Blue Belle b-3

by Andrew Vachss

  She bowed. "Friend of Burke, friend of Mama."

  Belle started to reach out her hand, thought better of it. Bowed gently. "Thank you, ma'am." Polite as a little girl in church.

  Mama slid into the booth next to me, barking something in Cantonese over her shoulder.

  The waiter brought the soup. Mama served me, then Belle, then herself. Watched carefully, smiling with approval as the bowl emptied. "You have more soup?"

  "Yes, please. It's delicious."

  Mama bowed again. "Very good soup - good for strength. Special for my people. Always here."

  Belle looked a question.

  "Burke my people," Mama said. No expression on her face, nothing in her tone. But a low-grade moron would have caught the warning.

  Belle quietly worked her way through beef in oyster sauce, snow-pea pods, water chestnuts, fried rice, hard noodles, paying no attention to us.

  Mama took a look at the empty plates, raised her eyebrows, called the waiter over again. Belle had a portion of lemon chicken, washing it all down with some Chinese beer. She patted her face with her napkin. "Oh, that was good!"

  "You want more?" Mama asked.

  Belle smiled. "No, thank you."

  "You come back sometime. When no more trouble, okay? See my granddaughter, yes?"

  "You have a granddaughter?"

  "Why not?" Mama asked, her face hardening.

  "You don't look old enough."

  A smile flashed. Disappeared. "Plenty old enough. Burke explain to you sometime."

  "Do you havve pictures of her?"

  Mama scanned Belle's face, taking her time. "Many pictures," she said, tapping her head. "All in here."

  Belle walked past the warning like she hadn't heard it. "What's the baby's name?"

  "Flower."

  Belle sipped her tea, prim and proper. Her eyes were soft. "If I was a flower, I know what kind I'd be," she said, half to herself. "A bluebell."

  Mama bowed, as though she understood. The way she always looks.

  77

  "I have to go in the street for a while," I told Belle as we climbed in the Plymouth. "I'll call you when I'm done with Marques. Late, okay?"

  "Can't I wait at your office?"

  "It's only a little after two now - I'll be coming back there to change around eight. It's a long time to be cooped up."

  "I won't be cooped up."

  "Yeah you would. I could leave you there with Pansy, but she wouldn't let you out."

  "It's okay."

  I drove back to the office, helping Belle carry her boxes up the back stairs.

  "I'm not playing, girl. Pansy lets people in, but they're always there when I come back, understand?"

  "Sure. Go ahead. I'll just take a nap."

  "Don't use the phone. And don't open any of the file cabinets."

  "O-kay! I got it."

  I gave her a kiss.

  78

  I found Michelle at The Very Idea, a transsexual bar on the East Side. I walked through a jungle of hard looks until I got to her table, feeling them fall away when she kissed me on the cheek.

  "Hi, handsome." She smiled. "Looking for me?" I sat down next to her, lit a cigarette, waiting patiently for her two girlfriends to leave. Michelle didn't introduce me.

  "The Prof's in the hospital," I told her.

  "What's the rest of it?"

  "His legs are broken. Somebody did it to him. For poking around, asking questions."

  "You know who?"

  "Guy named Mortay."

  Her big eyes went quiet, two long dark fingernails flirting with her cheekbone, meaning she was thinking. "I don't know him . . . but it seems like I heard the name . . ."

  "It's Spanish for 'death.' "

  "Honey, you know my language is French."

  I didn't say anything, looking straight ahead. Michelle's hand grabbed my wrist. "Honey, I'm sorry. But it's business, right? The Prof was poking around, like you said. It's not the first time he stepped on a nail."

  "The guy didn't have to do it, Michelle. It was a message. He's some kind of freak -wants to fight Max. That's why he worked the Prof over."

  "He wants to fight Max?"

  "That's what he said."

  "He should change his name to 'death wish.'"

  "Yeah, great. Thanks for your help." I got up to leave.

  "Burke!"

  "What? You think I came here to listen to your snappy dialogue? The Prof's my brother. Yours too. I know you're off the street - I didn't think we were off your list."

