Down in the Zero b-7
Page 27
by Andrew Vachss 02/03/91 5:44AM
WP5I 02/03/91 6:47AM
NORTON 03/03/91 7:04AM
I checked all the directories— they were all legit, no subdirectories, hidden or otherwise. The thing was empty— probably vacuumed before Cherry took off. I tried the other menu items in order, but they just performed as advertised. I finally hit Park, heard a couple of electronic beeps. The screen said: HEADS PARKED ON ALL DRIVES. POWER OFF THE SYSTEM NOW. I turned it off.
"Are you done yet?" Fancy asked from outside the door, tapping her foot.
"I'll tell you when I'm done— just keep quiet."
The fax machine was empty of incoming. There was a row of direct–dial buttons on its face, sixteen of them. I took out a piece of paper, tapped the keys one at a time, writing down the numbers as they appeared in the liquid crystal display, then hitting the Stop button before the call could go through. They all started with 011— international calls.
The phone didn't have a display— I left it alone. Nothing taped under the butcher block. No loose tiles. The carpet was all of a piece, tacked down tight at the corners.
"Is there another place?" I asked Fancy. "What do you mean?"
"Another private place. Like this one."
"No."
I walked through again anyway, Fancy trailing behind, more at ease now that I wasn't looking anyplace she hadn't been. In a back corner, I spotted a circular staircase, black wrought iron.
"Where does that go?"
"It's just a room I…use sometimes."
"Lets see."
"It's just a room, Burke. A trick room, okay?"
"Get up there!" I said, pushing her toward the staircase, punctuating the order with a smack on her butt. I followed close behind. The room stood on a small landing, built–out walls along the sides, nothing else there. She opened the door without a key, and stepped over the threshold.
It was the white room— the room I'd seen in the video I took from Cherry's safe.
I stood in the doorway, sweeping with my eyes. The foot of the bed was a few feet from a pure white wall, the seamlessness broken only by a shadow box, black glass in a white wood frame.
"How does this work?" I asked her.
"It's like a light show," she said, flicking a toggle switch at the side of the box. The black screen sparkled at the center, a burst of red–centered yellow. Then the colors flowed into a series of comet trails, mostly shades of blue and purple. Soundless explosions burst new colors into the box, waves of different colors swept them away.
"I don't get it."
"I…make them watch it, sometimes. It helps them get out. Let go."
"You always turn it on? When you…?"
"No. Some of them like it, some don't."
So the camera worked right through it. It wouldn't matter if she turned it on or not— if she was telling the truth.
Time to find out.
"Turn that off," I said. "And come over here."
She did it. Walked over obediently enough. I slapped her hard enough to make her sway on her high heels. Her hands flew to her face. "What…?"
"Shut up, bitch. Put your hands down. Put them behind your back."
Her gray eyes widened. I slapped her again, harder. "It's about time you learned the truth about yourself," I told her, my voice flat and hard. "Are you going to do as you're told?"
"Yes."
I slapped her again.
"Yes sir," she said that time, in the zone where she wanted to be— somewhere between turned on and scared— but maybe just a little too close to the far edge.
I grabbed her shoulders, spun her around, pushed her forward until she was bent over the bed. I pulled her skirt up roughly. "Don't you move," I warned her, unthreading the belt from my slacks, doubling it up in my hand.
It took a long time before I was through. Then I stood in the corner, my shoulders past the shadow box's camera–eye, watching Fancy, her wrists lashed to each corner of the bed, her bottom elevated by a couple of pillows stuffed under her pelvis, harsh red stripes from the belt standing in bold relief for the camera's eye.
I smoked a cigarette all the way through. Then I untied her. I opened her purse, stuffed her bra and panties inside, told her to put her dress on. Then I walked her out of the room holding the back of her neck.
Outside, I waited till she locked the back door.
"Follow me in your car. Don't say another word. Don't get out of your car, understand?"
"Yes sir."
I found a pay phone on the highway, dialed the Mole.
