by Blue Belle
The room was quiet again.
Okay?
The girls stepped on themselves agreeing with her.
Fine. Now, the next thing, we have to put together some portfolios for each of you.
Like models?
Of course , like models. Isn't that what we are? Are we any different from those walking sticks in the magazines? A john comes in, he comes to the desk. We show him the book. Pictures of each of you. He picks the one he wants.
We don't have to line up?
This isn't the precinct, honey. A trick wants to see live skin, he puts his money down. Now, there's five girls, we got nine rooms. The first one, the one near the desk, that's mine. Leave the last two empty, the ones right across from here. You divide the rest the way you want - Bambi, you take the one furthest back. And no fighting! Tomorrow I'll go out and get some decent furnishings. Okay? Now, we are not open for business tonight. You come back, one at a time, we'll put the portfolios together. When we're done, you can hang around or you can split. Be back tomorrow. Four o'clock. We'll work twelve-hour shifts; you leave at four in the morning. Any questions?
Nobody said a word.
One more thing. This place is under heavy protection. You'll never see a cop in here. You play this right, it's a working girl's dream.
CONTENTS
160
What's your name, honey? Michelle asked.
Mary Anne.
Let's lose the black stockings, honey. Your legs are already so nice and slim - the black won't show them off.
Okay.
And just a touch more rouge . . . there! Brings out your color. Now, sit straight in the chair. Cross your legs. Elegant!
Michelle?
Yes, honey?
The guy with the tool belt? The one out front? Boy, you were right about him. He had this jar of water on the desk, fiddling with some locks. Marcy flashed her ass at him, sat on the desk. Asked him if he ever sampled the merchandise. He drops a key in the glass of water, and it disappeared!
I told you not to play with him.
I won't. Does he ever . . .
He's not for hire, Michelle snapped. Now, flash me a smile.
CONTENTS
161
Bambi was the last one in.
Any special way you want this? Michelle asked her.
I've got my own handcuffs. I can twist right out of them if I have to. Can I loop them around the back of this chair?
Sure, honey. Go ahead. Bend forward. More. Give your butt a little shake. Beautiful.
Sound of handcuffs clicking. You don't put me down for it?
Why should I?
Some of the other girls . . .
You got a pimp?
No.
So who's the masochist?
Bambi laughed.
CONTENTS
162
The girls were gone by one in the morning. You're next, she told Belle.
I snapped the lead on Pansy, taking her to the basement. The Mole followed me down, shining his flash. All fixed, he said.
Okay, Mole. We roll tomorrow for real. Any way I can get Pansy down here without going past the other rooms?
Only to the basement, not outside.
We'll do it that way. Over in that corner, I said, pointing. Watch where you step from now on.
We went back upstairs. Try the buzzer, I told him. He hit the switch. I counted in my head. Thirty-five seconds, Morales burst through the door, gun in his hand. Which way? he snapped.
Just testing it, I said.
Next time make it real. I'm looking forward to it.
CONTENTS
163
In the back room. Michelle was still working on Belle's face. Cat's-eye makeup, pancaked cheeks, slash of red across her mouth. It didn't look like her. This is mousse - it'll wash right out, said Michelle, spraying it over Belle's hair, working it through with her fingers. Let's see. You'll turn over your right shoulder - pancaking that side of her face. Try it.
Belle peeked over her right shoulder. Her hair was dark, face a stranger's mask.
Okay, let's do it.
Belle unhooked her bra, knelt before the chair, hands on either side. Michelle wrapped a black scarf around each hand. Slide further back to me, she said. Let them swing free. Turn your head . . . Not so much.
She went over to Belle, pulling the big girl's panties over her rump. Belle lifted a leg to help her get them off.
Leave them that way - like they've just been pulled down - it'll work better.
Michelle went back to the camera. Okay, turn your head again. Just a little bit. Can you look a little scared? Oh, forget it - I'll open the lens, blur your face. Nobody'd look past that ass anyway.
Belle giggled. Twin dimples at the top of her butt, strip of black cloth around her thighs. The shutter clicked. Again. She shook her butt at the camera.
Got it, Michelle said, then snapped off the lights, carried the camera out to the front.
The cigarette burned my mouth. I ground the tip out in the ashtray. Belle was still on her knees, watching me.
Make you think of something good? she asked, wiggling again. Then she saw my face. What's wrong, boney?
I walked over to her, took the loops off her hands. She put her arms around my neck. I stood up, hauling her to her feet. Reached behind me, pulled the panties back into place.
Go wash that crap off your face.
You're mad at me?
I held her against me. I'm not mad at you.
I'm sorry, sweetheart. Truly sorry. I thought it would be a turn-on for you.
It made me sick to look at it.
Her teats against my face. I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry . . .
I squeezed her rear with both hands. Shut up, I said, quietly.
CONTENTS
164
The joint was open and rolling the next afternoon. Michelle was there by eleven in the morning, her arms full of bags. She and Belle worked like maniacs cleaning. The dump even smelled clean when they were done.
I stayed in the back room. The Mole would buzz me if any Hispanic male came in, anyone that could come within a half-mile of Ramón. I checked the periscope a few times on the little TV screen the Mole put on the desk. It worked perfectly.