  Michelle grabbed my arm, her talons biting deep. "Don't you ever say that!" she hissed, pulling me closer. She got to her feet, hooking her arm through mine. "Let's get out of here - too many ears."

  We walked out into the daylight. I let her lead me down the street to another joint - a singles bar that wouldn't come alive for a couple of hours. We grabbed a pair of stools near a corner. Glass tinkled; a brittle edge to the juiceless, anorexic laughter of the patrons. The bartender brought Michelle her white wine and me my ginger ale.

  "Tell me," she said, not playing now.

  "You know the Ghost Van?"

  "Just the rumors. The gossip off the street. But I know it's for real - somebody's shooting the working girls."

  "There's a bounty on it. I talked with some people. Made a deal to track it down. The Prof was in on it. That's what he was looking for when he ran into this Mortay."

  "So they're connected?"

  "I don't know. When Mortay leaned hard, the Prof pulled out Max's name. Thinking to put some protection on himself. It backfired. Mortay wants Max - that's what he said. Wanted to know where his dojo was. The Prof didn't know. Mortay snapped his legs."

  "How'd you find him?"

  "They brought him right to the hospital. Like I said - a message."

  "Where are you now?"

  "I did some digging. There's this guy Lupe. Works out of the Bronx. Sets up matches. You know: cockfights, pit bulls, crap like that?"

  "Yes?"

  "He said this Mortay fought a duel. A bunch of the players got together, put up this purse. Twenty grand. Mortay killed the other guy in front of the whole crowd."

  "I can see it. Regular prizefights are too tame for the freaks. Too much cocaine, too much filth . . . After a while, they have no nerve endings at all. It takes a superjolt to get their batten es started. They want the real thing."

  "I told this Lupe I want to meet Mortay."

  "Burke, that's not like you, that macho foolishness."

  "Not fight him, Michelle. Meet him. Just to tell him I'm walking away. No hard feelings."

  "Baby, I've known you forever. All your feelings are hard feelings."

  "I have to turn him away from Max."

  "It doesn't sound like . . ."

  "I don't know what it sounds like. If he's free-lance, it doesn't matter. He can't find Max."

  "So?"

  "So, if he's tied up with this Ghost Van, maybe he's tied up with people who could."

  The bartender brought us another round. I felt a flesh-padded hip bump my arm. A girl in a pink leather skirt, moving onto the stool next to me, talking to her girlfriend. Secretaries prolonging their lunch hour to look around.

  Michelle sipped at her wine. "What do you want me to do?"

  "Ask around. About the van. I'll check out this Mortay the best I can. See if it all catches up."

  "I thought you were going to walk away."

  "If I can, I will. I don't like any of this. If this guy's really fighting duels, he can't last forever. There's no old gunfighters."

  Her big eyes pinned me over the rim of her glass. "I may be a sweet young thing, honey, but I go back a ways, remember?"

  "Ex-gunfighter," I said, quietly.

  "Yeah, we're all X-rated, aren't we, babe? I'm an ex-streetwalker, and you want me back on the stroll to listen to the beat. And you're ready to pick up the gun again - I can hear it in your voice."

  "It'll be all right. I'll talk with him, square it up
."

  The girl in the pink skirt leaned into our conversation, her hardpointed breasts brushing my arm. "Excuse me, honey," she said to Michelle, "could I ask your boyfriend a question?"

  Michelle gave her an icy smile. "He's not my boyfriend - he's my lawyer."

  "Oh, perfect!" the girl said, pulling her pal into the scene. She looked at me, flicking her tongue over her lower lip. "Do you think prenuptial agreements take the romance out of marriage?"

  I blew a jet of smoke across the bar. "Rubbers take some of the romance out of sex," I said, "but they beat the hell out of AIDS."

  I tossed a couple of bills on the bar. Michelle followed me out.

  79

  I drove Michelle over to her hotel. She was quiet on the drive, her eyes on the street. I pulled up down the block from her place.

  "I can't explain it to you," I told her. "I wish I could - it's somewhere inside my head - I have to work with it until it makes sense."

