Andrew Vachss

by Blue Belle

You can figure this out too, honey.

  I don't know.

  You're scared of this guy, but . . .

  I'm always scared of something , Belle. The trick is not to let it get in the way. Like ego - ego gets in the way. I went there tonight to tell the guy I wasn't carrying a beef. Almost begged him to walk away, let it go. But it wasn't what he wanted.

  Belle reached for me again. How about what I want?

  What do you want?

  She squirmed until she was next to me, one arm on my shoulder, still holding me in the other hand, slippery.

  I told you only two people hit me in my life. You and Sissy. I told you the truth - I told you why, she said, moving closer to me, whispering in the night. I took my clothes off for men to watch. Everything I ever did with a man, I did with you. But special. From the very first time. I knew. Sometimes you just know something. I want you to do it to me. What he wanted. Nobody ever did.

  Her voice dropped even lower, swamp-orchid soft. I didn't know what I was saving it for, but I knew I had to save something. It's for you.

  I kissed her cheek. You saved it all for me, girl. Don't fuss about it.

  Burke, do it! Come on . I need you to do it. It's special. For you. Not for you to take . . . for me to give.

  Belle . . .

  Her mouth was against my ear, tongue darting inside. Want me to get down on my knees and beg?

  I got off the bed, stood facing her. She was on her knees, taking me in her mouth. Aagh! she said, pulling her face away. That stuff tastes awful.

  What is it?

  K-Y Jelly. I bought it when I went shopping. It was supposed to be your surprise. She stroked me again, slathering the stuff on. Yes?

  I nodded.

  She turned, still on her knees, her backside to me. Where's that stuff? I asked her.

  She handed it to me. I covered myself again. Patted her butt, squeezed a glob on my finger, worked it inside her. Softly, slowly. She wiggled her rear. Uhmmmm . . .

  I put one hand on each side of her, gently pulling her apart. I felt the tip slide into her. Pushed forward.

  Easy , honey. A big house can have a little door. I pulled out of her.

  Come on.

  I don't want to hurt you.

  I was just teasing, baby. Come on, now. Come on.

  I slipped in her again, working the tip back and forth, a little bit at a time. She rammed herself back against me, grunting, maybe in pain. I looked at her in the dark, split by my cock, her palms flat on the bed, elbows locked. She looked back over her shoulder. Nice and easy, she said, smiling. The blue beads swinging from her neck.

  I found the rhythm. She moved with me, just a little, working me deeper into her. Just for you, she whispered, as I shot off inside her.

  CONTENTS

  110

  We were on the move before it got light outside. I swung the Plymouth into the garage, led Belle up the stairs, the pistol cocked in my hand.

  Everything was as I left it. I let Pansy out to her roof, poured some food into her bowl. Belle stood next to me.

  You're not worried he'll try this place?

  I don't think he wants anything to do with rooftops after last night.

  What happened?

  It doesn't matter, I said, popping open file cabinets, handing her papers to put on the desk.

  Pansy strolled into the room. Belle patted her head. The beast ignored her, demolishing the food. I opened the floorboard in a corner of the back closet. Belle knelt next to me. Take this stuff over there, I told her, filling her arms with death.

  She dumped it all on the couch like it was laundry. A sawed-off .12-gauge holding three-inch magnum shells. Double-O buckshot in one barrel, a rifled deer slug in the other. A Sig Sauer .45 - the closest thing to a jam-proof automatic they make. Six fragmentation grenades, little gray baseball-sized bombs. Four sticks of dynamite, wrapped together with duct tape. A heavy Ruger .357 magnum single-action revolver.

  I went over to the desk, moved the papers to one side, reached for the phone. Belle was standing by the couch, watching.

  Come here, I said, watching her face. When she got close, I made one last try.

  I don't think he's coming here. But if he does, it'll take him a while to get through that door. He does, and this whole building's going up. You understand?

  Yes.

  You sure ? I can't use the guns. There's no way to shoot through that door, and if he gets inside, there's no room. No time. He's too fast. Mortay makes it inside here, there's no gunshots. Just one big boom.

