Andrew Vachss

by Blue Belle

When I came back out, Belle had the duffel bag on the couch. I toweled myself off, put on a fresh set of clothes. Belle's clock said two-fifteen. I took a pillowcase from the duffel bag, stuffed everything I'd been wearing into it, even the cheap watch.

  I don't have a washing machine here, she said, watching my face.

  This stuff needs an incinerator, I said, tossing it near the front door.

  You want a drink?

  Ice water.

  She cracked some cubes in a glass, ran the tap, brought it over to me. I lit a cigarette, watching my hands on the matches. They didn't shake.

  I propped myself against the arm of the couch, sipping the water, smoking my cigarette. Watching the smoke drift to the ceiling. Belle stood a few feet away, watching me, not saying a word.

  Come here, baby, I said.

  She sat on the floor next to the couch. I put my hand on the back of her neck, holding her. It was quiet and safe in the dark. Belle took the ashtray from me, put it on the floor where I could reach it. Lit a smoke of her own.

  When I was a young man, just a kid really, I had a place of my own. A basement, but it was fixed up like an apartment. I was raised in other people's places: the orphanage, foster homes, reform school. Nothing belonged to me. I got to thinking that place was real important.

  I dragged deep on the cigarette, watching the glow at the tip.

  A man wanted my basement. I didn't know how to act then - there was nobody to tell me what to do - nobody for me to listen to. I got a gun and I went to meet him. In an alley. I was scared. I thought if I couldn't keep my basement I could never keep anything. Never have anything of my own.

  I had to meet the man. Like tonight. I can still see it - like I was right back there. I got ready to go. Ran Vaseline through my hair so nobody could get a grip. Wrapped my body with layers of newspaper in case he had a knife. Taped the handle of the pistol. So I wouldn't leave fingerprints . . . but really because I was so scared I thought I'd drop it when I took it out. I looked around that basement one last time. My basement. Left the radio playing as I walked out the door. It was Doc Pomus. A great old blues singer. Walking the line just before rock 'n' roll came. 'Heartlessly.' That was the song. I still hear it.

  He was there, waiting for me with his boys. I tried to talk to him. He just laughed at me - called me a punk. I showed him the pistol. He said I wouldn't pull the trigger - said I was scared to death. He was half right. I shot him.

  Did you kill him?

  No. I didn't know it at the time. I just pumped a slug into him. The other people with him - they saw me do it. I just walked away. Back to my basement. I thought the word would be on the street. Don't fuck with Burke. He's a man now. Not a kid.

  What happened?

  They came for me. I went to prison. I paid attention in there - found people I could listen to. I never wanted to be a hijacker. I'm not a gunfighter in my heart, I'm a thief. I never wanted to be a citizen - knew I never could anyway. But I didn't want to stick up liquor stores. I wanted to walk the line. Use my head, not my hands.

  I stubbed out the cigarette.

  I've been waiting for full bloom all my life, Belle. It never worked out for me, Belle. I run some scams for a while, make a few good scores. But it seems like I always end up going back into that alley.

  I took another hit of the ice water, Belle's hand on my chest.

  I thought it was all about that damn basement. I swore I'd never fight over a thing, never again. No matter what, I'd walk away. Travel light.

  I lit another smoke.

  I cut the crap out of my life. I don't drink, don't play with dope. I learned to be careful. Real, real careful. I've got cut-outs inside cut-outs. Boxes inside boxes. Background tapes when I make telephone calls, phony license plates on the car. I got passports, birth certificates, driver's licenses. I sting freaks who can't sting back. I just wanted what the little ones want - what your mother wanted for you.

  To be safe?

  Yeah. To be safe. The pattern I made for myself - it was like a ritual. Something you pray to. To keep you safe from demons. I was so scared before, when I was shaking on the couch. It made me think. Like you're praying your ass off and the devil shows up instead of God. It makes you stop praying. It's not a world out here, it's a junkyard. I grabbed a little girl once, maybe fourteen years old. Working the street. She spent her nights with her eyes closed and her mouth full. Turned over all the money to some dirtbag who beat her up and sent her back for more. I was taking her to this place I know, where they'd keep her safe, and I asked her about being a runaway. I thought you ran away to get to a better place. She told me she was in a better place.

