by Blue Belle
And I let the girl walk?
She'll be the one mailing you the letter. Enough for a dozen cases.
Let's take a look, he said.
CONTENTS
141
We strolled to the Pontiac. I motioned for Belle to roll down her window.
This is Detective McGowan, NYPD, I told her. She didn't take her hands out of her lap. He's the one you're going to mail that letter to, okay?
Okay. No expression on her face.
We walked back to McGowan's car. Morales was halfway across the parking lot. McGowan waved him in.
One more thing, I said.
What now?
You know Morelli? The reporter?
Sure.
He gets it first. Exclusive. He'll take care of you.
And your people.
I nodded.
Okay, he said.
Morales joined us. Take a walk with me, McGowan said. I'll fill you in.
I went back to the Pontiac, let myself in, watched McGowan and Morales standing by the pay phone on the pier.
Good girl.
What's in this letter I'm supposed to mail?
A free pass - I'll tell you later.
I watched McGowan pick up the phone. He talked for a couple of minutes. Stood where he was. Picked up the phone again. Talked some more. Waved.
Be right back, I told Belle.
I walked up to McGowan. Call the pimp, he said.
CONTENTS
142
Marques was on his car phone. Answered it himself.
You know who this is?
Yeah, man. What . . . ?
The Maiden Lane pier. Now. It's coming down.
I ain't walking into no . . .
This is a safe place, Marques. The only fucking safe place for you in the city, you don't show up.
I hung up.
McGowan stood on one side of me, Morales close on the other.
You know Sadie's Sexsational?
I laughed.
What's so funny?
Girl got beat up there. Real bad, right? So bad the cops moved in, closed it down.
Morales turned to me. You think that's funny?
I think you're funny, I said to McGowan. You've been running the place ever since, right? That joint doesn't belong to the federales . You called One Police Plaza, not the FBI.
McGowan touched the brim of his hat. What d'you care?
I don't. in fact, that joint is perfect.
Why?
Good location, I told him, eyes flat.
Morales didn't like any of this. His eyes scanned the pier, waiting for the pimp.
You guys know what to do? I asked McGowan.
We'll make it clear to him. I lit a smoke.
How you gonna get the shooter into this one massage parlor? McGowan asked.
I know what he wants.
CONTENTS
143
The Rolls purred into the parking lot.
That's him, I said.
We know. Go and get him.
Marques was behind the wheel, Christina next to him.
Thanks for showing.
You didn't give me much motherfucking choice.
Be cool, Marques. Be yourself - show your class. Walk over to the water with me.
I don't like this.
I leaned in the window. I wanted you off the count, you'd be in the morgue. You know it, I know it. This is legit. Come on.
He exchanged a look with Christina. Got out of the Rolls. We walked to the water. I couldn't see McGowan or his partner.
I'm taking over a massage parlor, I said.
You?
Me. And I need some girls. For a couple of weeks.
You crazy, man.
I got the van, Marques. I got it pinned to the wall. Start counting that bounty money; it'll be mine soon.
What's that got to do with . . .
The van didn't move by itself. You wanted it off the street, you think I was gonna give it a flat tire?
Look, man . . .
I need the girls. Fill the joint up, make it look righteous. They can keep everything they score. The guy who did Sabrina? The painfreak? He's the one - the lead to the van. I got to pull him in.
My girls don't . . .
I know they don't. But you know some who do, right? I just need one. She takes the pain-tricks, your girls take the rest. You keep the cash. This one guy comes in, the show's over.
My girls don't . . . Hey!
McGowan stepped in behind me; I saw Morales roll up behind Marques.
You know who this is? I asked Marques.
Yeah, man, he sneered. Every player knows Delective McGowan.
You don't want to know him better, you'll shut up and listen. He's here to tell you something.
McGowan leaned over my shoulder. Nobody's going to bother Sadie's Sexsational for a couple of weeks, Mister Dupree. Nobody. Not the wise guys, not the heat. Got it?
I got it.
Morales pressed in against Marques. Get this . You go along, you get along. You don't, I got a little girl. Says you tried to pull her. Says you had mucho coke in your ride. More than enough for a warrant. I toss your car, I find a couple of fucking kilos. Any fucking time I want.
Marques nodded. I'm in. You got it.
McGowan spoke to him. You got two days. Friday night, nine o'clock, you be there. With your girls.
It's in the bank, man.
Morales pressed closer. Or you're in the joint.
Marques walked back to his car alone. He didn't look back.
I see your hand got better, McGowan said.
I got more cards in it, I told him.
CONTENTS
144
I waited until McGowan and his partner pulled off before I went back to the Pontiac.
What's going on? Belle asked.
It's coming together, little girl.
I drove a few feet to the pay phone, left the engine running, dialed Mama.
It's me. Michelle call?
Yes. Come here tonight. Eleven.