  I know.

  You can work with me. I'll keep my promise. But I don't want you to stay here. You take the car, go back to your house. I'll call . . .

  Forget it.

  I'll call you when I need you, okay? Not when it's over. Before that. When I need a driver, I said, trying my last hope.

  She put her hands on her hips, her legs spread wide apart. You want me to take Pansy with me?

  No.

  Her dark eyes were on fire. One bitch is good enough to die with you, not the other, huh?

  Belle . . . Pansy wouldn't go with you.

  That's bullshit. You could get her out of here. You just think she might do you some good.

  I threw up my hands. I give up, I told her.

  Burke, don't give up. I'm not asking you to give up. Let it play out, okay?

  Okay, I said, reaching for her hand.

  She sat on the corner of the desk, looking down at me. Where do you think you go when you die? You think we all go to the same place?

  I don't know.

  This guy comes here, we'll find out together, she said, holding my hand tight.

  CONTENTS

  111

  I started going through the papers piled on my desk.

  Smoking and thinking. Belle put her hand on my shoulder. You want some paper, write stuff down?

  No. I'm not used to working like that. I have to do it in my head.

  Can I help?

  Not yet.

  I went back to the files, working over the clips on the Ghost Van, sorting what I had into little boxes inside my head. Stacking them in rows, building a foundation. You work from the ground up, brick by brick. When you reach out your hand for a brick and it's not there, you'ye found the door. Whatever's missing, that's where you have to look.

  The man who played with death wanted Max. I wanted him. He had all the cards, but I had one edge. I knew something he never would. How to be afraid.

  The edge burned at the corners of my guts. Seven-thirty. I picked up the phone. All clear. Dialed Mama. She answered in the middle of the first ring.

  Gardens.

  It's me. What?

  Gone.

  All of them?

  All gone. Maybe three weeks, okay?

  Perfect.

  You have two calls. Man called Marques, couple hours ago. And the cop. McGowan. Maybe ten minutes ago.

  She gave me the numbers. McGowan was calling from the Runaway Squad; I didn't recognize the other one.

  I'm off, Mama.

  You come soon?

  Soon.

  I lit a smoke. Ten minutes ago . . . I dialed McGowan. He answered himself.

  You called me?

  We got to meet, pal. Now.

  I'm hot.

  Just say where.

  Battery Park. Where they park to go out to the Statue of Liberty. The benches facing the water.

  Thirty minutes?

  I'll be there.

  Belle was behind me, her hands on my shoulders. I told her the number Mama gave me for Marques.

  That the same one you have?

  She went into the back room, came out with her purse, fumbled around. Pulled out a little red leather book, thumbed through the pages. She looked up. No.

  I punched the number into the phone. A woman's voice came on the line.

  Mr. Dupree's office, she said, a coked-up giggle in her voice.

  Get Marques, I told her.

  The pimp took t
he phone. Yes? Like an executive.

  You called me a couple of hours ago?

  Who's this?

  You called at the Chinese Embassy, okay?

  Oh, yeah. I get you. Look, man, I got some dynamite stuff. This guy who hangs with him, he . . .

  Hold up, I barked, listening hard. The phone didn't sound right. Where you calling from?

  From my ride, man. You ever see one of them car phones?

  Yeah. It's a radio phone. It's not just me you're talking to now, get it?

  It's cool.

  It's not cool. Give me a number to call you at.

  No way, Jose'. I got business out here, won't be back to the crib for hours. Give me your number, I'll ring you in an hour.

  I pulled a looseleaf book from the desk drawer. East Side or West Side?

  What?

  Where you going to be in an hour? In your car. Where?

  Oh. East Side, man.

  I ran my finger down the list of numbers. Make it nine o'clock, okay? Rush hour, nobody's paying attention. There's a pay phone in the gas station at Ninety-fourth and Second. Go there, fill up your ride, I'll ring you there.

  You'll call me ? On a pay phone?

  Yeah, don't worry about it. We set?

