one of them is in trouble, that’s when I step in. Day or night, rain or shine.” Isaiah wanted to laugh but didn’t. Some guardian. He didn’t show up until everything was over and it was time for a snack. The Cowardly Lion came to mind.

  Janet brought another glass of water. “Thank you,” Bertrand said heartily. “Much appreciated.”

  “What can I get you?” Janet said.

  “Country-fried steak, of course. It’s your best dish.”

  “Oh, yeah? I’ll make a note of that.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to have root beer, would you?”

  “No, we don’t,” Janet said.

  “Darn,” Bertrand said. He was really disappointed. “I wish they’d put it on the menu.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Janet said. She looked at Isaiah.

  “Bacon, eggs and coffee, please,” he said. She nodded and moved off. Isaiah said, “What can you tell me about that night?”

  Bertrand sipped his water and smiled at the glass admiringly. “Really refreshing. Best water I’ve ever had.”

  “Bertrand?” Isaiah said.