"Must be. Said to take Boston Street, northbound from Thirty–ninth."
"Boston Street? There's no Boston Street anywhere around here."
"He said to see a hooker. Cherry."
"He's holed up in Cal City maybe?"
"On the stroll, Virgil. A street girl. Where'd they be, close by?"
"Off Broadway, I guess." He dragged on his cigarette, thinking. "Ah, he has to mean Massachusetts Street. Over in Glen Park. Make a left up there."
The sun didn't reach all the way to street level on Massachusetts. Three–story frame houses leaned against each other for comfort. A slow–moving line of cars worked its way up the block. I drifted over to the curb. A flock of girls descended: spandex pants, tube tops, high heels. Working.
I pushed the power window switch, letting them know I was the man to talk to. Ebony woman with long straight hair, lipstick slashed carelessly across her mouth, leaned into the car, unbound breasts slopping against the windowsill. Up close, the hair was a wig.
"I don't do triples, honey. Your friends want to wait their turn, or I can ask a couple of my girlfriends along? Whatever you say, anyway you want to do it."
"I'm looking for Cherry. Wasn't that her that just went by? Girl in a red leather coat?"
"Yeah, catch Cherry wearing somethin' that'd cover her ass. Fat chance, get it?" She blew smoke airily at the night ceiling. "Cherry? Cherry ain't nothin', man. Whatever you heard 'bout her, you can double up for me."
They all sing the same sad song.
"How much is the ride?" I asked her.
"How far you want to drive, honey? Around the world?" And they all use the same lyrics.
"Short time," I said, looking for the quickest way in.
"Twenty–five."
"Bring Cherry to the car, I'll give you twenty."
"I don't see no cash."
"I don't see no Cherry."
They came back together. Cherry was shorter, stockier. Her wig was blonde.
"Hi, honey! You lookin' for me?"
"If you're Cherry."
"That's me, baby. You heard about me, huh?"
"I'm looking for a friend. Your friend. He'd of told you I was coming."
"Oh yeah. He's right…"
"Tell me his name."
"You mean the Prophet, don't ya? Yeah! An ugly white man would come to set me free…Wow! Just like he said."
I handed the other girl a pair of tens. She moved into the line of whores working the other cars. Cherry got into the back seat. Virgil took one whiff, pushed his own window down. Lloyd sat across from her, watching like he'd seen E.T. up close.
Cherry told me where to drive. One block up, a right turn into an alley. ROOMS, the wooden sign said, hanging lopsided over a door to a house that looked older than greed. I followed her inside, Lloyd behind me, Virgil last. Up a flight of stairs. We were the only whites in the joint. We watched their hands, looking for the truth.
Voices from an open door at the end of the hall. A pimp's sandpaper voice on top.
"I don't give a fuck who you say you is or what you say you want, you midget motherfucker. You don't come in here and work no girls. This is my place. Now you get your black ass outta here or I cut a piece of it off!"
We stepped inside. Burly thug with a shaved head, dressed all in white leather right down to his cowboy boots. Holding a straight razor in his hand.
The Prof was seated in a ragged armchair, wrapped in a khaki raincoat tenting around his tiny body. As calm as a man watching a movie—one he'd seen before. The pimp stepped aside as we entered, dropping into a slight crouch.
"Hey, schoolboy," the Prof greeted me. "You got a pistol with you?"
"Sure," I told him, taking it out.
"Good. Now will you please shoot this stupid farmer before he cuts someone?"
"Okay," I replied, cocking the piece.
"Hey, man…"
Virgil moved his coat. The sawed–off shotgun eyed the pimp.
"Oh, man. You remembered!" the Prof said. Like it was his brand of beer. He turned to the pimp. "You see how it is, fool. A knife don't make it right, but a gun can make it fun."
The pimp pocketed his razor, slid toward the door, his eyes filled with wonder. He'd seen guns before…but a tiny black man with a preacher's voice who used hillbillies for enforcers was science fiction. The legend of the Prophet was due for another installment.