  "Not everything makes sense."

  I lit a smoke, shook my head. "It's just a feeling but I know this whole thing is bad for us. For all of us. I'm not looking for trouble."

  "Okay honey. I'm with you."

  "Thanks, Michelle."

  She lit one of her long black cigarettes like she does everything else. Elegantly.

  "You still with that big girl?"

  "Yeah."

  "That's a very fine woman, Burke. Believe me when I tell you. Nobody's ever been nice to her."

  "I'm nice to her."

  She smiled. "Are you?"

  "Yeah, I am. She took your advice."

  "Vertical stripes."

  I laughed. "You should have seen them on her." Michelle slapped my arm with unerring instinct in the same spot Belle always used. "You work with what you have, baby. You're looking at the expert."

  "I know."

  "Okay. You got some cash on you?"

  "Yeah."

  "Then let's do some shopping."

  "Shopping? For what?"

  "For a present, you idiot. For your girl."

  "I have to . . ."

  "Drive down to the Village," she ordered me, not willing to discuss it further.

  Michelle found what she wanted in a little basement dive on Sullivan Street. A necklace of small dark-blue stones. The old Turk who ran the place had been a chemist before he fled some border war a hundred years ago. He'd been one of the Mole's first teachers.

  "How much for this old thing, Mahmud?" Michelle asked, holding the necklace up to the light.

  "That is pure lapis lazuli, young lady. Very fine. Very special."

  "Sure, sure. About a hundred bucks retail, right?"

  "A hundred dollars? For Old World craftsmanship? The stones alone are worth many times that."

  "Since when is Taiwan the Old World, Mahmud?"

  The old man's eyes gleamed. "Lapis lazuli. The mineral is called 'lazulite.' Very rare. You will not find it in the Far East. This perfect crystal comes only from Madagascar."

  "Does the geography lesson cost extra?"

  Mahmud and I exchanged shrugs. "Even a hurricane eventually passes, leaving the calm," he said.

  Michelle wasn't moved. "You take American Express?"

  Mahmud laughed so hard, tears ran down his face. "From him?" he said, pointing at me.

  Michelle moved in for the kill. "Okay, so how much of a discount for cash?"

  Mahmud moved to center ring, gloves up. "This necklace is worth one thousand two hundred dollar."

  "Get out of town! Do I look like I'm on medication?"

  "You look lovely, as always, Michelle. One thousand two hundred dollar."

  "Four hundred. And you don't have to gift-wrap it."

  "For you, because you are so beautiful, because such a beautiful necklace should have a beautiful home . . . a thousand."

  "It's not for me, you old bandit, it's for Burke. For his girlfriend."

  "This is true?"

  I nodded.

  "He just brought me along for protection," Michelle said, smiling sweetly.

  "Ah, I see. Eight hundred, then."

  "Did you say five?"

  "Seven hundred dollar, and only because I respect your good taste."

  "Can we split the difference?"

  "Seven hundred dollar," the old man said. He meant it.

  "Give him the money," Michelle ordered me.

  I handed it over. Mahmud slipped the necklace into a soft leather pouch, handed it to me. "You take this too," he said, rummaging around under the counter. He came up with a tiny round wood box. He unscrewed it, holding it out to me. It was filled with a fragrant paste, colorless in the dark wood.

  "Jasmine," he said. "Just a touch on the lady's finger, then . . . here" - touching his chest. "The lapis takes its fire from the earth; it will blaze all the brighter if there is fire in the heart."

  I bowed to Mahmud. Michelle gave him a kiss. When we hit the street, it was past six.

  80

  "Where to?" I asked Michelle.

  "Take me back to my hotel. I need to change my clothes before I get to work."

  "Michelle . . . you'll look?"

  "I'll do better than that, baby. There's plenty of those little girls out there that know me. Like the Prof would say, if they know me, they owe me."

  "Debts."

  "Debts all come due, Burke. You know I love you. And even if you were still nothing but a rough-off artist like you used to be, I'd still love you." She lit a smoke, her face dead serious. "I'd love you because you're right sometimes you have to go down the tunnel even if you don't know what's at the other end."

