Moments later, the police came around the side of the house with their guns drawn. Cal shouted at them, waved—and sank. The action was over but Charles and Bug were still watching the tape like this was the good part, chuckling and nudging each other.
“How a nigga gonna have a pool and can’t swim?” Charles said.
“I bet he don’t leave dry land for the rest of his life,” Bug said.
“You two niggas see something funny?” Cal said, freezing their shit. The cat was looking at them as if to say You unemployable muthafuckas are in trouble now. “’Cause what I see is your meal ticket almost drowned to death,” Cal said. “Oh there’s gonna be some housecleanin’ around here, y’all can believe that.”
The fellas got up and started moving around. Isaiah kept staring at the screen, trying to process what he’d seen.
“Cal, do you want to tell Isaiah about the situation?” Anthony said, nodding instead of saying can we get on with it.
“Situation?” Cal said. “What situa—oh yeah, right, right, yeah, Mr. Q is here.”
Dodson bit Isaiah’s tongue off with a look. “How can we help you, Cal?” he said.
“You can help me by putting that evil bitch Noelle in jail,” Cal said. “Get some video or some fingerprints or some DNA. You know, police-type shit, get her locked up where she belongs. Let her do her diva thing with them women got the short hair, no makeup, and mop handles.”
“Cal thinks his ex-wife is behind the dog attack,” Anthony said, giving Isaiah a look.
“I don’t think she’s behind the attack,” Cal said. “She is behind it, ain’t no doubt about it. Who else would want to kill me with a goddamn dog? Only an evil bitch would think that shit up. I might wake up tomorrow morning with a dinosaur after my ass.”
“I’d like to talk to you privately, Cal,” Isaiah said.
“You need to know something, ask Anthony,” Cal said, moving for the door. “That’s what I pay him for. I’m gonna take a nap, y’all niggas leave me be.”
“What about the album?” Charles said.
“Fuck the album and fuck you for bringing it up, Charles.”
“Aw, come on, Cal, we got work to do,” Bug said.
“You mean I got work to do. You muthafuckas ain’t got shit to do. Nail her ass to the wall for me, Mr. Q. Did Anthony tell you about the bonus?” Cal shuffled out of the room, the tension easing like someone had turned off a smoke detector.
“Really, Isaiah,” Anthony said, “I know this must seem ridiculous to you. If you don’t want to take the case it’s okay. We’ll pay you for your time.”
“Don’t let him off the hook,” Charles said. “Nigga’s supposed to know something.”
“Yeah, IQ,” Bug said, “what you got to say?”
“How did the man on the video direct the dog to the doggie door?” Isaiah said, talking to himself.
“He told it to,” Charles said.
“You mean he was shouting all that time? He’d have to when the dog was on the other side of the pool and for all he knew Cal might have heard him. No, he did something else.”
“Like what?” Charles said. “Send it a text?”
Isaiah meandered over to the pool table, picked up the nine ball, and let it slow-roll out of his hand.
“I told you this wasn’t gonna be shit,” Charles said.
“This will go a lot faster if you let the man think,” Anthony said.
“Thank you, Anthony,” Dodson said. “Isaiah cogitates best when there are no distractions.”
“What’s he need to cogitate for?” Charles said. “He saw what we saw.”
The nine ball bounced gently off the far cushion and came back, Isaiah cupping his hand over it. “Whistles,” he said.
“Did you say whistles?” Dodson said.
“The man was using whistles, giving the dog directions like those sheepherders do with their dogs. Like a high-low for going left and low-high for going right. The dog’s ears went up every time he made a turn.”
“But why use a dog at all?” Anthony said. “It makes no sense.”
“Yeah,” Charles said, “it’s stupid.”
“If you’re the hit man, you’re on a deadline,” Isaiah said, drifting toward the glass door. “You’d have to be. Nobody would hire you to kill somebody without a time frame, but the hit man didn’t plan on Cal staying in the house for three weeks. The alternative was shooting him through a window but the drapes were always closed. The hit man’s only option at that point was to get inside the house but he couldn’t because there’s an alarm and cameras and people with guns. So now what does he do?” Isaiah reached the glass door and looked out at the pool. “He sends in his killer dog.”
Anthony was nodding. Charles was rubbing his goatee. Bug’s face was screwed up like it was too much information.
“Any questions?” Dodson said.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Hatchet Man