"It's me. Was it there?"
"Yes."
"Everything worked?"
"Yes."
"They're still around?"
"Yes."
"I did them a favor. A big one. There's something they could do for me. That's fair, right?"
He didn't answer. I told him what I needed. "Can you get them in now?"
"Soon," he said.
I told him where to leave the package.
We drove back to the apartment in a two–car caravan. Fancy pulled in behind me. I got out, gestured for her to come to me. I held the door to the Lexus open for her, watched while she fastened her seat belt. Then I pulled off again.
She didn't say a word on the drive, but her face registered surprise when I turned off into the grove by the creek. I hit the power window switch
, watched the glass whisper its way down the track into the door. I pushed another button and the seat slid back. Satisfied, I got out, went around to her door and opened it. I held out my hand. She took it, hesitating, still not meeting my eyes. I led her gently around the back of the car down to a soft patch of grass. I took off my jacket, spread it on the ground for her. "Sit, honey," I said. "It's okay now."
She sat down placidly. I sat next to her, my arm around her waist. We didn't say anything for a while, looking out at the gently moving water, taking the calm.
She slumped against me. I kissed the top of her head. "Lie down, baby," I told her.
She rolled across my lap, face down, pulling at her skirt. I grabbed her hand, pulled the skirt back down. I reached up to her shoulders, held her in place as I slid along the grass so her face was in my lap. I stroked her back until she relaxed.
"Close your eyes, girl. Just let it go…it's over, now."
It took a while, but finally I felt the muscles in her back unclench, heard her breathing smooth out. She nuzzled at the base of my cock through my pants, then turned her head. "Can I…?"
"Turn over," I told her.
She did it, lying on her back, face up, gray eyes open and alert in the shade my upper body cast.
"Why did you…do it like that?" she finally asked.
"Like what?"
"Just…whip me. No sex. I thought you…didn't like that."
"There was a good reason, little girl. I promise you."
"What reason?"
"Ssshh, baby. You'll see."
"What reason, honey? Please tell me. I mean, I didn't…mind. But I thought…"
"Fancy, remember what you asked me before? About your mystery?"
"Yes."
"That was part of it. I can't tell you any more now, but real soon, okay? Will you trust me that far?"
"I'd trust you with anything, Burke."
"Close your eyes," I told her.
I watched the brook's current as she slept, watched as it broke over the rocks into a white froth, smoothed out again. Fancy went down deep, the heavy muscles at the backs of her calves relaxing. She turned her head to the side, snuggled into a better position, breath rattling sweetly through her one open nostril. My fingers played with her hair. She made a high–pitched sound I couldn't place, put her thumb into her mouth, sucked deeply, content.
It was just starting to get dark when she stirred.
"Wha…Burke?"
"I'm right here, girl."
"I must have fallen out."
"It's okay."
She shivered, rolled into a sitting position, hugging herself. "I'm cold."
"Okay. Come on." I helped her to her feet, walked her back to the car, my arm around her.
"Where are we going?"
"Just come on, Miss Motormouth. That's enough questions for one day."
I found a good spot in the parking lot of the mall. Told Fancy to get us some take–out. Instead of waiting in the car, I walked over to an outside phone.
"It's me. They do it?"
"Yes."
"Would anyone know they'd been there?"
"No."
"They left it where I said."
"Yes. They said to tell you— it triggers off a sensor when anyone goes in there."
I rung off. Pulled out the cellular, dialed.
"Hello?" Sonny answered.
"It's me," I said. "Where are you?"
"At the diner. Remember where— "
I could hear the noise in the background. "Yeah. You headed back to the house?"
"No, not for a while. We were gonna— "
"Do that. Whatever. Understand? Can you stay past midnight, stay away from the house?"
"Sure."
"Okay, champ. See you tomorrow morning."
By the time Fancy came back with her arms full of take–out, I was watching her through the windshield of the Lexus.
