IQ(30)

“I don’t know it isn’t possible and I don’t know that he’s safe. Whoever wants Cal dead was serious enough about it to hire a hit man.”

“Oh now we’re assuming it was a professional? Why couldn’t it be somebody from his past?”

“That’s what I said,” Charles said.

“Shut up, Charles.”

“You mean that white man on the video is somebody from Inglewood or one of Kwaylud’s crew?” Isaiah said.

“He could be one of those rapper-hating rednecks,” Bobby said. “Cal gets threats from those kinds of people all the time. You’re jumping to conclusions, Mr. Quintabe.”

“The man wasn’t in a panic when he came out of the trees,” Isaiah said. “And when the police lights started flashing, did you see what he did? He hesitated, he was thinking. Cal was at the far end of the pool. If the man went down there and shot him he might not have had enough time to come back, save his dog, and get away, the police were in front of the house. And he knew he wasn’t going to drag that big wet dog out of the water, it weighed almost as much as he did. So he led it to the shallow end and got in the pool himself where he had leverage. Could you have been that calm in that situation? And did you see that gun? It had an extra-long barrel. The Glock the cops carry has a seven-inch barrel. The one on the man’s gun was at least nine, had to be custom-made. And it was shaped like a tube, what they call a bull barrel. You see them on target guns made for accuracy. But even with a gun like that, hitting somebody through a window who might be moving is not an easy shot from what, thirty-five, forty yards away, especially without a scope. If you’ve got that kind of confidence, you know how to shoot. And remember now, this guy had been sitting in these trees for three weeks, maybe more. No unpaid redneck would do that because he hated rap music. This man had patience. This man was used to pressure. This man was a pro.”

“Any questions?” Dodson said.

There was a moment of quiet, Isaiah and Bobby looking at each other. “All right, Mr. Quintabe,” Bobby said, “I can see you won’t be persuaded otherwise, so let me put this another way. Assuming we take all the necessary precautions, will you reassure Calvin as a personal favor to me? I’ll owe you one, and Bobby Grimes owing you one is no small thing.”

“Can’t do it,” Isaiah said. “I work for my client, not you.”

“Be realistic,” Anthony said. “You guys have got nothing to go on except a videotape of a dog attack. Where would you even start?”

“An excellent point, Anthony,” Bobby said. “The fact of the matter is, you’re starting from less than zero, Mr. Quintabe. As far as I know you have no police connections and I’m more than certain Noelle won’t talk to you voluntarily. Where in fact would you start?”

“The hit man is the only link to whoever hired him,” Isaiah said, “and the only link to the hit man is the dog.”

Everybody waited for him to go on but he didn’t.

“What are you saying, Mr. Quintabe?” Bobby said. “That you’re going to find that dog? That particular dog?”

“That’s stupid,” Charles said.

Dodson looked like he was about to say it too.

“I’m sorry,” Anthony said, “but for once, I agree with Charles. How is it possible to find one pit bull in a city full of pit bulls?”

“I’ll call if I come up with something,” Isaiah said, turning to go.

“You’re on a fool’s journey, Mr. Quintabe,” Bobby said.

“That’s okay. I’ve been a fool before.”


As soon as they got in the car Dodson said: “How’re you gonna find that dog? There’s a million of ’em out there and it could be from anywhere. Long Beach, Compton, Carson, Lawndale. Shit. East LA got more pit bulls than people.”

“The hit man isn’t from the hood,” Isaiah said.

“How do you know?”

“He wears Crocs, for one thing. And you saw the security footage. Remember his T-shirt? Do you know anybody from the hood that listens to the White Stripes?”

“What if the hit man ain’t from around here? What if he’s from Mexico or Miami? For all you know he could be back there right now.”

“You mean when the hit man found out Cal wasn’t leaving his house and he went back to Miami or Mexico to get his dog? No, he’s local.”

“What does local mean? His house is driving distance from Woodland Hills? Mexico is driving distance from Woodland Hills. You arguing just to argue now. Ain’t no way in hell to find that dog.”


It was eleven o’clock in the morning. Noelle was in bed wrapped in a silk kimono with pink and black birds on it and talking on the phone. “Say that again?” she said. “Cal hired a detective? When did this happen? Well, why didn’t you tell me sooner? Oh yes, it is a problem. I swear to God, that damn Calvin will plague me until the bitter end.”

Before she married Cal, Noelle was a singer in the Mary J. Blige mold. Bobby Grimes had her under contract but her career stalled out because she had the voice but not the soul. She met Cal singing backup on one of his albums. He was drawn to her elegant beauty and sophisticated style, way different from the Lil’ Kims he was used to. Noelle knew all the stories about rappers’ girlfriends but was seduced all the same. Calvin was sweet and charming when he wanted to be and he had that street swagger she’d vowed to stay away from but couldn’t. But what put her over the top was the lifestyle.