IQ(56)

They did more jobs. Electric shavers, cigars, swimming pool pumps.

Deronda stayed an entire weekend. On Sunday night she and Dodson went out for tacos before she went home. When they got back Isaiah was standing in front of the TV watching the news.

“The police are calling them the Battering Ram Bandits,” the reporter said, “because they’ve used a battering ram to bash their way into businesses all over Southern California—Long Beach, El Segundo, Lawndale, Culver City, Lomita, Torrance, even as far as the Valley.”

“Why we watching this?” Deronda said.

“Seen here on surveillance video,” the reporter said, “the two suspects batter their way into Danny’s Dive Shop in Long Beach. Police say the suspects are males, African-American, and in their late teens or twenties. One suspect is approximately six feet tall, the other around five-three.”

“Five-four,” Dodson said. Isaiah looked at him sharply and then shifted his gaze to Deronda.

“Is that you?” Deronda said.

“The police say the suspects are professionals,” the reporter said. “They get in and out of the store in minutes and only take high-priced items. They’re believed to be driving a dark-colored Ford Explorer.”

“Y’all drive an Explorer,” Deronda said. “Is that you?”

The reporter continued: “The LA Chamber of Commerce has posted a five-thousand-dollar reward for information leading to the arrest of the suspects. If you have any information about the suspects call the police hotline at the number on your screen.”

“That is you,” Deronda said.


Isaiah got the Explorer painted white and from then on Dodson rode in the backseat. A cop would only see one occupant. They did more jobs. Tankless water heaters, golf clubs, AC motors, airless paint sprayers, German kitchen faucets. The pipeline was full to overflowing, the money coming in steady now.

Dodson quit the House. He bought more clothes and another gold chain and a TV so big they had to take down Isaiah’s awards. He spent a lot of time with Deronda. Shopping for clothes, getting high, playing GTA, going to clubs that would accept their fake IDs, and lounging on the foldout watching cooking shows and buying things from HSN. A shiatsu foot massager, a panini press, a waterproof radio, a botanical stem cell moisturizer, a juicer that could juice wood, and a bunch of other stuff that was still in their boxes. Deronda got her nails done every three or four days. New colors, new sparkly things. They ate out every meal. They drank Heineken and Hennessy. If Isaiah wouldn’t give them a ride they took a cab. They went to bed at three in the morning and got up at three in the afternoon. It was like being a celebrity, living your life instead of chasing it.

“Fuck tomorrow,” Deronda said. “Fuck it to death.”


One in the morning. They were lying on the foldout eating Thai food. Isaiah came in and went into the bedroom without saying anything.

“Well?” Deronda said, looking at Dodson.

“Let me finish my noodles,” Dodson said.

“I’ll hold ’em for you ’til you get back.”


Isaiah had night-walked for hours but knew he wouldn’t sleep. He was hungry and smelled the Thai food but wasn’t going to ask them for anything. They’d look at each other like it was a shocking request, huddle like it needed discussion, and then reluctantly give him half a spring roll or some leftover rice.

More and more, Isaiah had been thinking about how to get them out of the apartment. Deronda might as well have been on the lease; there every night, her stuff all over the place. She only went home when she had to babysit her little brother. She’d also transformed Dodson into a complete * and had gotten it into his head that he was in charge.

Dodson came in without knocking. “What do you want?” Isaiah said, his space invaded.

“When we doing the next job?” Dodson demanded.

Isaiah restrained the impulse to say f*ck you. “What’s your hurry?” he said. “You need a bigger TV?”

“I have a temporary cash flow problem.”

“You do? You spent all that money?”

“I’m living large out here. When?”

“Couple of days.”

Dodson left the room, an it better be look on his face. Isaiah thinking, We’ll see about that.


Isaiah took a week to give the go-ahead on the next job, Dodson bugging him every time they saw each other. Who’s in charge now? Isaiah thought. They drove in silence to Speedway Bicycles in Culver City and parked in the alley behind the store. They readied their equipment and took out the door, all routine. Now they were in the storeroom filling their hampers with Shimano Dura-Ace cranksets and Ultegra front derailleurs, Dodson throwing the boxes in like he was trying to break them.

“Five minutes,” Isaiah said.

“I got a watch,” Dodson said. “And I can tell time too.”

Isaiah shook his head and sighed, glancing through the storeroom door at the back of the service desk. Over it, you could see the front window and the street. A patrol car had pulled up at the curb, a cop already getting out. “Cops,” Isaiah said. They ran out into the showroom and headed for the back exit but the cop was almost at the window. “Down!” Isaiah said. They dived to the floor and crawled for cover but the cop was looking into the window, shining his flashlight. They froze in place, behind a row of brand-new bicycles, parked at an angle. They were shielded but not completely. Look through the spokes and there they were.