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"Got some meat on her, huh?" Isabella says.
I groan inside. The L.A. standards of women being a size double zero drives me insane. Blakely's got curves in all the right places, and boney women don't do anything for me. Still, I'd reprimand her if Isabella wasn't so good at what she did. But she's my go-to for clothing, so I reply, "She's curvy, not a stick."
"No problem. I'll have a bunch of choices for you. Are you coming here, or do I need to meet you?" she asks.
"I have some things to take care of. I can text you when I'm on my way, but my guess is it'll be early afternoon. Is that enough time?" I inquire.
"Definitely," she replies.
"Great. I'll pull up, and your staff can bring it out to my car," I instruct, not wanting to deal with parking issues.
"No problem. Talk soon," Isabella states and hangs up.
I continue battling traffic on my way downtown. I park in a lot and walk into the music store. It's the best in L.A.
Within seconds of walking in, a middle-aged sales guy approaches me. He pushes his glasses up his nose and says, "Welcome. My name is Kyle. Can I help you, sir?"
"What's the best piano you have?" I question, knowing hardly anything about pianos but convinced Blakely needs one. I've promised her she can work on her music the next year and she'll be better for it when she leaves, so I need to keep my promise.
A look of excitement appears on his face. He leads me through the store and stops in front of a crystal piano. It's completely transparent, and I have to admit, it looks like a masterpiece. I'm sure the price tag is as well.
Kyle states, "This is a Heintzman & Company. They're made in Canada."
"Not a Steinway?" I inquire, throwing out my limited knowledge of pianos.
He shakes his head. "We have Steinways if you want one, but this is a top-of-the-line, rare item."
"What's the price tag?" I ask.
"3.2 million, plus tax. It includes shipping anywhere in California," he states.
I whistle.
He adds, "If you want something a little bit more economical—"
"No, that's not necessary," I state. It really is a beautiful piece. I can imagine it in the beach house, and I can picture Blakely sitting on the matching crystal bench with her fingers dancing over the keys.
Kyle's face lights up. "Fantastic! It's a great choice!"
"Better be for the price tag. When can it be delivered? I'm out in Malibu," I inform him.
He motions for me to follow him, answering, "Let me look at the schedule."
It takes twenty minutes to check out and arrange for next-day delivery. Satisfied with my purchase, and convinced Blakely will love it, I get back in my car and head toward Skid Row.
It's another area of L.A. I hate as much as Compton. It's not quite as bad, but over the years, it's gotten worse and worse. Plus, I'm not comfortable leaving my Porsche there.
I call my contact Chainsaw when I'm outside of his house. Rumor has it he got his nickname because he cut off his father's legs with a chainsaw when he was eight. I don't know if I believe the story, but I wouldn't put it past him. He's one of the meanest sons of bitches I know. We met when I was living in Compton. Over the years, he's done several jobs for me.
"Riggs," he answers.
"I'm outside. You here?" I ask, wondering why I didn't call before I got here.
Because all I can think about is getting home and breaking Blakely.
"Yep," he replies.
I order, "Come meet me outside."