  She blew the smoke at the windshield. Reached over and squeezed my hand. "I don't know what you're doing half the time. I don't think you do either. You're a hard man trying to be a hustler, and you don't always make it. I don't know why you went into that house last year - all I did was make a phone call like you asked. I don't know why you started that whole mess."

  "It doesn't matter now," I said. Thinking of the witch-woman, Strega. "It's all over now."

  "It doesn't matter why you did it . . . but I know this. You brought me my son. And I'll never forget."

  She leaned over to kiss me as the Plymouth pulled to the curb. "If it's out there, I'll find it," she said.

  "Michelle . . ."

  "What?"

  "Use a telescope, okay?"

  She just waved a goodbye and moved down the street. Heads turned. Her walk didn't make men want to bite into their palms like Belle's. lt pulled at a different piece, but it pulled just as hard.

  81

  It was almost seven-thirty by the time I got back to the office. I had the key in the lock when the smell hit me. A hard-sharp smell. I stepped inside. Pansy was at her post, tail wagging, even happier to see me than usual. All the furniture was against one wall. The fake Persian rug was off the wall. The smell was stronger inside.

  Belle came in from the back room. Barefoot, wearing only a bra and pants, her hair tied on top of her head, a rag in one hand.

  "You came home too early."

  "What in hell is this?"

  "It's almost a clean office, honey. Lord, this place was dirty - I damn near had to use a chisel on the floor in the back."

  "Belle . . ."

  "I couldn't get that rug up. And you don't have a vacuum - I should've known. It's some kind of plastic, isn't it? I had to scrub it down . . . It's still damp - watch where you put your feet."

  I walked over to the couch. Sat down. Slowly. Pansy leaped onto the cushions, pressing against me. I patted her head.

  Belle came over to me. "That old beast - she followed me around everywhere. Big busybody, poking her nose into everything. She wouldn't hardly let me work."

  ''I . . ."

  "Honey, don't you like it?"

  "Yeah. I mean, it's great. I just . . ."

  "Take a look," she said, reaching out her hand to me. "Come on."

  The bathroom sparkled, the back window gleamed. The floor glistened. The wa
lls were a color I had never seen before. Even the hot plate looked new.

  "Damn!"

  "It's good, huh?"

  "It's unbelievable."

  "I thought there was another room. Behind the rug on the wall."

  "That's what people are supposed to think," I said, half to myself. The surfaces of the file cabinets looked like someone had worked them over with a power sander. My old desk was oiled - you could even see the grain in the wood.

  "How'd you do all this?"

  "I'm a working fool - always have been. I was raised on work."

  "I don't know what to say." It was the truth.

  The big girl moved in against me, sharp sweat-smell blending with her natural juices into something way past sweet. "Say what I want to hear," she whispered.

  I slipped both hands inside her pants, pulling her tight against me. "Go take a shower," I said.

  She ground her hips against me. "That isn't it," she said.

  "Trust me."

  "I do."

  "Well . . .?"

  She pulled back from me, walked toward the back room, shaking her butt like she was on the runway. Pansy shook her head in amazement. "You want out?" I asked her, opening the back door. The beast turned away in disgust - I guess she'd been on the roof a few times since I'd been gone.

  I had most of the furniture back in place in a few minutes. I was rehooking the rug on the wall when Belle came out. Nude, beads of water covering yards of pink flesh. She had a towel around her head, holding it in place with her hands.

  "I'm all clean."

  "Come here," I said, reaching into my jacket pocket.

  She came over to the desk, giving her hair one final rub with the towel, then tossing it over to the couch.

  "Just stay there for a minute," I said, signaling Pansy to come with me. I dumped everything in the refrigerator into her giant bowl. I added some chocolate-chip cookies and a pint of vanilla ice cream. "Speak!" I told her. It would keep her occupied for a good five minutes.

  I went back inside. Belle was standing by the desk, the soul of patience. I stood close to her, holding her face in my hands, looking into her dark eyes.