It was dark when we got back. I sent Fancy over to the big house, told her what to do. I went upstairs to the apartment, turned on the radio and a couple of lights. Then I came back out, walked over to the house. No lights on in the kitchen. I kept going through to the living room. Fancy had the floor set up like a picnic, the glow from some candles casting murky shadows.
"It looks great," I said, sitting down on the floor.
"How come you didn't want any lights, honey?"
"Don't talk with your mouth full," I told her.
"But my mouth isn't full. I didn't start to eat— I waited for you."
"Now I'm here," I said, helping myself to what looked like a deli plate: chunky tuna, potato salad, cole slaw.
We ate quietly, in companionable silence. I complimented Fancy on her choice of food, listened with half an ear as she ran through all the mall choices she'd had to make, why she settled on deli instead of Chinese, how it wasn't good to eat a heavy meal so late, something about cholesterol…
It was nearing ten o'clock by the time we finished the meal and cleaned it up. Fancy insisted on wrapping whatever we didn't eat, putting it away in the refrigerator. "Maybe Sonny'll want a snack when he comes home," she said.
While she was bustling around, I looked under the pillows in the living room couch. I found the videocassette, turned on the VCR, shoved in the cassette, started it running and hit the Pause button. The screen was all visual static, like dirty snow.
Fancy came back in. "Blow out the candles and come over here, girl."
She did it quick enough, sitting next to me expectantly.
"What, honey?"
"Watch," I said.
I hit the Play button on the remote. A brief flicker and it snapped into life. Fancy walking across the threshold of the white room.
"Burke! What is this? Where— ?"
"Just watch for a minute," I said, holding her hand tight.
The whole scene played out from a few hours ago. Now that I knew how it worked, I could see the camera shots were mechanical, the zooms unplanned. The tape ran back into gray trailer right after we exited the room. Fancy burst into sobs, trying to pull away from me.
"Oh God! Why did you do that? You…who was there? How could you? I would have…if you'd just asked…"
"Come here, girl. Listen to me."
"No! You filthy bastard!"
"Fancy, it's all on tape. It's got nothing to do with me."
"I don't believe you. If you didn't set it up— "
"Stay here," I told her. "Don't move." I walked over to the VCR, popped out the cassette, shoved in the copy I'd had made from the video I'd lifted from Cherry's safe. I hit the Play button again, walked back over to the couch. As soon as Fancy saw herself facing the camera, unzipping her skirt as the man on the bed behind her watched, she broke.
"That was over a year ago, that tape," she said, later. She was sitting on the floor in front of the couch, her back between my legs, my hands on her shoulders.
"There'll be a whole lot of them, Fancy. Every time you went into that room. The camera setup works automatically— it doesn't need an operator."
"I'll kill her."
"Who?"
"Cherry."
"It wasn't her, baby."
"Who else could it be?"
"Can I tell you a story?"
"I've heard enough stories. Especially from you."
"You'll appreciate this one, honey. I promise you. In the city, we got three different police departments. The regular cops, NYPD. Then there's Transit, they mostly work the subways. And Housing, they cover the Projects. They're really the only ones who still walk a beat— Vertical Patrol, they call it. The Projects, they're like a neighborhood. Everybody knows everybody else. It's bad out there. Not as bad as Chicago, where the gangbangers take over whole buildings, but dangerous, you know? More for the people who live there than the cops. The kids go elevator surfing, people fuck in the hallways, the rooftops are a good place to get raped. Or die. It's a strange mix— you got old people trying to make it on some lousy Social Security, you got Welfare s
cammers, you got decent, hardworking folks…everybody. Anyway, this old Housing cop I know, he was working a string of push–in muggings…where the skell follows an old lady up in the elevator, gets off on the floor below, runs up the stairs and shoves her into her own apartment. Then he works her over, loots the place, and disappears. So this cop, he watches. Real close. He finally bags this mugger, snatches him right on the stairwell. Takes him into custody. And the dirtbag can't wait to talk— admits to maybe a dozen of his 'jobs.' The cop's all excited, naturally. He brings the old people down to the precinct, but not a single one of them can ID the mugger. Not one. It was too dark, it happened too fast, he hit too hard, they were scared…whatever. So now he's stuck. Without an ID, the DA won't even consider the case. He's thinking about it and thinking about it and he comes up with this dynamite idea…a Reverse Lineup. Now listen to this. He rounds up a whole bunch of old people from the Projects, okay? Then he puts them up on the stage, under the lights. And he puts the skell behind the one–way glass, like he was the victim. Guess what? The skell loves it. He stands there, picks out his victims. 'Yeah, I did her. No, not that one.' And he's on the money every single time! He knows which one had jewelry in a dresser, which one had some cash hidden in the refrigerator, which one he punched in the face. All they had to do is match up the original police reports with what the skell said, and they had it all. Nobody else could have done it. Pretty slick, huh?"