  I know.

  I know you do. I've been thinking about it. Lying here. I wanted to live off my wits. Not beat the system, just take my little piece off to the side. Play it extra-safe.

  But I see it now. It was a pattern. The one thing you don't want to do.

  What pattern?

  In prison, a guy who's thinking about going over the Wall . . . you can tell. You watch him, he falls into a pattern. Does the same thing every day. Maybe he stays in his cell instead of falling out for the movie. 'Cause he's working on the bars. Little piece at a time, putting dirty soap into the cuts to hide them. Waiting. Or you see him on the yard, watching the guard towers. Making schedules in his head. Any pattern marks you after a while. This South American dictator, he always went everywhere in an armored limo. Bodyguards in front, bodyguards in back. Safe as a bank vault. The other side, they blew up the car with a fucking rocket. See? The pattern taught them what to do. They didn't waste time with hijack stuff. Just blew the problem away.

  But . . .

  It's me too, Belle. I've been at it too long. I play it safe; but I don't play it alone. You understand what I'm saying?

  No, honey.

  I can walk away from that office and never look back. They'll never nail me fighting over my home again. I don't have a home. Remember when you said we should run? I can't run. I don't have a home, but I have people. My people. The only thing that's mine. That's my pattern.

  The little black guy?

  The Prof is one. There's others. I don't know how it happened. I didn't mean for it to happen. I have these dreams. I was going to be a gunfighter. Live hard until I died. But I found out I didn't want to die. Then I was going to be a scam artist. But I kept running into kids. And they keep pulling me into what I didn't want to be.

  I wanted to use my head, Belle, and they make me use my hands. I was going to be a lone wolf. I even liked the way the words sound, you know? But it's not me. All my life, I never found what I am . . . just what I'm not.

  Belle shifted her weight on the floor, looking at me. I know what you are, she said.

  No, you don't. You know what you want. I do that too. I think I want something, I make what I have into whatever that is. It doesn't work.

  She grabbed a handful of my shirt. You better not be telling me a fancy goodbye, Burke.

  There's nothing fancy about it. There's not going to be any more basements in my life. I'm over the edge now. Past the line. This guy, the guy I met tonight - he wants my brother. And he knows how to make him come to fight. I can't let Max do it.

  If he's as good as you say . . .

  It's not a duel, Belle. Max has a baby. He's an outlaw. Like us. But he walks his own road. He fights this freak, there's no win. It's like turning over a rock - you don't know what's underneath. This Mortay, he's started something. If they fight, maybe Mortay wins. And my brother is dead. Max wins, he won't win easy. And even if he does, he's out of the shadows and into the street. Don't you get it?

  No!

  Listen to me, little girl. Listen good. There's no more outlaw code. There's no rules for freaks. I've known this since I was a kid, but I never really dealt with it. When I went back to my basement, after I shot that guy?

  Yeah . . .

  The people who came for me, they weren't his friends. It was the cops.

  ''I . . .<
br />
  Listen! It was the cops. I was a stupid fucking kid who thought he was going to be a gunfighter. I went back to my basement. I thought they'd come for me - we'd shoot it out. I didn't care if I lived or I died. If I couldn't have my basement, I didn't care. If they came for me and I won, I'd have a rep. Walk down the street, women would look at me, men would whisper my name. I thought they'd come with guns - they came with a warrant.

  I lit a smoke. My hands were still steady.

  I'm telling you the truth now. Max can't win a fight with this freak. Somebody's coming for him after that. Sooner or later.

  Burke . . .

  I've got my debts too, Belle. You've never been a slut with your body; don't be one with your respect. But give me what's coming to me. I got no choice about this. I don't want to live here if I have to pay so high.

  You have to kill him, she said. It wasn't a question.

  I have to kill him. And I'm not good enough to do it and walk away.