CONTENTS
145
Back in the office, I let Pansy out, told Belle to stay where she was. I went down to the basement, came back with a big metal box. Belle watched as I laid the stuff out. I lit a smoke, left it smoldering on the edge of the desk while I worked. My hands were moving on the equipment, but I was watching a different picture in my mind. Seeing it happen. I picked up the cigarette, took a last drag. Belle, honey, would you take off your top? She pulled it over her head.
The bra too, okay?
She unsnapped it, waited. Her breasts made a joke of gravity, the blue necklace falling just to the cleft. It wouldn't work like that. Wait here, I told her.
I came back with a white T-shirt of mine. Try this. She slipped into it. Her breasts fought the thin material, the cleavage gone. No good.
You have any real thin tops? Gauzy, maybe? The kind you can see through?
Like a nightgown?
That might work . . . if you have a real short one.
I have a couple. Some teddies too.
No. I need something that kind of opens down the middle. So your breasts stay separated.
Why, baby? I can go buy anything you want.
I held up a pistol. From the side, it looked exactly like a Colt Python .357 magnum, even down to the ventilated rib across the top of the barrel. You know what this is?
A gun.
It's not, though. It's a gas gun. Works off CO 2 cartridges. It shoots these things, I said, showing her a handful of red plastic balls.
What are they?
Paint pellets. Sixty-two-caliber. The survival-freaks use them when they play their little war games. The pellet hits you, it leaves a red splat, so you know who got hit.
Do they hurt?
They sting. Especially up close. And you can feel them smack into you.
What'd you want with it?
I got a plan, Belle. And part of it, I got to pretend to shoot you. Up close
. Real close.
She pulled the T-shirt over her head. Go ahead. Let me see how it feels.
No. When it happens, you've got to feel it for the first time. You know it doesn't hurt, you won't act nervous enough.
Honey . . .
You don't want to do it, say so.
There's nothing I wouldn't do for you.
I know, I said, holding her against me. I gave her a kiss. Let me work now. I have to see it.
See what?
See it happen. Like in karate, when they train you to punch. You don't punch at something, you punch through it. You have to see it happening, see your fist go right through the board. You don't see it, it doesn't happen. Something goes wrong in your head and it stops your hands. Okay?
She nodded, solemn-faced.
I went back to work. The paint gun would need something that looked like a silencer. I fitted a piece of aluminum tubing, trying it out. Coming to it.
CONTENTS
146
We pulled into the alley behind Mama's just before eleven. Instant replay: the Buick rolling in behind us, the monster coming out the door. At least this time he didn't rattle the car.
Michelle was already inside, sitting in my booth. She looked pristine and elegant in a white double-breasted wool jacket, black blouse underneath. I let Belle in first. Michelle took Belle's face in her hands, turning it to catch the light.
Much better. I think we could go for a little stronger look around the eyes. And your hair . . .
Michelle, we don't have a lot of time.
You drag me down to this godforsaken neighborhood - no offense, Mama - right in the middle of my working hours, and you're in a hurry. She flashed her smile at Belle. Men are always in a hurry, but they never have that much to do. That's a beautiful necklace, she cooed. Belle leaned forward so Michelle could hold it. Burke bought it for me.
Unbelievable. It's a beautiful thing, perfect for you. Maybe he's learning some class.
Belle was throwing off more wattage than the lights. Clothes weren't the only thing Michelle did right.
I got out of the booth. Bowed to Mama. We can use the basement? Talk?
She bowed.
The women followed me downstairs. Very chic, said Michelle, pointing at the wall of stainless-steel vats. Is that high-tech?
I ignored her. The basement is well lighted. The subbasement isn't. Max keeps things down there. I never asked what.
Mama bowed again, leaving us alone. Michelle perched on a wooden crate, crossed her silky legs. You didn't bring me down here to talk about our stock investments.
No. It's the Ghost Van. We're all in it now. All that's left. I have to pull a sting. Smoke out a freak. It's all worked out, but I need you to run it.
Tell me.
There's a massage parlor in Times Square. Sadie's Sexsational, it's called. You know it?
Nasty place.
Yeah, it is. Our place, for the next couple of weeks. McGowan cleared out the trash -nobody'll bother us.
Us?
Marques Dupree; we're going to run his girls out of the place. There's two guys left from the Ghost Van. The shooter, he's into pain. Other people's pain. He's the one that tortured that girl before the cops moved in to close the place. So we're opening up again. I want to pull him in.
I know Marques. His girls . . .
He's going to get one more. A free-lancer. She'll do all the whip-jobs. The rest, we run it like a regular joint. Customers come in, say what they want, pick a girl, pay the money. Guy comes in, asks for some freak-fun, we turn him over to this other girl. I'll be there - it won't get out of hand. But when this other guy comes, this guy we're looking for, he gets Belle.
Michelle's eyes flicked to Belle, back to me. She took a long black cigarette from her purse, tapped it on a fingernail.
Belle takes him to the back. We'll have a place fixed up.
What then?
Then he tells me where to find the other guy. And I go find him.
Tere's no other way?