Fancy's heels tapped on the varnished hardwood. "What do you want to see first?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Okay, this is…what's that?" she yelped, looking at my right hand.
"It's a gun, Fancy."
"I can see that. What's it for?"
"For whatever."
"I don't like guns."
"I don't like them either. Come on, let's just do it, all right?"
She gave me a sad–puzzled look for a second, then turned on her heel and played tour guide. Some of the rooms were spare, almost Oriental in furnishings, others were lush, Victorian. One even had a fireplace. The dungeon was garden–variety B&D— racks and restraints, even a metal bar set into the floor, with hooks for the ankle cuffs. I couldn't see a closet anywhere— no place to store what I was looking for.
"Does she have an office here? A private office?"
"Who?"
"Cherry."
"Just a little one. We're not supposed to go in there," she said.
"Show me."
"Burke…"
"Bitch, I'm done playing. Any kind of playing, understand? Where is it?"
The door was behind a set of floor–to–ceiling royal purple drapes. The knob was tiny, a delicate piece of faceted crystal with a keyhole in the center. The lock was a joke. I loided it with one of Juan Rodriguez numerous credit cards— the only thing he ever used them for. Fancy stayed outside. It was just as well— the room was a small, windowless box, the walls lined with thick acoustic tile. The ceiling was covered with the same tile, the carpet industrial dark gray.
The only furniture was a slab of butcher block held up by sawhorses at each end and a simple swivel office chair. On the butcher block: a plain–paper fax machine, a three–line phone, a calculator, some kind of ionizer to keep the air clean. Another one of those dual–zone clocks, set the same way. And a laptop computer. Underneath it all, an anti–static plastic mat.
I sat down, pulled on a pair of surgeon's gloves, opened the laptop, turned it on, smoothing out the cheat–sheet the Mole had given me with one hand. The screen ran through a whole bunch of nonsense I couldn't understand, finally settled down into a menu.
WP
Optimize
AntiVirus
Park
I followed the Mole's road map, used the arrow keys, highlighted WP, hit the return. The computer cycled, and I got a blank screen. I hit F5. The screen listed one directory: DATA. No documents listed. I tried the C: prompt. All I got was:
AUTOEXEC.BAT 20 02/03/91 6:31AM
CONFIG.SYS 11 02/03/91 6:35AM
COMMAND.COM 29851 05/06/90 1:00PM
DOS
WP5I
NORTON
I checked all the directories— they were all legit, no subdirectories, hidden or otherwise. The thing was empty— probably vacuumed before Cherry took off. I tried the other menu items in order, but they just performed as advertised. I finally hit Park, heard a couple of electronic beeps. The screen said: HEADS PARKED ON ALL DRIVES. POWER OFF THE SYSTEM NOW. I turned it off.
"Are you done yet?" Fancy asked from outside the door, tapping her foot.
"I'll tell you when I'm done— just keep quiet."
The fax machine was empty of incoming. There was a row of direct–dial buttons on its face, sixteen of them. I took out a piece of paper, tapped the keys one at a time, writing down the numbers as they appeared in the liquid crystal display, then hitting the Stop button before the call could go through. They all started with 011— international calls.