  You've been to prison before. I said I'd wait for you. I'll wait for you even if you buy a life sentence.

  I'm doing a life sentence right now. It's time to stop playing with myself. I got a plan. I know how to take him out. But it'll never end up in court.

  Honey . . .

  The Mole. The guy you met tonight? He's a genius. Like you wouldn't believe. I'll have him make me a jacket. Line it with the right stuff. I'll find Mortay. He'll do what he does. And when he hits, there's a big bang and it's over.

  She was crying, her head on my chest. No, no, no.

  Don't take this from me, I said. If I could figure out another way, I'd do it in a minute. But I looked in his eyes. There's nobody home there. I can't take a chance. If I try and I miss, my people will go down. And it'll be me who did it.

  I could live with jail again, Belle. But if I miss this freak, I couldn't live with myself. I'd have nothing to come back to.

  Why can't you . . . ?

  What? Call the cops? Have us all move to the mountains? I'm going to try, okay? I don't want to die. I'm not good enough with my hands to take him out. For a minute, when I was in the shower, for just a minute, I let it run in my head. Thought the answer was there. There's a reason for this freak being connected to the Ghost Van. It's all patterns. If I could hook into his, maybe I'd have a handle to twist him with.

  She pulled back, watching my face as if she could see past my eyes, big round tears on her face. Glass beads - they'd shatter if they hit the floor.

  You'll try?

  I'll try, sure I'll try. I don't have much time. I have to put it together . . . but maybe it doesn't fit. Maybe there is no pattern.

  But you'll try? You swear?

  I swear. But I'm cutting you out, Belle. Right now, nobody has you with me. You can be out of here in a few hours. I've got some money. I'll give you a number to call. It'll all be over in a few days, one way or another.

  Get some sleep, baby, she said, kissing me on the lips.

  CONTENTS

  108

  I felt the heat. My eyes snap open. My head turned to the side. Belle stood naked in front of me, my eyes on a level with the triangle of her hips, the soft pelt between them.

  You think you're being a man? she asked.

  I'm being myself. Trying to be myself.

  I won't stop you. I love you. But you can't stop me either.

  What're you talking about?

  I'm in this. I'm with you. Whatever way it plays.

  I told you . . .

  What're you going to do, big man? Beat my ass? I like that, remember?

  Belle . . .

  You know why I like it? she whispered. Yes. Yes, you do. I only let two people hit me in my life. Sissy. And you. She loved me, and I wanted you to love me too. Own me. Take care of me. Rescue me, like she did. You don't want to live in this world alone. I understand what you said. I listened to you. I'm not running away, make some fucking phone call, find out if you're dead.

  Do what I tell you.

  I'll take your orders. I'll take whatever you have. But only if I'm yours, understand? I'm in this.

  You're not.

  I'm in this, you bastard. You can't stop me. You let me in this, you let me help you, I'll obey you like a slave. I'll do whatever you say. But if you don't, I swear I'll go back to work tomorrow night. And I'll tell every man in the place that I'm your girlfriend. I'll tell my boss. I'll put it on the street. I'll take an ad in the fucking newspapers, I have to! You don't want me in the pattern, you have to let me in your life.

  I propped myself on one elbow, looking straight ahead. You big, stupid bitch. It was all I could say.

  I wasn't watching her face, but I could feel the flash of her smile. I'm a beautiful young girl, she whispered, and you taught me that. I'm a woman. Your woman. And you're going to see just what a stand-up woman is all about.

  I closed my eyes again.

  CONTENTS

  109

  When I came around again Belle was standing in the same place, hands on her hips. What time is it? I asked her.

  Time to get up, she said, kneeling down next to the couch, pressing her mouth against me, hands fumbling at my belt. I stroked her back, smooth and moist, like she just stepped out of a bath. She smelled of jasmine.

  She unbuttoned my shirt, her face against my chest. The necklace shone against her skin. She licked my chest, my belly. Then she took me in her mouth.

  I knew what she was doing. I knew it wouldn't work. But I felt myself grow in her mouth. Swell to bursting. I looked at the ceiling. Shadows. I closed my eyes.

