Panther did a few spins and offered her rear to the crowd. More crumpled dollars. Her shiny dress flew off and she was down to her G-string. Her body oiled. She fondled her blond wig and took to the pole, did a gymnastics move and ended up upside down, came down slowly, gyrating, then flipped slow and easy, landed in a Chinese split. She double-timed the beat and did some erotic African moves, lower body rotations that sent out waves of pleasure.

A tanned Asian girl passed by. Six-inch stilettos. Long black hair. Long satin kimono.

She said, “Hey, Driver.”

“Hey, China Doll.”

She stopped at a table next to me, did a dance for a brother and his woman, mostly for his smiling woman. That was the norm in a spot like this. The ratio of men to women had to be fifty-fifty up in here, all competing for the same soft-legged pretty girls at ten dollars a song.

I walked over to the stage, sprinkled a few dollars. Panther came over, dancing in her thigh-high boots, isolating butt cheeks, first making one move, then the other, then together.

I said, “Thought you weren’t working tonight.”

“Didn’t hear from you.”

“You have an attitude with me now?”

“What you think?”

“Need a place to crash.”

“And?”

“Can I still come over?”

“For what?”

“What did I do?”

“What you think?”

“Why don’t you just tell me and we’ll both know.”

“I’m working, Driver.”

I let that go and headed back over to the bar, grabbed me a Jack on the rocks, watched Panther wag her onion for a moment then turned away, looked at other dancers. It was easier for me to watch other women work. Watched women dancing for women. For men. For couples. Watched the Asian girl take a brother into a back room where special things happened for the right price. Was hard to watch Panther do this. Don’t know when I started to mind. Crept up on me. Her life. Didn’t seem right and didn’t seem like my place to tell her anything different.

My past. Seemed like I saw my past sitting in front of me, swimming in that glass.

Sometimes I stared at my JD and saw her complexion. Didn’t matter if I drank from a glass or a paper cup, her face was in every drop. I swallowed and heard her calling my name.

I let that go. Anger sent me back to the problems I had now.

Panther came off stage, passed me by. All attitude. Nothing like the woman I’d been inside this morning, not at all like the woman I’d seen this afternoon. She ended up flirting with the guy standing next to me. A blue suit sporting a hundred-dollar tie and crisp white shirt. Flirting hard and strong. She sat next to him, her hand on his leg, laughing, telling him how fine he was. Then she started dancing for him, swerving her backside up against his crotch.

My right hand started shaking. Needed to hit somebody.

I stopped Sexy Chocolate as she passed, asked her to come perform for me. She nodded toward Panther and shook her head, telling me no. I grabbed her arm and pulled out a C-note. That changed her mind. Panther cut her eyes at me, then did the same toward Sexy Chocolate.

Sexy Chocolate stopped dancing. “Driver, I don’t know whassup, but I ain’t involved.”

She told me to keep my money, politely stepped off, headed across the room.

Panther finished her dance, stuffed her ten spot in her garter, walked away without acknowledging me. China Doll wouldn’t come my way. Same went for Diamond, Mercedes, Spanish Fly, Butter Pecan, Alize, Milkshake, Chardonnay, Honey Dip, and a few others.

I downed my Jack and headed for the exit.

Cool. Jack had calmed my nerves. I didn’t feel like hitting nobody anyway.

She stopped right by me, ran her hand over her hair, let out an exasperated sigh.

“Two minutes, Driver.”

“Five.”

“You just lost ten seconds.”

I nodded. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

She shifted, dropped her bag, leaned her butt against her car.

“Today ... at lunch ... got emotional—” She cleared her throat, waited for a car to drive by us. “Got carried away. Said it.”

I sucked my bottom lip. Tired as hell. Didn’t need this shit right now.

“That did it.” She nodded. “Told you I love you. You didn’t respond. You didn’t even acknowledge that I told you I loved you.”

“That’s why you’re acting crazy?”

“I opened up. You blew me off.”

“You hung up.”

“You had all day to call me back. Told you that and I haven’t heard from you.”

“Didn’t blow you off. Hell, I opened up too.”

“You did not.”

I snapped, “With all the shit I’m dealing with, did the best I could, dammit.”

That shut her up.

Head busted with a 7-Up. A Glock pointed at me. Stalked. Apartment trashed. Clothes either soaked in bleach or ripped to shreds. This bullshit was the last thing I needed.

She took her tone down a bit. “Why didn’t you call me to let me know you were okay?”

“Been busy.”

“You have a cellular on your hip at all times. What, you couldn’t find two seconds?”

I shifted, ran my fingers over that day-old scar behind my ear. I understood women the way most poor people understood the economy.

“I told you, you igg’d it.” She let out a wounded chuckle. “Just like you’re doing now.”

“What was I supposed to say? I mean, it was a statement, right?”