We didn't block his path, letting him go. I tracked his face, making sure he knew I'd remember him.
Nobody had to tell him. Don't come back.
158
IN THE LINCOLN, the Prof barked directions like he'd lived in that maze all his life. We parked in a row of garages. Cherry jumped out, opened a padlock. A shocking–purple car with a long, low hood and a black vinyl top stood inside. The Prof handed me a set of keys. We all climbed out.
"This is it?" I asked him.
"You can take that tank to the bank, bro'. It'll stop what he's got. Papers in the glove box."
"I'll meet you back at the house," I told Virgil. "Give me the scattergun, case you get stopped."
He handed it over.
Cherry turned to the Prof. "You not comin'?"
"You go back to the room, beautiful. Wait for me. Stay off the streets tonight." To me: "Give her a yard, pard."
I handed her two fifties. She took it, a reluctant look on her face. "You really comin' back?"
"Woman, have I said one word to you that has not been the truth?" the Prof snapped out at her, switching to his preacher's voice. "Do not confuse me with panderers and pimps, child. What I say shall come to pass, for it is written that children of the night shall forever find each other in the dark."
She turned, started down the alley to a grime–colored building. The Prof watched her walk, shifted back to his cornerboy's voice. "Ain't no fake in that shake, brothers."
She looked back once over her shoulder, waved once, and she was gone.
159
I UNLOCKED the purple car. The inside of the door was covered with a thick slab of clear plastic right up to the windowsill. I dropped into the thinly padded bucket seat, turned the key. The engine crackled into life. I moved the pistol–grip shift lever into Drive and the beast lurched, straining against the brake.
The Lincoln pulled away. I followed.
The car was an old Plymouth Barracuda, a 1970s pony car. The hood went on forever, the trunk was tiny, the back seat just a padded shelf. The roof was lined with the same clear plastic, held up with cotter pins. I nursed the gas gingerly, getting the feel. The windshield was streaky, hard to see through.
At a light on Broadway, a maroon Mustang with a ground–scraper nose sloping down from gigantic rear tires pulled alongside. Revved its engine in the universal challenge. I ignored him. His passenger shouted across: "Is that a real one, man?"
A real what? The light flashed green and the Mustang peeled out. I stomped the gas experimentally and the 'Cuda catapulted forward with a roar, closing the distance in a heartbeat. I backed off quickly, hearing the exhausts pop and bubble. Quickly turned into a side street.
160
INSIDE VIRGIL'S garage, overhead lights on. I walked around the 'Cuda. Saw what had brought out the challenge from the Mustang. On the car's rear deck lid, chrome letters: Hemi.
"Why'd the Mole send me such a rocket ship?" I asked the Prof. "Man said you packing mucho weight, you got to haul the freight." He took me through the car, showing me how it worked. "See how this stuff is hinged against the hood? You just pull the pins and the panels slide right down."
"What is this stuff? Lexan?"
"The Mole said it was like that, only better. Only thing, you can't roll down the windows, they're too thick. Windshield's same stuff. So's the back window."
"It's beautiful, Prof. You know what I need it for?"
"The Mole said it was a shark cage. It ain't what you know, it's what you show."
"I never expected to see you out here."
"What was I gonna do wi
th the ride, Clyde? Ship it UPS? The Mole paid the toll."
"I was going to fly back, bring it over myself."
"No beef, chief. It was a nice day, I felt like a drive."
"Thanks, Prof."
"Way I figure it, schoolboy, you and this hillbilly here, you ain't got a clue between you. What's the plan, man?"
161
DARKNESS SURROUNDED the house, island of light in the living room. I told the Prof everything. Almost everything.
"It could play the way you say, 'home. You park that tank in the spot, the cops stake out the terrain, Virgil covers your back. The freak smokes the car, the cops move in, you take off. Virgil makes sure nobody cheats, right?"
"That's it."
"Where you gonna get the passenger, go parking with you?"
