Isaiah crept out of the apartment while they were sleeping, taking only a suitcase of necessities and his laptop. He used Marcus’s ID, checked into the Wayside Motel, and got a room around back. It smelled like Pine-Sol and dust and a fly was tapping against the window. It was a relief to be here. No TV, music, or weed. The quiet was soothing and lonely.
Isaiah changed the padlock on the storage locker to an Abus Extreme Security steel padlock. A core-hardened lock body, seven-disk cylinder, and twenty-five thousand pounds of tensile strength. You’d need dynamite to bust it open. A week went by. Isaiah passed the time working on the merchandise still in the pipeline. His hatred for Dodson was searing his stomach lining, but the longer he waited the more Dodson would sweat. Once Dodson was out he’d cut him off completely.
Dodson and Deronda were watching TV from the foldout, surrounded by a landfill of empty liquor bottles, Heineken cans, fast-food wrappers, magazines, dirty dishes, shopping bags, shoes, and pizza crusts. Piles of laundry were everywhere like somebody was separating clothes at the Goodwill. It was Isaiah’s apartment so who gave a shit? Iron Chef was on. Dodson’s favorite show.
“Will you look at that?” Dodson said. “Got a football player out there trying be a judge. Unless the secret ingredient is Gatorade what the fuck does he know?”
“We almost out of money,” Deronda said, “and the rent’s coming due.”
“Oh shit, it’s that chick who always says it needs more crunch. That’s all the fuck she knows about—crunch. Wait, see what she says—see? What’d I tell you? Look at Morimoto. If he wasn’t on TV he’d be slappin’ the crunch off that bitch right now.”
“Dodson.”
“I hear you, damn.”
“Well, what are you gonna do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes you do.”
“No I don’t.”
“Yes you do.”
“Girl, I said I don’t.”
“But you do.”
Isaiah got texts. Where u at? Call me. Holla back. You go someplace? We got business. Now what, Dodson? Isaiah thought. What are you gonna do without your punk-ass Einstein? You being disrespectful. Call me. You better answer this. Last chance or we got a problem. Fuck you, Dodson. Fuck you.
Isaiah was at Vons pushing his cart down the water aisle when he ran into Deronda.
“Where you been, Isaiah?” Deronda said.
“Around.”
“You moving out?”
“Why would I? It’s my apartment.”
“How come you ain’t called Dodson back?”
“Got nothing to say.”
“He wants to know when the next job is.”
“Don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I mean I don’t know.”
“Swear to God,” Deronda said, “Dodson ain’t gonna mess around no more. He’s gonna play it straight, no bullshit. He told me he’s sorry about the tools and everything. He’s trying to get ’em back right now.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m not lying. It’s a hundred percent true.”
“Now you’re lying about lying.”
Isaiah stopped and put a twelve-pack of water into his cart. Deronda stood close and pressed herself into him. Her breath smelled like Hennessy and Juicy Fruit. “I ain’t gonna mess with you no more, I promise,” she said. “You gonna be the boss like you was before. I’ll be good, you won’t even know I’m there.”
“Do what you want,” Isaiah said, moving on.
Deronda followed him, whining like a five-year-old denied her Froot Loops. “I cleaned up the apartment,” she said. “I put your awards back up on the wall and everything. Dodson said let bygones be bygones.”
“Dodson would never say that or anything like it.”
Deronda stopped and stamped her foot. “Dang, Isaiah, help us out. You know we broke.”
“Not my problem,” he said. He walked away. Let them twist in the wind a little while longer, get really desperate. And then make them an offer they can’t refuse.
Another two days and five more texts went by. Isaiah went to the storage locker to wrap some packages. Dodson was waiting for him. “Who the fuck put this lock on here?” Dodson said. “I can’t get in.”
“You’re not supposed to get in,” Isaiah said. “It’s not your locker.”
“There’s all kinds of shit still in there and half of it’s mine.”
“It’s paying me back for the tools.”
Dodson walked away three steps, spun around, and came back to where he started. “I could drop a dime on you and wouldn’t think nothing of it,” he said.
“Drop a dime on me and you’ll be dropping one on yourself,” Isaiah said. “Don’t you want to do more jobs?”
For a moment it looked like Dodson was stumped. But only for a moment. “Oh it’s gonna be like that?” he said. “Well, go on and put your shit on the table and quit fuckin’ around like a bitch.”
“I want you out of the apartment,” Isaiah said.
Dodson smiled like he admired the move. “I’m gonna be in that apartment ’til the day you die.”
“Then I’m not doing any more jobs.”