“A statement. Like ‘The sky is blue.’ ”

“Well if you had said that, that would’ve been different because the sky is gray.”

“Not funny.”

I sighed.

She said, “Doesn’t matter.”

“Then why are you so angry?”

“Not angry. Frustrated. Disappointed. Don’t matter. Love ain’t done nothing for me but get me in no-good relationship after no-good relationship, had me doing immoral and illegal shit for niggas that I knew I shouldn’t be doing. Never should’ve left Atlanta. Never.”

“I ain’t never asked you for nothing.”

“Rrright. Now I’m a damn gun runner.”

That hollowed me out. I said, “It matters.”

“I cook for you. Sleep with you. And I don’t even know you, you know that?”

“You didn’t have to get the guns. I asked. You coulda said no.”

“I just hate ... all day ... regret I said ... that. To you. I don’t understand you. What we have is real fucked up. I mean, I admitted I loved you ... no response ... your prerogative.”

I shifted a bit. Wished I had a shrink to come in, tell me why I couldn’t open up. Why when women got this deep I wanted to pack up and run to a river that had shallow emotions.

She stayed where she was, arms folded.

I asked, “What about that dude you were seeing?”

“Married man?”

“Yeah.”

“That was a one-night stand that lasted three years too long.”

“So you’re saying that’s over.”

“Was over last Christmas. Had a revelation. Got tired of being the cleanup woman.”

“Sure about that? I mean, you moved out here to be with him.”

“Oh, I’m sure. It got ugly. Real ugly.”

“How ugly is real ugly?”

“Restraining-order ugly.”

That was the way of relationships. Everything overlapped until something good came along, then all others went on standby until that something good became something permanent.

More women came out, caps and sweats, dressed down, escorted by bouncers.

I said, “You were all over homeboy up in there.”

“This is where I work. That’s what I do. So don’t trip.”

“I know.”

“I’m a lot of men’s fantasy, Driver. Women too.”

“You’ve been with women?”

She said, “You’re good at changing the subject when I try to be real with you.”

Panther looked at the back window of my car, saw that hole where a window used to be, shook her head, looked at me. “How’s your injury? You’re looking pretty bad. Head hurting?”

“Aches. Need to change the bandage.”

She caught herself, backed down from her feelings, looked away, made a noise that said she was getting cold, but didn’t move from where she stood. “You in a serious bind?”

“Yeah. My place is hot.”

“How hot?”

“Hella hot. Couple of motherfuckers are playing the terrorist role. Broke in. Trashed it.”

“And that’s why you need the burners.”

“Yeah. I’ll give you the story later.”

“Tell me now.”

“Tired as hell now. Look, my spot is hot.”

“Stay with your brother.”

“My brother’s roommate ... We don’t get along ... that wouldn’t work.”

“Sounds like you’re burning bridges all over town.”

“Look ... Panther ... Need a place to crash for a minute.”

She leaned away from me, still shaking her head. “So you need me.”

“Yeah, I do.”

She sighed, her frown so deep. That love she had for me already turning to hate.

I told her, “You’re right. Look, I’ll call you.”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t call. Don’t call me, Driver.”

I nodded, waved her ass off, and headed for my ride, long strides, not looking back.

She called my name, snappy and demanding. Not the way for a woman to talk to a man.

I ignored her.

She called my name again, this time her tone better to my liking.

I turned and faced her.

She said, “Look ... Driver ... you can come over.”

“That’s okay.”

“Let’s not do this circle dance.”

“Didn’t you just tell me not to call your ass anymore?”

“Just come over.”

I hesitated, stared at her a moment, my frown as deep as hers, then I nodded.

She cursed and shook her head.

Panther yanked up her gym bag and got in her convertible.

I got in my ride.

That was the longest drive I’d made in a long time.

I thought I had time to rest, time to think, but the night would only get worse.

She ran out of her front door, saw me coming, called my name, sounded terrified.

She rushed back inside, turned her light on, cursed and screamed.

I double-timed, that pain kicked in my knee, reminding me that I had gone down on it hard chasing Lisa yesterday. It slowed me down, but adrenaline masked the agony.

When I got to her porch, she was on the floor, holding her eye, sweat suit damp.

I asked, “What happened?”

I grabbed her arm, pulled her to her feet. Her floor was soaked.

“Slipped and hit my eye on the end table.”

“You okay?”

“Hell no. That shit hurt. All this damn water on my floor.”

Her door had been kicked open. This time they didn’t try to be discreet. Like they had rushed. The scent of bleach met me on the streets. We stood and looked at her studio. Her futon cut at a thousand different angles, colorful quilt ruined, a lot of her clothing had been shredded.

Panther held her eye, tensed up. “That bitch Selina broke in here and did this shit.”

She cursed, thought her married friend’s wife had done all this damage.

I grabbed her arm, slowed her down, said, “Wait, Panther ...”