The phone didn't have a display— I left it alone. Nothing taped under the butcher block. No loose tiles. The carpet was all of a piece, tacked down tight at the corners.
"Is there another place?" I asked Fancy. "What do you mean?"
"Another private place. Like this one."
"No."
I walked through again anyway, Fancy trailing behind, more at ease now that I wasn't looking anyplace she hadn't been. In a back corner, I spotted a circular staircase, black wrought iron.
"Where does that go?"
"It's just a room I…use sometimes."
"Lets see."
"It's just a room, Burke. A trick room, okay?"
"Get up there!" I said, pushing her toward the staircase, punctuating the order with a smack on her butt. I followed close behind. The room stood on a small landing, built–out walls along the sides, nothing else there. She opened the door without a key, and stepped over the threshold.
It was the white room— the room I'd seen in the video I took from Cherry's safe.
I stood in the doorway, sweeping with my eyes. The foot of the bed was a few feet from a pure white wall, the seamlessness broken only by a shadow box, black glass in a white wood frame.
"How does this work?" I asked her.
"It's like a light show," she said, flicking a toggle switch at the side of the box. The black screen sparkled at the center, a burst of red–centered yellow. Then the colors flowed into a series of comet trails, mostly shades of blue and purple. Soundless explosions burst new colors into the box, waves of different colors swept them away.
"I don't get it."
"I…make them watch it, sometimes. It helps them get out. Let go."
"You always turn it on? When you…?"
"No. Some of them like it, some don't."
So the camera worked right through it. It wouldn't matter if she turned it on or not— if she was telling the truth.
Time to find out.
"Turn that off," I said. "And come over here."
She did it. Walked over obediently enough. I slapped her hard enough to make her sway on her high heels. Her hands flew to her face. "What…?"
"Shut up, bitch. Put your hands down. Put them behind your back."
Her gray eyes widened. I slapped her again, harder. "It's about time you learned the truth about yourself," I told her, my voice flat and hard. "Are you going to do as you're told?"
"Yes."
I slapped her again.
"Yes sir," she said that time, in the zone where she wanted to be— somewhere between turned on and scared— but maybe just a little too close to the far edge.
I grabbed her shoulders, spun her around, pushed her forward until she was bent over the bed. I pulled her skirt up roughly. "Don't you move," I warned her, unthreading the belt from my slacks, doubling it up in my hand.
It took a long time before I was through. Then I stood in the corner, my shoulders past the shadow box's camera–eye, watching Fancy, her wrists lashed to each corner of the bed, her bottom elevated by a couple of pillows stuffed under her pelvis, harsh red stripes from the belt standing in bold relief for the camera's eye.
I smoked a cigarette all the way through. Then I untied her. I opened her purse, stuffed her bra and panties inside, told her to put her dress on. Then I walked her out of the room holding the back of her neck.
Outside, I waited till she locked the back door.
"Follow me in your car. Don't say another word. Don't get out of your car, understand?"
"Yes sir."
I found a pay phone on the highway, dialed the Mole.
"It's me. Was it there?"
"Yes."
"Everything worked?"
"Yes."
"They're still around?"
"Yes."
"I did them a favor. A big one. There's something they could do for me. That's fair, right?"
He didn't answer. I told him what I needed. "Can you get them in now?"
"Soon," he said.
I told him where to leave the package.
We drove back to the apartment in a two–car caravan. Fancy pulled in behind me. I got out, gestured for her to come to me. I held the door to the Lexus open for her, watched while she fastened her seat belt. Then I pulled off again.
She didn't say a word on the drive, but her face registered surprise when I turned off into the grove by the creek. I hit the power window switch
, watched the glass whisper its way down the track into the door. I pushed another button and the seat slid back. Satisfied, I got out, went around to her door and opened it. I held out my hand. She took it, hesitating, still not meeting my eyes. I led her gently around the back of the car down to a soft patch of grass. I took off my jacket, spread it on the ground for her. "Sit, honey," I said. "It's okay now."