No. He walks back with Belle, I'm ready for him. We'll have it all worked out. You see this guy go back with Belle, you're gone. Just walk out. The other girls too.
Who else is in on it?
The Mole. He found the van. I can talk him into it, he'll work the front desk.
Michelle's lovely face was serious, not playing now. I always wanted to be a madam. Of course, I envisioned nicer surroundings, but . . . this'll do. I'm in charge?
You're in charge. The girls get to keep what they make, but pull the money at the front desk to make it look correct.
You have pictures?
Pictures?
Of the girls. We need a book of pictures, show the johns when they come in. Let them pick the ones they want.
I don't know.
I'll take the pictures once they get in there. The Mole has the stuff. When does it happen?
Friday night we start. McGowan will put the word out. Sadie's Sexsational is the spot, you want to beat up a girl. It'll get around. We got two weeks tops. I'll be staying there. Once I go in, I can't go out. Can't take a chance of getting spotted. You bring food in with you every day. I'll be there until it's over.
What if the freak doesn't bite?
I shrugged. I'm not thinking that way.
Okay.
We're playing for everything on the table, Michelle.
I know. What if we need some operating cash?
Take it out of my share of the last score.
She dragged on her cigarette. You worked with the Mole . . . You see my boy?
He's fine I assured her.
A real doll, Belle chipped in.
Michelle smiled. Gave me a kiss. Kissed Belle. I'll get a cab, she said.
CONTENTS
147
Take everything you're going to need, I told Belle. We were back in her cottage, two in the morning. She bustled around, filling two big suitcases.
What about my car?
You follow me back to the city with it when we go in for the last time. Day after tomorrow. I'll stash the Pontiac on the street. We'll keep your car in the garage.
She was on her hands and knees, poking around in a corner near her bed. She came up with two handfuls of cash. I've got about fifteen thousand here, she said.
I'll show you where to hide it.
You want . . .
''No.
I walked out onto the deck, lighting a smoke. I felt Belle behind me. How's this?
I turned around. She was wearing a flimsy red wrapper, tied at the waist with a thin ribbon. Her breasts were barely veiled, slash of white skin down the middle.
You'll freeze out here.
She moved into my arms. She was warm, soft. Her hips trembled against me. My hand slid to her butt.
Doesn't this thing come with pants?
I'd just have to take them off, she said. Come on.
CONTENTS
148
In the car heading back, Belle fiddled with the radio. Full-throated, late-night blues. I'm a stranger, and afraid - the singer well within himself, coming to grips, looking it in the eye.
He's telling the truth, Belle whispered. I've been both all my life.
I found her hand in the darkness.
The disc jockey broke in. That was Johnny Adams, out of New Orleans. Singing a new Doc Pomus tune, 'A World I Never Made.' You all remember Doc Pomus, the man who gave us 'Save the Last Dance for Me,' 'Little Sister,' and so many other monster hits. Doc's one of the world's great bluesmen. Now here's the flip side. Down and dirty. Like they don't do anymore. Rattling soft piano, sinuous spiking guitar notes dancing on the top, teasing. Johnny Adams, making his promises, bragging his brag. I'm your body and fender man, let me pound out your dents. In case anyone listening had maple syrup for brains, he spelled it out:
I don't care if your body's brand new
Or it's been knocked around . . .
I swear they're all the same, babe,
When you turn them upsid
e down.
He's off the mark there, Belle said.
No, he's right. There's no such thing as a golden snapper - the difference is in here, I said, tapping my chest.
Here, she said, pulling my hand to her breast.
I lit a smoke. Doc Pomus on the radio again. Like that night I left my basement. Full circle.
CONTENTS
149
The Pontiac slipped into the garage. I showed Belle the circuit-breaker panel in the back corner. You know what this is?
Sure. Like a fuse box.
Watch. I punched the switch marked Hall. Then Lobby. Then Second Floor. The box popped open, flat plate inside. I used a thumbnail to open the setscrews. Behind it was a deep, lead-lined box. A revolver rested on a neat stack of bills. Put your money in there.
That's neat. It has wires running from it and everything.
The wires run to the house current. Electromagnetic switches. Like a combination lock. You remember?
Hall, lobby, second floor.
I patted her butt. Good girl.
If I tell you again, will you pat me some more?
Upstairs.
CONTENTS
150
You ready to go over it again?
Honey, I got it down pat.
One more time - it's got to be pertect.
Okay, she sighed.
I took the handcuffs from the drawer, hooked one cuff to her right wrist, the other to the back of a chair. She took the long-handled speed key from the desk, holding it in her left hand.
Go!
She twisted her wrist, exposing the key slot, slammed the speed key home, twisted it, pulled free.
Beautiful.
She stood up. I am. A beautiful young girl. Like you taught me.
CONTENTS
151
Late that night. Belle on her knees in front of me, her head bent between my legs. Licking me like a cat cleans her kittens. Thick thatch of hair falling. I felt the beads of the necklace lapping against my thigh.
Her head came up. Whispering in the dark. You think it's too much?