Panther pulled away, ran into the bathroom. The shower had been running long enough to flood the living room floor. I didn’t have to follow her into the bathroom to know that her clothes were stopping the drain. Her place was small but her walls looked familiar.

I cursed and went to the bathroom door. Makeup, clothes, her expensive shoes, all of her work clothes, all of that was piled up in her shower. Five bottles of bleach. Crime of passion.

I told her, “Panther, this ain’t about you. This is about me.”

“What the fuck you saying?”

“Married woman. The one I was dealing with. She did a B&E at my place.”

“What are you saying? She came down here and did this?”

I told her that this was the same thing they had done to my place. I ran outside and looked around. The streets were quiet. Ran back inside and told Panther to grab her bag, what she could, so we could get out of here. She didn’t move. I couldn’t describe the look she gave me if I tried. A woman had never scowled at me like that, not even my ex-wife had glared at me that way in Memphis. My ex-wife’s glare was close, was bone-chilling, but it didn’t unnerve me the way Panther’s scowl did. This situation was different. Maybe because my ex-wife was handcuffed, on a curb, was no way she could get her claws on me.

Panther held her eye and sloshed through her damp floor, still looking for something to salvage. She found a few things. She was wet from her backside down to her ankles.

A single black dress had been left hanging in her closet.

Funeral clothes. Something for her to wear while she cried over my cold body.

I leaned against the wall, dialed Lisa’s cellular. Got her message center.

Lisa knew I was in the valley. Knew when it was cool to break in my apartment. But that was different, I was on the clock. But I hadn’t been here, not since I went to work.

But I had slept here in Manhattan Beach, got here late last night, left early this morning.

The lion and jackal followed me down here last night, tracked me like I was an animal.

My mind went back to work. To this morning. The extra red dot on the computer screen. What I had seen when I glanced over Sid Levine’s shoulder when I was at work this morning.

I took my cellular again, called the job on the private line. Sid Levine was in, working late or working early, I didn’t ask. Was glad he was there burning the midnight oil.

I asked Sid, “Yo‘, Sid, you in front of the computer?”

“Yeah, Driver.” He sounded nervous, my calling had thrown him. “Having probs with some software. Came in to reinstall. What’s the deal?”

“Check it out. You have access to the screen with the car info?”

“Scheduling?”

“The GPS thing you were showing me this morning.”

“Yeah. I can look at global positioning.”

“Where are Wolf’s cars right now?”

“What you mean?”

“Where does the GPS tell you the cars are?”

He told me that a limo was heading back in from Hollywood, another driving a customer who had refused to fly since 9/11 out to Palm Springs. He listed several of Wolf’s rides.

I asked, “What about Manhattan Beach?”

“No.”

“Alright. Thanks.”

“Wait. Somebody is down in Manhattan Beach. Near the ocean.”

“Which car? What car are they in?”

“Dunno. It’s not ... let me count ... hold on two seconds ... well, all of his cars are accounted for. It’s like an extra ... maybe it’s a glitch. Been like that all week.”

“The glitch moves?”

“Strange. It was in the valley a while ago. Stayed there a while. I went to grab a bite to eat and when I came back it was close to South Central. Now it’s in Manhattan Beach.”

I’d been tagged. Didn’t know when I’d been bugged. She had plenty of opportunities.

I asked, “Does the boss call in and ask where his rides are?”

“Wolf? Nah.”

“The wife?”

“Mrs. Wolf? She doesn’t have to.”

“Why not?”

“She has a handheld tracker.”

“A handheld?”

“It’s cool. Wolf is tight on the technology, ain’t he? The one she has, everything that’s on my screen, she can get on a device the size of a Palm Pilot. Cool, huh? Think she has it hooked up at their crib too. That way, if Wolf is away on a trip, she doesn’t have to come in.”

I clenched my jaw, gritted my teeth. Panther faced me, silent, arms folded. Nothing was salvageable. Couldn’t tell if she wanted to shoot me or stab me in the throat with a knife.

Sid Levine said, “Glad you’re on the phone. Freeman’s people called not too long ago. Didn’t know if you already know it but you’re dealing with that Freeman guy tomorrow.”

I told him good night.

I faced Panther. Too many emotions running through me, no way to latch on to one.

She stared at the damage, chest rising and falling, each breath deeper than the one before.

I said, “Panther ...”

“Get that bitch on the phone.”

“She’s not gonna answer.”

“Give me an address. I’ll call my girls.”

“It’s not safe. She didn’t do this. Her bullyboys, they’re crazy.”

“Well, I’m crazy too.”

She was already heading out the front door, bag over shoulder, keys in hand, her emotional barometer operating in the red zone. Hate had replaced the blood in her veins.

I wanted to go up the hill, tear my car apart and find that GPS, but now wasn’t the time.