She sat down placidly. I sat next to her, my arm around her waist. We didn't say anything for a while, looking out at the gently moving water, taking the calm.
She slumped against me. I kissed the top of her head. "Lie down, baby," I told her.
She rolled across my lap, face down, pulling at her skirt. I grabbed her hand, pulled the skirt back down. I reached up to her shoulders, held her in place as I slid along the grass so her face was in my lap. I stroked her back until she relaxed.
"Close your eyes, girl. Just let it go…it's over, now."
It took a while, but finally I felt the muscles in her back unclench, heard her breathing smooth out. She nuzzled at the base of my cock through my pants, then turned her head. "Can I…?"
"Turn over," I told her.
She did it, lying on her back, face up, gray eyes open and alert in the shade my upper body cast.
"Why did you…do it like that?" she finally asked.
"Like what?"
"Just…whip me. No sex. I thought you…didn't like that."
"There was a good reason, little girl. I promise you."
"What reason?"
"Ssshh, baby. You'll see."
"What reason, honey? Please tell me. I mean, I didn't…mind. But I thought…"
"Fancy, remember what you asked me before? About your mystery?"
"Yes."
"That was part of it. I can't tell you any more now, but real soon, okay? Will you trust me that far?"
"I'd trust you with anything, Burke."
"Close your eyes," I told her.
I watched the brook's current as she slept, watched as it broke over the rocks into a white froth, smoothed out again. Fancy went down deep, the heavy muscles at the backs of her calves relaxing. She turned her head to the side, snuggled into a better position, breath rattling sweetly through her one open nostril. My fingers played with her hair. She made a high–pitched sound I couldn't place, put her thumb into her mouth, sucked deeply, content.
It was just starting to get dark when she stirred.
"Wha…Burke?"
"I'm right here, girl."
"I must have fallen out."
"It's okay."
She shivered, rolled into a sitting position, hugging herself. "I'm cold."
"Okay. Come on." I helped her to her feet, walked her back to the car, my arm around her.
"Where are we going?"
"Just come on, Miss Motormouth. That's enough questions for one day."
I found a good spot in the parking lot of the mall. Told Fancy to get us some take–out. Instead of waiting in the car, I walked over to an outside phone.
"It's me. They do it?"
"Yes."
"Would anyone know they'd been there?"
"No."
"They left it where I said."
"Yes. They said to tell you— it triggers off a sensor when anyone goes in there."
I rung off. Pulled out the cellular, dialed.
"Hello?" Sonny answered.
"It's me," I said. "Where are you?"
"At the diner. Remember where— "
I could hear the noise in the background. "Yeah. You headed back to the house?"
"No, not for a while. We were gonna— "
"Do that. Whatever. Understand? Can you stay past midnight, stay away from the house?"
"Sure."
"Okay, champ. See you tomorrow morning."
By the time Fancy came back with her arms full of take–out, I was watching her through the windshield of the Lexus.
It was dark when we got back. I sent Fancy over to the big house, told her what to do. I went upstairs to the apartment, turned on the radio and a couple of lights. Then I came back out, walked over to the house. No lights on in the kitchen. I kept going through to the living room. Fancy had the floor set up like a picnic, the glow from some candles casting murky shadows.
"It looks great," I said, sitting down on the floor.
"How come you didn't want any lights, honey?"
"Don't talk with your mouth full," I told her.
"But my mouth isn't full. I didn't start to eat— I waited for you."
"Now I'm here," I said, helping myself to what looked like a deli plate: chunky tuna, potato salad, cole slaw.
We ate quietly, in companionable silence. I complimented Fancy on her choice of food, listened with half an ear as she ran through all the mall choices she'd had to make, why she settled on deli instead of Chinese, how it wasn't good to eat a heavy meal so late, something about cholesterol…
It was nearing ten o'clock by the time we finished the meal and cleaned it up. Fancy insisted on wrapping whatever we didn't eat, putting it away in the refrigerator. "Maybe Sonny'll want a snack when he comes home," she said.
