The Jook Read online

  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.

  "That cop came back to see me." She belted down her El Torpedear in a shot glass like it wasn't nothin'.

  "I knew he would." I sipped at mine.

  She sorta glanced down while still looking at me. The bar was dark, smokey, that roc en español they play down in TJ was on the CD. On the walls of the long bar were velvet paintings of Mexican wrestlers and boxers. We sat at a small round table in the rear. A couple of hombres gave me the eye, but they didn't flex so neither did I.

  "Zelmont, what did you think about my sister?" She turned to the waitress walking past and ordered another jolt of El Torpedear for both of us.

  I never really thought about it, not like she meant. Me and Davida got along good 'cause we didn't expect anything out of the other. Or maybe that's what I kept believing. She had been going on of late about her career. She wasn't getting younger, and that cheerleading shit was getting played. I guess she really wanted to make the music thing happen 'cause it was something she liked and thought could bring in some dough. I damn sure couldn't fault her for that.

  ''We understood each other, Isabel."

  "No talk of long-term commitment?"

  "You'd know better than me, baby."

  "We didn't talk that much. We weren't that far apart in age, but I guess I was always considered the serious one. She and me both went to St. Mark's High School over in Lincoln Heights." She lifted her shoulders and thanked the waitress, who had brought back the two tequilas.

  "Book learning just came natural to me, and I think she could have done as well, had she tried. But she was pretty from the get-go and she knew what she did to boys."

  "Them nuns let you go to school with boys?" Two dudes at the bar got into a shoving match but quieted down after a couple of their friends jumped in to break it up.

  "We didn't live in plastic bubbles, Zelmont. Every once in awhile St. Marks and Verbum Sapienti, the boys school in Mt. Washington, would have dances together. And of course we went to their football games." She smiled at me and drank.

  "So that's why you both have a thing for ballplayers," I said. What I was imagining was her and Davida sitting with their legs crossed in the bleachers. They were wearing their pressed and pleated Catholic schoolgirl skirts, the socks pulled up high on their calves. I had to stop myself otherwise I was gonna let my imagination go too far.

  "I guess." She reached for my hand across the table. "You bring a different me out, you know?"

  "Sure, baby." I had no fucking idea what she was talking about.

  On the way back to her place, Isabel gave me a blow job while I drove. She was drunk and sighing and going on in Spanish while she polished the knob. I got so worked I damn near flipped the Explorer over whipping around a corner to her pad.

  That Sunday, the Barons beat the Raiders in the game opener 23 to 18. The TV had a shot of Stadanko up in his sky box clapping and getting all excited like a kid winning a new bike. Next to him I could make out Weems and Wilma.

  "You got back from New York early, huh?"

  "Yeah, I sewed up the deal with Fox quicker than I figured."

  "So what did Weems say to you?"

  "Nothing." She took a long hit on the splif, sucking in and expanding her chest as she came out of the water a bit.

  "Take it easy, girl, you gonna pop your eyeballs."

  She laughed, a cloud of smoke gushing out of her. "I guess I'm a little keyed up."

  "That's only natural, you want that feeling, 'cause it'll keep you sharp, in the zone." I took the joint, settling back in the Jacuzzi. It was part of the sauna setup Wilma had built in her backyard.

  "So you ain't nervous?"

  "Yeah, that's what I'm talkin' about. If you don't get them whales swimmin' in your stomach, then you're either a liar or a psycho."

  "But it's what you do with the feeling, huh?"

  "Just like one of your big trials, right? Anyway, what did Weems seem like when he saw you?"

  She got a strawberry out of the bowl sitting on the edge of the Jacuzzi. "I'd been in there since half-time, chatting with Stadanko, Ysanya, and a couple of Hollywood types he was trying to impress."

  "That why he trot you out?"

  She looked like she was gonna hit me. "I am the team lawyer," she said proudly.

  "Damn, I didn't know you was so sensitive about it. I was just bullshittin'." I handed her the blunt.

  "Yeah, well." She took another drag. "Weems shows up somewhere in the third, right after Grier ran for fifteen yards."

  "It ain't him we're talking about."

  "Now who's sensitive?"

  "Whatever."

  "Aw." She came over and patted my cheek. I pinched her nipple.

  "Dog. So he comes in"

  "Trace with him?"

  "No, he was alone. He nods at me and is introduced. But what was he going to say? Both of us know the other had no business up at the cabin unless we were up to no good."

  "But we still don't know what kind of no good he's up to. And you
're sure there's no connection between Weems and Fahrar?"