  They got super-premium gas in that station, man? I hung up the phone.

  CONTENTS

  112

  Pansy put her two front paws on the desk, making her noises. I scratched behind her ears. Not now, girl. She licked my face. I'd have to use disinfectant for an after-shave.

  One more call. The Mole. I heard the phone picked up.

  It's me. I need another car. Can I make the switch in a couple of hours, leave mine there?

  Okay.

  I pulled my first-aid kit out of the bottom drawer. Belle, come over here.

  She came over. Quiet and watchful. I have to meet some people. Can you take a cab over to the hospital? See the Prof? Just stay there until I call - three, four hours?

  Why can't I go with you?

  There's a thin line between a brat and a bitch, I said, holding an aluminum splint against my forearm, measuring. A little girl can't be a bitch, an old woman can't be a brat.

  I pulled a three-inch-wide roll of elastic bandage from the kit, put it aside. Started cutting pieces off a roll of Velcro, working fast. Woman your age, she can be either one. Or both. Big as you are, you can still act like a little brat sometimes. You want something, you put your hands on your hips. Pout, stamp your feet. It's cute, okay? Makes me want to give that big rump of yours a slap.

  She smiled her smile.

  But when you try and go back on a deal, you're over the line. Makes me want to dump you someplace. Not come back.

  Her face went hard. You better . . .

  Shut up, Belle. We made a deal, right? You're in this, but you . . . Do. What. I. Tell. You. That's what you said - that's what you do.

  I'm sorry.

  Don't be sorry. I don't have time for sorry.

  Honey . . .

  Get me one of the grenades.

  These? she asked, holding one of the metal baseballs like it was an orange.

  Yeah.

  She handed it to me. I put it down on the desk, rolled up my sleeve, fitted the aluminum splint into place. Hold this, I told her, wrapping the tape around until I had a thick pad. I put the grenade in my hand, wrapped my fist around the blue lever. Pulled the pin.

  Burke.

  Yeah. That's right. I let go of this thing, everything blows up.

  I wound the Velcro strips around my fist, leaving a loose tab at the end. It looked like I broke my hand punching a wall and drew a ham-fisted intern when they brought me to the emergency ward. I swung my hand back and forth, testing the tape. I relaxed my fist. The lever stayed tight.

  I got to my feet. Help me on with my jacket, I said to Belle. She took the surgical scissors, slit the left sleeve neatly. I slipped my arm through.

  Honey, why . . . ?

  It's safe. Unless I pull this tab, I said, showing her how the Velcro worked to seal the lever. I put the pin in my pocket, handed her a spare. Tape this to the inside of your wrist - we might need it in a hurry.

  I don't . . .

  I put my arm around her waist, pulling her close to me. You go to the hospital, like I said. I'm out in the street, I could run into this freak. I'm trying to put it together. Like I promised you last night. But if he comes for me before I'm ready . . .

  It's crazy! If that thing comes loose . . .

  Everything's already come loose, I said, holding her. Making her see it in my face.

  CONTENTS

  113

  In the garage, I said goodbye. I'm going out first. You wait a few minutes, then you slip out. Take a cab to the hospital. Wait for my call there. You won't see this car again until it's over.

  She kissed me hard. You be careful.

  That's what I do best.

  She kissed me again, her hand rubbing my crotch. Second-best, she whispered.

  I backed out into the street, watching the garage door close through the windshield. I couldn't see Belle in the shadows.

  CONTENTS

  114

  I parked the Plymouth near the Vista Hotel and walked to where I said I'd meet McGowan. The grenade felt heavy swinging at the end of my arm - I'd have to rig up some kind of sling when I got the chance.

  I found the bench, sat down. I one-handed a wooden match out of the little box, braced it between my taped-up hand and my knee, fired it up.

  McGowan's car swung in. He popped out the passenger side, walking toward me fast. I heard tires on the pavement, flicked my eyes to the side. Another dark four-door sedan. Whip antenna, two guys in front. About as undercover as a blue-and-white with roof lights.

