Blue Belle

by Andrew Vachss

  Blue lights flashed on 45th, couple of blocks away and moving in.

  I started the engine. Looked over my shoulder. Where was she? "Belle! Let's go!" I yelled at her.

  The Camaro's engine roared an answer as she peeled out. Right up 45th.

  The blue lights came closer. A phalanx of squad cars screaming down the block, at least three deep, spread out to block the way. I wheeled the Cadillac across the highway after her. The Camaro's taillights blazed—she was flying at the cop cars. Head on. I heard her little–girl voice, singing hard–edged in my head. Calling to the cops. "Come on!"

  The Camaro was a red rocket.

  "Hit the brakes! She ain't gonna stop," the Prof yelled.

  The Camaro shot right down the middle of the street, going the wrong way. The police car in the lead charged to meet her.

  Time stopped. The squad car swerved at the last second. Too late. It fireballed against a row of cars on the left as the Camaro shot past. Gunfire cut through the siren's song, a roadblock of wreckage in its wake.

  "They'll never catch that girl," the Prof whispered. A prayer.

  I threw a U–turn and headed for the junkyard.

  173

  ON THE West Side Highway I tried to light a cigarette. My hands wouldn't work.

  "I can light one for you, bro', but I can't drive the car."

  I straightened the wheel. Reached for the smoke he handed me.

  "What happened?"

  "Girl walks in my hospital room, shotgun in her hand. Comes right in my room. 'What's this?' the doc asks her. 'Jailbreak,' she says. Throws me over one shoulder like a sack of cement, carries me down in the elevator, walks right out the front door. Puts me in that red car. 'Burke needs us,' that's all she said."

  Nothing in the rearview mirror.

  "She knew I needed it too," the Prof said, hands on the scattergun. "He took something from me. She was giving me a chance to get it back. Said you were going to take out that motherfucker—our job was the cops."

  I dragged on the cigarette, seeing the fireball.

  The Prof read my thoughts. "Ain't nothing God or the devil put on this earth gonna catch Belle, brother. She's coming home."

  174

  I WHEELLED the Caddy into the junkyard. The gate swung open.

  Terry jumped in, steered us through.

  "Belle?" I asked him.

  "Not yet," the kid said, his mouth hard.

  The Mole was waiting. "Where's Ramón?" I asked him.

  He pointed at the wolf pack. Fighting over what was left.

  I lit a smoke. Carried the Prof out of the Caddy, put him on top of an oil drum. I stood with my people.

  "Mortay's dead."

  "You make sure?" the Prof asked.

  "They'll need a microscope for the autopsy. It's over. You blow the basement?" I asked the Mole.

  "You didn't hear it?" Terry said.

  "No."

  "It'll be on the news," the Mole said.

  I looked at the Prof. "She was well away. They weren't looking for her. Why didn't she just run?"

  His eyes shone in the fire. "Why didn't you?"

  I couldn't answer him. Fists clenched so tight my arms ached.

  The little man dragged on his smoke. "Her dice, brother. Hers to hold, hers to roll."

  175

  TORTURED RUBBER screamed on concrete.

  "Belle. The back way!" the kid shouted, taking off. We ran to the fence. The Camaro shot through, skidding past us. It stopped where the Prof was sitting. Belle didn't get out.

  I ran back to her. Bullet holes stitched the driver's door. I wrenched it open. Belle fell into my arms. The Mole reached past me, unsnapped the seat belt. I carried her to the bunker. "Don't talk," I said, lowering her to the ground.

  Her gray sweatshirt was one big dark stain. The Mole cut it away. She was torn to pieces, the blue necklace around her neck. "Get the medical kit," he said to Terry.

  I bent close to her. "Hold on, Belle. You'll be okay in just a minute."

  Her eyes were closed. They flicked open. "Burke?"

  "You're home now, Belle. It's all right."

  Her voice was soft. "My race is run, honey. I'm done."

  "Shut up! Save your strength."

  "Tell me."