  "No, I already told you," she said in that teacher tone of hers. "You got that cop on the brain."

  "Somebody oughta."

  "Shit." Wilma got out of the Jacuzzi. She only had on bikini bottoms, and I watched her dry herself off with a towel. She knew I was feasting my eyes and took her time, going slow down her legs and rubbing them dry. Then she threw the towel at my head and I chased her out on the grass of her backyard. I pulled down her bikini and we ran around naked like a couple of goofy kids.

  Chapter 13

  Two days later we were in Nap's office going over the plan. His brother came in, one of his homies trailing behind. He was an extra-large, overfed brother who looked like he'd knock his mama in the head if she cracked wise. This dude was carrying an oversized equipment bag which he set down in the middle of the floor.

  I looked at Wilma, who was looking at Nap.

  "This is private business, you know that," Danny's brother told him.

  Danny stood there with his mouth open, a dull look on his dull face. "Yeah, so? Little Tito is my bodyguard."

  "What in the fuck you need a bodyguard for?" I raised.

  "Why you think, motherfuckah? I got to take care of my business, Zelmont. What you got to take care of, huh, nigga?"

  "Before all this is through, you and me is gonna straighten some things out." I didn't even bother to get out of my chair. Little Tito came over toward me like he was Godzilla and was gonna swat me down as if I was an airplane buzzing him.

  Wilma pointed at Danny. "You either have your bodyguard raise or you're out of this altogether."

  "You better watch who you steppin' to, bitch," Danny yelled.

  "You better slow your roll there, brah." Nap had gotten up from behind his desk, coming around in front of it. "You knew from jump street what the deal was, and you said you'd follow the program." Nap hunched up his muscled arms. "Now before we get going, you gonna jam up the works?" He looked at Tito.

  "Is she giving the orders or is you?" Danny said.

  "It's Wilma's plan," Nap answered him. "You either down with that or you ain't. It's four of us 'cause you're my blood. But if it has to be, it'll be three."

  Danny wasn't that goddamn stupid. "Go on out and pour yourself a couple of stiff ones," he said to Little Tito.

  "Aw man, you know I'm on a fruit juice diet," the big roughneck whined.

  Danny gave him a look and Little Tito left the room, closing the door behind him. I went over and opened it to make sure he wasn't standing there eavesdropping. Satisfied, I shut it again.

  "Danny, this has to be a team effort or we're through before we start." Wilma picked up the bag with two hands and put it on Nap's desk. She unzipped it to see what was inside that rascal.

  "They're clean and untraceable." As usual Danny stuck out his bottom lip.

  I hefted one of the Remington automatic shotguns from the bag. There were two more shotguns one of them a pumpin side and two Glock sixteen-shot pistols, plus ski masks, duct tape, and some kind of electronic device about the size of a shoe box. Danny got this out too.

  "This is used for cloning cellular phone numbers," he said. "It's the latest shit so it works even though them companies got what they think are security measures that can block it." He was smiling so I guess he was happy with his toy.

  "As long as it stops them dudes from calling out," I said. Then I opened up the nylon bag I'd brought into the room and removed one of the grenades.

  "We don't need to blow up the truck, do we?" Wilma said, pointing at the thing I was holding.

  "These are flash grenades," I told her. "They'll blind the drivers." I learned about those beauties when I'd done the show on the WB. There was something else I learned doing that cop show, but I kept it to myself.

  "Where'd you get those?" Nap asked me.

  "From the prop dude on that TV show I did for a hot minute a few years ago."

  "You mean they're fake?" Wilma picked one up.

  I took the thing out of her hand. "They're real. This dude is hooked into a lot of outrageous shitsurvivalists, NRA nuts, the kind of guys who"

  "Does he know about" she broke in.

  "No, and he don't want to know what I'm gonna use them for," I said, cutting her off like she had me. "We set on the truck?" I asked Nap.

  "Ready for Freddy, baby."

  "How we got the route they take?" Danny was messing around with one of the pistols, like maybe that was supposed to intimidate me. Like I wouldn't shove the shotgun butt up his rectum 'cause he was Nap's brother. Shit. Nap would help me.

  "We got their files," Wilma said. "Ellison Stadanko is very organized and has his shipments worked out months in advance. The truck will be making a run a week from Thursday. A special run, in fact."

  "How much?" Danny asked what all of us were thinking.

  "Seven to ten million."

  "Damn," I said. "How come so much?"