  She took her mouth from me. Almost ready, she whispered.

  I'm ready now.

  Not yet. Wait. She stroked me with something slippery in her hand, gently working it in from the root to the tip. She took my hand. Come on, she said, pulling me from the couch, leading me to the bed.

  She sat down on the bed, pulling me with her, pushing me onto my back again. She lit a cigarette, put it in my mouth. She lay down on her stomach, her face inches from mine.

  Will you do something for me?

  What?

  Never mind what - will you do it?

  ''I . . .

  Just listen to me, okay? Then decide. All right?

  Yeah. I felt so tired. Like an old man starting another long sentence.

  Remember I told you about that man I was with once? That tough guy? The guy who wouldn't have a bitch dog?

  Yeah.

  Remember I told you he said all bitches would turn tail? That's what he wanted me to do?

  I nodded, dragging on the cigarette.

  You know what he meant? He meant turn my tail. He wanted to fuck me in the ass.

  Uh.

  He said a real man could always find a piece of ass - said he'd heen in prison and he even found some there. She reached over, took the cigarette from me, drew on it. Handed it back. Did you ever do that?

  What?

  Fuck a man. In prison.

  No.

  What'd you do?

  I went steady with my fist, I snorted. Close to a laugh, but not there yet.

  Cause a real man doesn't do that?

  I don't know what a real man does. It's like everything I know, Belle - I only know the dark side. I only know what a man doesn't do.

  Is that why you wouldn't taste me? The first time we made love?

  I told you the truth then - it's the same truth. In prison . . . men do things. I don't put them down for it. Man wants to fuck another man, it doesn't say anything about him.

  What is it a man doesn't do, then?

  He doesn't fuck someone who doesn't want to be fucked, okay? That's the only rule, the only real one. Fucking another man in the ass doesn't make you less of one. But taking it . . .

  I know. It makes a man into a girl.

  That's bullshit. A kid who gets raped in prison, it says something about the guy who did it to him, that's all.

  But if the kid doesn't fight . . .

  He has to fight. He does
n't have to win.

  What happens to a kid who's raped?

  He can lock up, go into PC. Protective Custody. Or he can hang up. Take himself off the count. I guess he could even escape. But he can't walk the yard unless he squares it.

  How does he square it?

  Kill the guy. Shank him, pipe him, poison him . . . it don't matter. Even it up. Get it back.

  I sat up in the bed, lit another cigarette. That's what I was trying to tell you. There's rules. For everything. They don't have to be fair ones. The first time I was in reform school, one of the bigger kids rolled on me. I never let him finish his pitch. We fought. He could beat me, but he knew he'd never turn me. The next time I went back inside, I was older. Smarter. They were running another game then. It was all gangs inside. They'd make one of the little kids run. Take off at night. Then they'd run out and catch him. Kick the shit out of him, drag him back. They used to get a go-home behind it. Just another way of being raped.

  When they came to me, I told this big guy I'd do it, but I wasn't doing it for nothing. He had to give me his radio. I watched his face - I could see he was thinking what a chump I was.

  He gave me his radio and I told him I'd run in a week. I spent a lot of time on the grounds. Looking around. Getting ready. When the night came, I took off. I told him I'd be waiting for him by this big tree. Made him promise not to hurt me when he brought me back. I kept watching his face - I knew he was lying.

  I took off. Climbed up in the tree with this cinder block I'd found. He came looking for me. Calling my name. Real quiet, so he'd be the one to bring me in. Get all the credit for himself.

  I bit into the filter tip of the cigarette, feeling myself smile inside at the memory, my hand on Belle's hip.

  I dropped the cinder block right on his head. He went down. I jumped on top of him, stomped his face into the ground. I held the cinder block over my head and slammed it into his ribs a couple of times. Then I went back and told the Man that this guy had escaped and I'd stopped him, but he was too heavy for me to drag back.

  I got my parole. He went to the hospital.

  Good.

  Yeah, good. I know how things work. I had to pay for what I know, but I know.