  You're here, he greeted me.

  Like I said I would be. And all by myself too.

  His smile was hard. Volunteers. Not your problem. What happened to your hand?

  I grabbed something I shouldn't of.

  Not the first time, huh?

  Nope. What'd you want, McGowan?

  He fired one of his stinking cigars. You trust me?

  So far.

  I'm not wired. The other guys, they're backup. Not for you. For me.

  Go.

  He looked straight ahead, puffing on his cigar, keeping his voice low. A man named Robert Morgan got himself killed last night.

  Never heard of him.

  Nine-one-one call came in around midnight. Uniforms found a dead man. In the playground by the Chelsea Projects.

  So?

  He had seven slugs in him, maybe a four-inch group, all in the chest. High-tech stuff. Whoever smoked him was a pro.

  So?

  Nobody heard a shot. This was no punk kid running around on the roof with a .22 - it was a hit.

  So?

  The ground was all chewed up. Pieces of concrete ripped right out. The shooter had more than one target.

  This is real interesting McGowan. Give me a light, will you? I leaned close to his lighter. His hands were steady.

  Where were you last night, Burke?

  With someone. Far away.

  You're sure?

  What's the big deal?

  McGowan's cigar steamed in the morning air. It smelled as bad as his story.

  The guy had ID. That's where we got the Robert Morgan handle. Since it looked like a pro hit, they ran his prints. Nothing. The lab guy's a good man - he was on the ball. I heard from him an hour ago.

  Heard what?

  This Robert Morgan, his prints matched one we took off the switch - car. The one that snatched the baby hooker.

  Why tell me?

  He looked straight ahead. You're good, Burke. I think they could wire you to a polygraph and you'd never bounce the needles. He tilted his head back, looking up at the sky. This dead guy, he was in the Ghost Van. It's the first lead we got. I figure you left it there for us, but you didn't know it.

  I dragged on my cigarette, waiting.

&nbs
p; I think you're already in the tunnel. We're coming from the other end. I don't want to meet you in the middle - somebody could get hurt.

  I snapped my cigarette into the street. Stay out of the tunnel, I told him, getting up to leave. I'll call you.

  I didn't look back.

  CONTENTS

  115

  Nobody followed me to the Plymouth. I took the East Side Drive to 61 st , hooked York Avenue, and kept on going uptown. I pulled over on 92 nd , checking the clock in the window of a boutique that hadn't opened yet. Eight-thirty-five. Plenty of time.

  I made a sling out of a loop of Ace bandage, holding one end in my teeth to tighten the knot. Smoked a couple of cigarettes. Mortay was tied into the Ghost Van now for sure. For dead sure. And maybe it wasn't just bodyguard work he was doing. I was in a box -I had to get him in there with me. And know where the back door was.

  I watched the cigarette smoke puddle against the windshield, playing with it. I was in Family Court once, listening to Davidson sum up on a case, watching him for the UGL - they wanted to know what he was made of before they hired him for a homicide case. They had this baby in foster care for years. Kept him there while the social workers tried to make parents out of the slime who tortured the kid. In this city, a pit bull bites two people, they gas it. To protect the public. A human cripples his own kid, they give him another bite.

  Davidson was representing the kid. They call it being a law guardian. The parents had their own lawyers; the city's lawyers represent the social workers. I still remember what he said:

  Judge, this baby will only be a child for a little while. Then he's an adult. We only have a few years to help him. The parents, they've had their chance. More than one. But this baby's not in foster care, he's in limbo. What about him? Isn't he entitled to some end to this? All butterflies, no matter how beautiful, have to land sometime. Or they die. The parents started this mess. The social workers kept it going. It's up to you to stop it. Stop it now. Let this baby have a real family.

  The judge went along with it. He let the butterfly land. The baby was released for adoption. The mother cried. For herself. Davidson makes a living keeping criminals out of jail, but that day he kept someone from going to jail years later. I know.

  My thoughts floating like that butterfly, looking for a safe place to land, I got out of the Plymouth. The clock said eight-fifty-five.