IQ(78)

“Thank you, Shonda,” Noelle said. “I try to keep myself together.”

“That dress may help. I haven’t seen anything that tight since I took the shrink-wrap off my new vibrator.”

Noelle laughed. “I must admit, I had some trouble getting into it.”

Noelle was naturally alluring, no need to hype her sexuality but she had anyway. Her skirt might as well have been a pair of men’s boxer shorts, the blouse scoop-necked and glittery. Her gold-tinted hair looked windblown, her smile, wily and entitled.

“Damn, Noelle’s hot,” Dodson said. “But you know what they say. No matter how fine a woman is, somebody somewhere kicked her ass out.”

“Why are we watching this?” Isaiah said.

“You said you never seen Noelle before. Well, here’s your chance.”

“So tell me, how’s your ex?” Shonda said.

“I have no idea. It’s not like I talk to him,” Noelle said.

“Yes, I suppose conversation would be difficult after you hit the man with Don Juan’s pimp cup.”

“Allegedly,” Noelle said.

“Now I know you had a lot of reasons for divorcing Calvin,” Shonda said. “That’s Black the Knife’s real name, for those of you who didn’t know—but was there something in particular that drove you two apart?”

“Yes. Calvin’s DNA,” Noelle said. “He’s part megalomaniac and part pervert. If he’s not telling you how great he is he’s trying to get you to do something nasty.”

“Ooh, we’re taking off the gloves now.”

“They’ve been off for quite some time. You hit Calvin with anything other than your bare knuckles he wouldn’t know you were in the room.”

A wave of snickering and light applause rippled through the mostly female audience.

“Now I’ve heard from several sources that Cal is having serious problems, which I’m guessing means drugs,” Shonda said.

“Calvin’s always had a drug problem but now he’s crazy too,” Noelle said.

“Crazy? Crazy how?”

“Let me put it this way. Wake up tomorrow morning and begin your day the way Calvin does. Start with a handful of Focalin, Fentanyl, Klonopin, and Wellbutrin and a dozen Krispy Kreme Originals and wash it all down with Spicy V8 and vodka and if you weren’t crazy before you’ll be crazy later that day.”

“I guess you would be,” Shonda said. The audience laughed and clapped. “Now a little birdie told me you have a new project in the works,” she said.

“How do you know about that?” Noelle said.

“It’s my job to know.”

“Well, it’s still in the planning stages but when it comes to fruition, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Of course it is. You know you’re my girl. Can we talk about my handbags now?”


The interview ended. Isaiah stood up. “I’m going,” he said.

“You’re not gonna eat the Danish?” Dodson said.

“I don’t like Danish.”

“You don’t like espresso neither?”

“I already had mine.”

“Well, go on and get the f*ck outta here then. I guess your brutha taught you everything but manners.”

“Don’t talk about my brother.” Isaiah stood there like he had in the bedroom at the old apartment. Angry beyond words, fists clenched at his sides with nothing to punch. He knew now why he’d come.

“What’s your problem?” Dodson said. “You pissed off about the case? You should be. You know I had a nightmare last night? I was stuck in a bowl of dog food and guess who was coming to dinner?”

“Flaco Ruiz,” Isaiah said. “Do you know who he is?”

“Yes, I know who he is,” Dodson said. “He was that boy who got shot when them two Locos was chasing me through the taquería. They killed his parents and he caught one in the head. Is that what you been grindin’ on all this time?”

“Wait. They were chasing you? That’s unbelievable.”

Dodson didn’t look remorseful or even embarrassed. He looked like Dodson. Unfazed, unworried, ready to go if you were.

“Do you know what happened to Flaco?” Isaiah said. “Do you care?”

“What I care about is my business,” Dodson said.

“Flaco has brain damage and he’ll be disabled for the rest of his life.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“What about it?”

“I didn’t shoot the boy or his parents.”

“You started the war. You started the war when you robbed Junior.”

“I played my part. So did you. So did a lot of people.”

“Doesn’t your conscience bother you, or do you even have one?”

Dodson finally reacted, raising his chin, the too-cool expression hardening into belligerence. “You better check yourself, son. You ain’t no angel sitting on my shoulder. I got one up there already and what he says to me ain’t none of your concern.”

Dodson took the dishes into the kitchen. Isaiah stared at the TV. He’d waited a long time to confront Dodson. Unload some of the guilt, make him feel like a scum-of-the-earth lowlife criminal. Dodson was supposed to confess, ask for forgiveness, and offer to make amends but instead he was offended like Isaiah was an * for bringing it up. Isaiah was angry but mostly what he felt was an overwhelming sadness. This was what Dodson was like. This was what people were like. So what if you f*cked up and ruined someone’s life? You came through without a scratch. Isn’t that all that matters?