  "He's got the Justice Department breathing down his neck, and we know Weems is up to some shenanigans too. I think Stadanko is suspicious that the commissioner is nosing around in his business. From what I can interpret in his latest file entry, he wants to move a sizable amount of cash for reserves and cool out that part of his operation for a while until things settle down."

  "Then let's get busy," Nap said.

  "Yeah," I put in, "we need to practice."

  Danny and Wilma looked at me and Nap like we were trippin'.

  "Y'all didn't think we could just walk up to Stadanko's boys, put a gun on them, and they'd get all weak in the knees and hand the shit over, did you?" I sat on the edge of the desk, folding my arms. "You don't win because you only go over the opposition's moves. You gotta scrimmage, and then scrimmage some more until the shit is reflex in your muscles."

  Nap spoke again. "I've secured a couple trucks for us to use for two days. One is the blocker we'll use in the actual robbery and the other is larger, like the garbage truck."

  "Won't that draw attention to us?" Wilma frowned at the grenades in the bag.

  "There's a reasonably isolated spot out in the desert past Palmdale we can use," Nap said. "I was out there a couple of times for, shall we say, an activity involving flutes, bonfires, and cavorting naked in the open. And we weren't spotted."

  Danny shook his head in disgust.

  "Plus," I said, tossing a shotgun at Wilma that she caught, "we all gotta get used to handling the equipment. There's no on-the-job training once we're into it."

  That Sunday, the Barons beat the Oilers by one point. They were 20 and on a fucking roll. To make things worse, that goddamn Grier caught two touchdown passes. Meanwhile we were doing practice runs for the robbery outside of fucking Palmdale.

  Four days later it was game day. I was sitting next to Danny Deuce in an old '83 Cordoba which was idling badly. The seats were torn up and there was a smell coming from below the dash I didn't want to know about. It was close to sunset but we were hardly relaxed.

  The cell phone jamming device was in Wilma's ride, a couple of miles down in the flats where she was waiting as lookout. She was to page me when the truck had gone past her.

  "What the fuck were you thinking when you got this rig?"

  Danny worked his tongue inside his jaw. ''How many times you gonna whine about that? It can't be traced so shut the fuck up."

  "I'll keep on you until you get it in your malt liquored head this ain't no Western Avenue mom and pop robbery we're pullin', Danny. This is for all your mama's bags of chips."

  "I know that." He showed his teeth to me.

  "No you don't, Danny." Wouldn't you know it but coming down the goddamn hill we were hiding behind on the side road was a pair of mountain bikes. "Whatever you do, don't look at them," I warned him.

  "Man, I'll do as I motherfuckin' please." Of course he looked at the two like he was gonna bust a cap in them as the man and woman came down the hill and stopped right in front of us. There wasn't much around in this end of
Chatsworth except hilly area like this and a couple of power stations. Over the rise behind us was a development of tract houses inside a high wall called Emerald Estates. But none of the houses were green.

  The bikers were trying to look relaxed, drinking yuppie bottled water. But I knew they had to be wondering what in the hell two brothers were doing up here in a broke dick ghetto special in the land of the white man near the Ventura County line.

  "This is about more money than your brain can count to, Danny," I said under my breath. The couple were dressed in those strange-ass Speedo outfits. They were straddling their bikes, having a conversation. Those two had to be talking about us. I looked at my watch. It was less than three minutes before we had to get the function on. If they didn't get gone in one they were gonna have to be dealt with. I had way too much riding on this to see it go bust. The shotgun was along the side of my seat, down out of view.

  Danny was staring straight ahead at them. His Glock was in his lap.

  "You think life is gonna be the same for you when you got that kind of green?" Forty seconds.

  "Yeah, I'm gonna"

  "I know, spend it on hoes, Ferraris, a pad on top of a hill somewhere." He didn't say anything, 'cause I was reading his mind. Those had been my goals too. Thirty seconds.

  "Well, you may not want to believe me, young stud, but you better be about puttin' your cut to use for the long term. See, you ain't always gonna be so fly that all the honeys flock to you, or have some scheme come along that'll get you over like a fat rat. This is a one-time thing." Twenty seconds. My hand gently touched the butt of the shotgun like I was pushing up on a chick.

  Danny finally looked my way. "I hear you, Zelmont."

  We both had a hold of our gats. But like they'd suddenly got ESP, the couple peddled down the incline and went off to the right, out of sight. I had no idea where the police or sheriffs station was and didn't give it much thought. It was two minutes to the biggest game of my life. We eased the guns back into position and waited, saying nothing. Then my pager vibrated.