"One of those sex shops. They got them all over the place. Get one of those life–size blow–up dolls. He'll never know the difference."
The Prof lit a smoke, face a mask. "What if he don't show, bro'?"
"He will."
"Who told you?"
I looked in his eyes, not hiding it anymore. "Wesley."
"Yeah, I knew it would be true. The monster's in the ground, but he's still around."
"It's like he talked to me."
"Yeah, you goin' spiritual on me, brother? Talking to spooks? That's okay, if you can pay."
"There never was a better man–hunter, Prof. You know it as well as I do."
"You sayin' he taught you how to do it?"
"Yeah. Some of it."
"Wesley knows. This guy has to die."
"That's not mine. We're going to smoke him out, clear Lloyd once and for all. Then I'm gone."
The Prof looked around the room. Nodded.
"When that evil little baby–killer got on the train, he didn't know it stopped at Dodge City."
162
I DROPPED HIM off where we'd picked up the 'Cuda.
"You got enough cash?"
"I'm going back on the ground, ride the 'Hound. No problem."
"Prof…"
"It's cool, fool. Don't get sloppy on me now."
"Okay."
I took his hand, surprised as always by the power in the little man's grip.
His handsome face was calm, troubadour's voice a separate, living thing in the Indiana night. "Wesley may have showed you some things, schoolboy. But I was your teacher. Wesley, he knew death. Up close and personal. Me, I know life. Stay right on the line, you'll be fine."
163
"YOU LIKE THE blonde or the redhead?" I asked Blossom. The sex shop had a plentiful supply. Black, white, Oriental. Matching pubic hair, "removable for washing," the dandruffy clerk told me. "All three holes, too." The two faces were identically blank.
"I don't like either of them."
"Yeah, okay. I know what you don't like. What I need is some clothes of yours, okay? They need to be dressed when I first pull into the spot."
"It won't work."
"Why not? You think he's gonna get that close a look?"
"Let's see."
"What do you mean?"
"Let's try it. Look for yourself."
"It'll work, don't worry."
"You can't be sure."
"Burke, we won't get another chance. I'll leave it up to you. Just take a look first. Please."
"Get a suitcase," I told her as I pulled the plug on the inflatable dolls.
164
VIRGIL AND LLOYD weren't home. "They went out somewhere," Rebecca told us. "Have some coffee with me—they said they'd be back in an hour or so."
Virginia marched into the kitchen, pulling her brother by one hand. "Mommy, can we get Junior a sailor suit? I saw one on TV before. He'd look so cute in it when he goes back to school."
"Junior, you want a sailor suit?" Rebecca asked him, eyes dancing with joy at her children.
"No!"
"I guess that settles it, Virginia. Your brother's getting old enough to know his own mind."
"He's just stubborn."
"Like his daddy."
"Daddy's not stubborn."
"No, Daddy's perfect, huh?"
"Well, he is."
"How come you're not practicing your piano, sweetheart?" Blossom asked the child.
"She don't hardly touch that thing unless her daddy's around to hear her." Rebecca laughed.
"Mommy!" Virginia gave her a look I didn't think women learned until they were grown.
I went into the living room. Watched a Monster Truck competition on TV. Virginia sat down at the kitchen table with Blossom and her mother, sipped her mostly–milk coffee with them. I lit a cigarette, drifting. Junior came inside, sat down in his father's chair, watched the trucks with me.
165
IT WAS ALMOST ten o'clock when I heard the door. The kids were in bed. Virginia came into the living room in her flannel nightgown, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Virgil picked her up, gave her a kiss, carried her back to bed.
"Got something to show you, brother. Outside."
The 'Cuda was in the garage, lights on. A neat round hole in the driver's door.
"Lloyd and me, we took it up to a spot I know. Off in the woods. I threw down on it from maybe fifty yards. Real close. Put one round into the door, one into the driver's window. From the thirty–ought–six. The bullets never got inside. That thing's a bank vault."
