Except Dr. Freeman’s office was in Beverly Hills and the second building was under construction. Nothing in the parking garage but empty space. Skip was parked in the alley between the two buildings in an ancient, nondescript Corolla. The rapper would pass right in front of him. The plan was to drive in after him, shoot him, and drive out the far exit. It had taken a long time to find exactly the right setup.
The car radio was on, the Dodgers game. Skip was wearing brown corduroy pants and a gray hoodie he’d bought at the Goodwill, the bill of his cap tilted down to put his face in shadow. He’d been wearing latex gloves since he’d stolen the Corolla. The Glock 18c and a ski mask were under the seat, the Beretta in an ankle holster. His phone was mounted on the dash, the Uber app on the screen, leftovers of a McNuggets meal on the seat beside him. He’d leaned the seat back to lower his profile but still had a clear view over the dashboard, and his mirrors were adjusted so he could see behind him. He pretended to doze, his arms crossed and resting on his chest, gloved hands hidden in his armpits. If someone happened by he was just your average Uber driver, taking a break and listening to the ball game.
He was ready.
Cal was in his walk-in closet, which was only slightly smaller than the racquetball court. He was checking himself out in the three-sided tailor’s mirrors. Fortunately, he’d only burned up a fraction of his meaningless wardrobe. For his meeting with Dr. Freeman he’d chosen Dolce & Gabbana five-pocket walking shorts, an Alexander McQueen piqué logo polo shirt, and Jimmy Choo Sloane paisley jacquard slippers. Casual but letting Dr. Freeman know he had money and was no ordinary patient. If he drove there himself he was almost sure to get lost so his plan was to tell Bug he had a toothache and needed to go to the dentist—now, nigga. No, not in five minutes and no, he didn’t need to tell the fellas, just get in the fucking car. Do it like that. By the time anybody knew he was gone he’d be gone.
All things considered, Cal was feeling good. Drugged and not too sharp but pretty good. He was tired of being crazy and confused and staying in his room. It was time to put this shit behind him.
He was ready.
Isaiah, Anthony, and Dodson were downstairs in the kitchen, standing around the center island where Cal ate the barbecued tempeh and saw the giant pit bull come through the doggie door.
Isaiah was uncomfortable. He felt like he was jumping the gun. The case-breaker was visible now. Something shiny under rippling water.
“Okay, what’s this about?” Anthony said.
“How long have you been seeing Noelle?” Isaiah said.
“I’m not. Where’d you get that idea?”
“You’ve been seeing her all along, maybe while she was still living here. Makes sense. You make a nice couple.”
“Well, thanks, but you’re mistaken and I asked you where you got the idea of us being together.”
“Noelle was on The Shonda Simmons Show.”
“Yes, I saw that. She didn’t say anything about me.”
“Noelle knew the brand names of Cal’s medications and how would she know that unless you told her? Bug and Charles wouldn’t know and Bobby doesn’t care. You told her, Anthony. Can’t be anybody else.”
“What can I say? You’re wrong.”
Isaiah looked at him, Anthony meeting his gaze for a moment before wilting into weary relief. “Okay, yes, I’m seeing Noelle,” he said. “We’re serious and we plan to get married. What’s wrong with that?”
“So why tell her the names of the drugs?”
“I just told her, okay?” Anthony said. “Maybe I was just showing off.”
“That’s how you show off?” Dodson said. “It’s a wonder you even got a girlfriend.”
Out in the driveway an engine roared to life, the trick exhaust burbling at idle.
“Where’s Bug going?” Isaiah said.
“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Anthony said. “I’ll say it one more time. What’s this about, Isaiah?”
Isaiah was feeling worse and worse. Something was wrong. He could hear Mrs. Washington’s stern voice: But here’s where inductive reasoning can lead you astray. You might not have all the facts. Dodson was fidgeting, nodding, itching to get into it. “Go ahead,” Isaiah said.
“You been keeping track of Cal for Noelle,” Dodson said.
“Yeah, I tell her what’s happening,” Anthony said, shrugging both shoulders. “She enjoys it, thinks it’s funny. You can hardly blame her.”
“Give it up, cuz, we onto you. You and Noelle been trying to get Cal out the house so Skip can put a bullet in him.”
“You guys think it’s a conspiracy? Oh my God, that’s insane.”
“What else you been telling Noelle?” Dodson said. “When Cal goes outside? When he’s standing by a window? When he’s by himself?”
“Look, you don’t understand—” Anthony looked like he was stuck in traffic and had to take a piss. “Okay, I’m not going to talk about this anymore,” he said. “Now if you don’t mind, I have other things to do.”
Charles came in. “Where’d Cal go?” he said.
“What do you mean?” Anthony said. “Isn’t he up in his room?”
“Bug took him somewhere, they just left. I called Bug but he got his phone turned off. Cal hung up on me.”
As Isaiah ran out of the kitchen he thought he saw Anthony smile.