Isaiah was reluctant to show Dodson the storage locker but he had no choice. They had to keep their growing inventory somewhere. The first time Dodson saw the locker he said: “Damn. What’d your brother do, run a hardware store?”
Marcus kept his tool collection in here. The drills, saws, grinders, impact wrenches, sanders, and nail guns were displayed on a peg board like a gun collection. Likewise for the dozens of hand tools. A table saw and a miter were on the long workbench. Storage bins on shelves held nails, nuts, screws, washers, and such. The floor-standing tools were in their own area.
“You’ve got to have the right tool,” Marcus said, trying to make the collecting sound practical. “You don’t have the right tool you’ll do half the job in twice—why’re you laughing, Isaiah? Something might come up when I need this.”
“Need it for what?” Isaiah said. “Fixing the space shuttle?”
Isaiah saw something in Marcus’s eyes when he held a new tool in his hand. Turning it over, inspecting it like there were clues on it, seeing if the heft felt right. Then he’d smile like this was the one he was looking for, the one that would complete the set and fill the empty space in his toolbox. It took a week for the tool to become just another tool and another week for Marcus to be online searching for something else.
The locker’s roll-down door was halfway up, the space divided into sunlight and dark. Isaiah was on the dark side, sitting at the workbench looking at sales figures on his laptop. He liked the busywork. It kept Marcus out of his head and Marcus was close by, waiting to sneak up behind him and walk on his heels and ask him why his little brother whom God had blessed with a gift had turned into a common thief.
Dodson ducked under the door looking fed up and pissed off. He tossed a roll of cash on the workbench.
“What’s this?” Isaiah said.
“Your cut for the hair extensions,” Dodson said. “I sold ’em to some beauty shops. Lady said we ever get more to bring ’em on down.”
“I said no middleman.”
“I know what you said but who the fuck are you?”
“What if the hairdressers get busted?”
“What are they gonna say if they do? A nigga we don’t know walked in, sold us some extensions, and walked on out again? I ain’t no new jack at this. I was criminalizing while you was in Miss Petrie’s class raising your hand every two seconds.”
Isaiah was picking up in the living room, throwing Dodson’s laundry into a pile, wiping off the coffee table, and taking dirty dishes back to the kitchen. Dodson had been scrupulous about keeping the place clean but lately he’d been slacking off. “Do you think you could clean up after yourself?” Isaiah said.
“I will, nigga, damn,” Dodson said, coming out of the bathroom. “I just got home a minute ago.” Dodson was wearing a new Clippers jersey, new Diesels, and a pair of patent leather MJs that looked like spats. “Oooh shit I’m looking good,” he said. “Bitches gonna be all over me.”
“You shouldn’t buy all that stuff,” Isaiah said. “It attracts attention.”
“I’m trying to attract attention.”
“What are you gonna say if somebody asks you where the money’s coming from?”
“You need to step back on yourself, Isaiah. Stop stressin’, take a day off, smoke a joint, go get some pussy ’fore you forget what it looks like. Enjoy the fruits of your labor.”
Dodson brought a girl home. Deronda was thirty pounds lighter back then but still had booty that followed her around like a roll-on suitcase. When she met Isaiah she looked him up and down and said: “So?” Isaiah retreated to the bedroom and listened to them wear out the foldout, Deronda saying is that all you got? Is that all you got? Dodson saying oh you want some more? You want some more? The TV was on the whole time.
After Deronda left, Isaiah came out, wincing at the smell of sex and latex. Dodson lay facedown wearing only his socks, one arm hanging over the side. “That girl wore my ass out,” he said. “That last time didn’t nothing come out my dick but some mist.”
“You shouldn’t have brought her here.”
“I live here, nigga, I’ll do what the fuck I want.”
“What if she tells somebody we have our own apartment?”
“Why you always worried about what somebody gonna tell somebody? That girl thinks the apartment is your brutha’s and he ain’t home.”
“Doesn’t matter, it was stupid to bring her here.”