  "I love you, Belle."

  "I'll be waiting for you," she said. Her eyes closed. The Mole shouldered me out of the way, plunged a needle into her chest, his fingers at her neck. I was on my knees, watching him work, begging in my mind.

  He turned to me. "She's gone."

  176

  THEY LEFT me alone with her then.

  I couldn't hold it in me—screaming curses at the night. The dogs went quiet.

  I lay down next to her, wrapping her in my arms. Tears on blood.

  177

  THE SKY was getting light when they came back. The Mole. Terry. The Prof, riding a wheelchair.

  I stood next to the little man, my hand on his shoulder. Felt his hand on mine.

  "Pull it together, brother. The way she'd want it. She's with the Lord now. And He's one lucky son of a bitch."

  The Mole covered her with a prayer rug.

  I gripped my brother's hand, and said goodbye to my Blue Belle.

  ACCLAIM FOR ANDREW VACHSS

  "Blue Belle runs through Manhattan's underbelly like Con Edison conduits… Hero Burke is the toughest talking first–person narrator since Mike Hammer….Vachss can write!"

  —Los Angeles Times

  "Hard to put away for the night and hard to put out of your mind by the end. Vachss has become a cult favorite, and for good reason. He's bad."

  —Cosmopolitan

  "Breathtaking, nightmarish and seductive. Vachss's writing is like a dark rollercoaster ride of love and hate….A compelling book."

  —New Orleans Times–Picayune

  "Compelling…unique…examines the darkest side of life."

  —People

  "Undeniable raw power keeps the reader turning the pages."

  —Washington Post

  "Soul–rattling…a gritty, white–knuckle thriller…strong, powerful prose."

  —Mystery Scene

  "Oozes with primal emotions….There is absolutely nobody like Burke—not even close."

  —Minneapolis Star–Tribune

  Andrew Vachss

  Andrew Vachss has been a federal investigator in sexually transmitted diseases, a social caseworker, a labor organizer, and has directed a maximum-security prison for youthful offenders. Now a lawyer in private practice, he represents children and youths exclusively. He is the author of numerous novels, including the Burke series, two collections of short stories, and a wide variety of other material including song lyrics, poetry, graphic novels, and a "children's book for adults." His books have been translated into twenty different languages and his work has appeared in Parade, Antaeus, Esquire, The New York Times, and numerous other forums. He lives and works in New York City and the Pacific Northwest.

  The dedicated Web site for Vachss and his work is www.vachss.com

  BOOKS BY

  ANDREW VACHSS

  Flood

  Strega

  Blue Belle

  Hard Candy

  Blossom

  Sacrifice

  Shella

  Down in the Zero

  Born Bad

  Footsteps of the Hawk

  False Allegations

  Safe House

  Choice of Evil

  Everybody Pays

  Dead and Gone

  Pain Management

  Copyright © 1988 by Andrew Vachss

  All rights reserved under International and Pan–American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Vintage Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York Originally published in hardcover by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., New York, in 1988, and in trade paperback by Vintage Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, in 1996.

  Grateful acknowledgment is made to the following for permission to reuse prev
iously published material:

  Columbia Pictures Publications and International Music Publications: Excerpt from "I Put a Spell on You" by Jay Hawkins. Copyright ©1956 (renewed 1984) by UNART Music Corp. Rights assigned to SBK Catalogue Partnership. All rights controlled and administered by SBK UNART Catalog, Inc. International copyright secured. Made in the U.S.A. All rights reserved. Used by permission.

  Stazybo Music: Excerpts from "Heartlessly," "Body and Fender Man," and "A World I Never Made" by Jerome Doc Pomus. Reused by permission of Jerome Doe Pomus for Stazybo Music.

  The Library of Congress has cataloged the Knopf edition as follows:

  Vachss, Andrew H.

  Blue Belle.

  I. Title.

  P53572.A33B57 1988 813'.54 88–45269

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  eISBN: 978-0-375-71903-5

  v3.0