"You don't know the Mole," I told him.
His face was calm. "That's right, I don't. Thought I'd see for myself."
"Okay, it's time. We're set. Tomorrow night."
"What about the other test?" Blossom. Honey–voiced, thread of ice running deep inside.
"What test?" Virgil wanted to know.
"She wants to see what the dummies look like from outside the car. I got them in the Lincoln. I'll just blow one up, we'll take a look."
Blossom stood to the side, watching us, hands on her hips, jaw set. "Not here."
"What difference does it make?"
"Difference enough. Let's take it back, to where Virgil tested it. See what it looks like in the dark."
"This'll be good enough."
"No, it won't."
"Blossom…"
"She's right." Rebecca.
"Reba, you don't know what…"
Rebecca wheeled on Virgil. "What is it I don't know, honey? I don't know what you and Lloyd gonna be doing out there? What if this maniac sees a plastic dummy, figures out it's a trap, starts spraying bullets all over the place? Burke, he's inside this car, safe. What about you?"
Virgil held out his hands, palms up, surrendering. I caught the look between Blossom and Rebecca. Wondered why men ever think they run things.
166
BLOSSOM SAT NEXT to me in the 'Cuda's bucket seat, running her hands over the surfaces, gauging the weight. The coupe's tail slid out a bit as I gunned it around a corner, pavement–ripping power barely under leash.
"He would have just loved this car," she said.
"Who?"
"Chandler."
I watched the Lincoln's taillights through the dull windshield, following Virgil.
167
HE PARKED THE 'Cuda at the end of a dirt road. A few strokes of the foot pump (the one "optional extra" I bought from the sex shop after I passed on a great variety of cheesy negligees and garter belts) and the redhead doll was life–size. I positioned it in the passenger seat. Stepped back onto a rise, settled myself and looked.
The white body was only a dull streak behind the glass. Couldn't tell what it was.
"Look for yourself," I told Blossom, standing aside.
She stood next to me. Nodded.
"Let's get out of here," I said, taking her elbow.
She stood rooted. "Virgil, you got your rifle with you?"
"Yeah."
"Got a scope on it?"
He looked at me. I nodded.
I put the rifle to my shoulder. "Do it right. Play it square." Blossom's voice.
Or Wesley's?
I dropped prone, s
ighted in. He'd have a night scope of some kind. Infrared or luminous.
I put the cross–hairs on the passenger's window. This time, I didn't just look. I watched.
With his eyes.
The dummy sat stiff—I couldn't feel the heat.
The trap had no cheese.
168
IN THE LINCOLN, on the way back to Blossom's.
"Who else could you get to do it?"
I didn't answer her.
"You want to ask Rebecca?"
"Shut up. You're a smart girl, be smart enough to know when to keep quiet."
169
NO MATTER HOW many times I spun the wheel, it came up double zero—the house edge.
His house.
170
WHEN THE DARKNESS grabbed the ground, I pulled out of Virgil's garage. Blossom sat next to me, a man's white shirt worn outside a pair of blue jeans, her long blonde hair loose and free.
The padlock gave way. I stepped back inside the 'Cuda, drove slowly through the park until I found the spot, the dual exhausts bubbling like a motorboat, leaving a wake of power–sounds. I nosed the purple car into a pool of ink, the orange light from the mercury vapor lamps just brushing the passenger window. Where Blossom sat, profile to the rise where the rusting cross–ties made a perfect sniper's roost.
"What now?" she asked.
"Keep your voice down. I don't know how sound carries out here."
"Okay, honey." She ran her fingers through her hair, leaned back in the seat.
My watch said eleven–fifteen.
"You think he's out there?"
"Not yet."
"How long are we going to wait?"
"Long as it takes."
Waiting inside myself, I knew what the big cop had been thinking, the bargain we'd made. Homicide happens. They call it different things, depending on the uniform you're wearing at the time.
A night bird screamed. Blossom stiffened. "You think…?"
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