While she was bustling around, I looked under the pillows in the living room couch. I found the videocassette, turned on the VCR, shoved in the cassette, started it running and hit the Pause button. The screen was all visual static, like dirty snow.
Fancy came back in. "Blow out the candles and come over here, girl."
She did it quick enough, sitting next to me expectantly.
"What, honey?"
"Watch," I said.
I hit the Play button on the remote. A brief flicker and it snapped into life. Fancy walking across the threshold of the white room.
"Burke! What is this? Where— ?"
"Just watch for a minute," I said, holding her hand tight.
The whole scene played out from a few hours ago. Now that I knew how it worked, I could see the camera shots were mechanical, the zooms unplanned. The tape ran back into gray trailer right after we exited the room. Fancy burst into sobs, trying to pull away from me.
"Oh God! Why did you do that? You…who was there? How could you? I would have…if you'd just asked…"
"Come here, girl. Listen to me."
"No! You filthy bastard!"
"Fancy, it's all on tape. It's got nothing to do with me."
"I don't believe you. If you didn't set it up— "
"Stay here," I told her. "Don't move." I walked over to the VCR, popped out the cassette, shoved in the copy I'd had made from the video I'd lifted from Cherry's safe. I hit the Play button again, walked back over to the couch. As soon as Fancy saw herself facing the camera, unzipping her skirt as the man on the bed behind her watched, she broke.
"That was over a year ago, that tape," she said, later. She was sitting on the floor in front of the couch, her back between my legs, my hands on her shoulders.
"There'll be a whole lot of them, Fancy. Every time you went into that room. The camera setup works automatically— it doesn't need an operator."
"I'll kill her."
"Who?"
"Cherry."
"It wasn't her, baby."
"Who else could it be?"
"Can I tell you a story?"
"I've heard enough stories. Especially from you."
"You'll appreciate this one, honey. I promise you. In the city, we got three different police departments. The regular cops, NYPD. Then there's Transit, they mostly work the subways. And Housing, they cover the Projects. They're really the only ones who still walk a beat— Vertical Patrol, they call it. The Projects, they're like a neighborhood. Everybody knows everybody else. It's bad out there. Not as bad as Chicago, where the gangbangers take over whole buildings, but dangerous, you know? More for the people who live there than the cops. The kids go elevator surfing, people fuck in the hallways, the rooftops are a good place to get raped. Or die. It's a strange mix— you got old people trying to make it on some lousy Social Security, you got Welfare s
cammers, you got decent, hardworking folks…everybody. Anyway, this old Housing cop I know, he was working a string of push–in muggings…where the skell follows an old lady up in the elevator, gets off on the floor below, runs up the stairs and shoves her into her own apartment. Then he works her over, loots the place, and disappears. So this cop, he watches. Real close. He finally bags this mugger, snatches him right on the stairwell. Takes him into custody. And the dirtbag can't wait to talk— admits to maybe a dozen of his 'jobs.' The cop's all excited, naturally. He brings the old people down to the precinct, but not a single one of them can ID the mugger. Not one. It was too dark, it happened too fast, he hit too hard, they were scared…whatever. So now he's stuck. Without an ID, the DA won't even consider the case. He's thinking about it and thinking about it and he comes up with this dynamite idea…a Reverse Lineup. Now listen to this. He rounds up a whole bunch of old people from the Projects, okay? Then he puts them up on the stage, under the lights. And he puts the skell behind the one–way glass, like he was the victim. Guess what? The skell loves it. He stands there, picks out his victims. 'Yeah, I did her. No, not that one.' And he's on the money every single time! He knows which one had jewelry in a dresser, which one had some cash hidden in the refrigerator, which one he punched in the face. All they had to do is match up the original police reports with what the skell said, and they had it all. Nobody else could have done it. Pretty slick, huh?"