I spent my time checking my tools. Supermarket shopping cart full of empty plastic one-liter bottles. The kind street bums collect from garbage cans - turn them in for a nickel apiece. I ran a few copies of the Daily News through a paper shredder. Packed a half-dozen of the bottles with the paper. I filed the front sight off the long-barreled .38. A couple of tiny slits with a razor blade and the barrel fit deep into the mouth of a bottle of Coke. I felt an ugly smile inside me - the real thing. I wrapped duct tape around the mouth of the bottle, sealing the pistol barrel inside. Pointed it at the wall, holding the bottle in my left hand. Pulled the trigger. It made a sound like snapping fingers. Plaster flew off the wall.
I lined up twelve bullets. Mole specials - super-speed hot loads, mercury tips. Any one of them would total whatever it hit. Six bullets went into the long-barreled .38, another six into the two-inch revolver next to it.
The guns were ice-cold, brand-new. No serial numbers. A pair of the fragmentation grenades sat on the desk, the blue handles winking at me.
The Mole stashed a new car for me every morning. All along the river, one block apart. We had four cars now. I fingered the ignition key - it would work in all of them.
A tattered khaki raincoat hung on a hook. It would reach well past my knees. A long blond wig was on top of the hook. Straight hair. A blue golf hat, wine-stained. An old pair of white running shoes. Baggy black pants. Black sweatshirt with a hood. Black gloves. A slap-on mustache.
I clipped two nails on my left hand at a sharp angle. A drop of Permabond under each one. I held the razor-filed steel slivers in place against each nail, waiting for the super-glue to dry. It only took a few minutes. I brushed my left hand against a piece of paper. It fell into three pieces.
I slid
back the lid on a flat metal box, looked at the colorless paste inside. I'd pass the razors through the paste before I hit the street. Mortay had to get his hands on me to kill me - one scratch, and I wouldn't go alone.
Belle watched me work, cat's-eye makeup on her face.
CONTENTS
165
Business boomed. Men got buzzed in, looked through the book. Came and went.
We cleaned up Sunday's business at five in the morning. The Mole was wearing a black silk shirt, red suspenders, cream-colored suit. Dark glasses on his face. Michelle counted a wad of cash and credit-card slips. You look like death, she told me.
Good, I said.
CONTENTS
166
Monday, Bambi turned her first hard trick. The Mole buzzed me - the video screen showed a middle-aged white male, blobby face, light-colored sport coat. Not Ramón. I heard the slash of the belt, cutting through the sound-proofed walls.
Later that night, one of the tricks got off the wall. I don't know what he did. I heard Morales' voice in the corridor. How do you like it, motherfucker? Metal slamming into a face. I heard whining, Morales' voice cutting harsh through it. Whatever you want here, we got it, see? But we got different girls for different stuff. You want hard stuff, you ask for Bambi, understand? Bambi .
It got quiet after that.
CONTENTS
167
He came Wedneday evening. Seven o'clock. The buzzer sounded. Ramón's face on the screen. I hit the switch. The light would glow on the Mole's desk.
It's time, I said to Belle.
She was covered with body makeup head to toe. Fishnet stockings, black spike heels, black panties. She slipped into the red gown, belted it at her waist. A stranger - her face a hard mask.
I watched the screen. Ramón. Wearing a black leather bomber jacket, looking through the book. There was no sound on the screen.
Monique! the Mole called.
Belle walked past me into the corridor.
I held the sawed-off shotgun in my left hand, the paint pistol with the phony silencer in my right. Waiting.
I heard them come back. Belle's voice. I get an extra hundred for hard stuff, honey.
Ramón's voice - couldn't make out the words.
The door to the last room closed.
I sucked air in through my nose, filling my stomach. Let it out, expanding my chest. Stepped into the corridor.
I couldn't hear through the door. The hook-and-eye lock was held in with paste. Every square inch of the room was burning in my mind. I slipped the pistol into a side pocket, cut deep enough to hold the silencer. Counted to five. I hit the door with my shoulder, stepping inside, sweeping the scattergun corner to corner. Belle was on the couch to my right, the red nightgown hiked over her hips Ramón froze, a thick leather belt dangling from his hand.
The snout of the scattergun froze his balls down to dots. His hands shot into the air, belt still dangling. I stepped to him, the gun leveled at his gut. Five feet away.
Drop it. Slow.
Hey, man . . .
One more word, I'll blow you all over the walls.
The belt dropped from his hand.
His leather jacket was hanging from a hook in the corner. I could see the shoulder rig inside.
Got any more guns on you, Ramón?
He shook his head no.
Take off your clothes. Real, real slow. I want to see for myself.
Belle's voice from the side of the room. Mister . . .
Shut up, bitch! I snapped at her.
Ramón dropped his pants. Black bikini briefs. Very macho. Those too, I said. Watch your hands.
He pulled off his cowboy boots, one at a time, standing on one leg, never taking his eyes from me.
Sit on the couch, I said quietly. Next to the cunt. He sat down. I pulled the handcuffs off my belt, flipped them into Belle's lap. Put them on. One cuff on your wrist, one on his. Now!
Belle snapped the cuff on Ramón first, her hands shaking. Her left hand slid to the back of the couch cushion.
I took out the paint pistol. Slowly, letting Ramón get a good look. He didn't want one.
You know what this is, shooter?
I know what it is. His voice shaking like Belle's hands.
You got two choices. You live. Or you die. Pick one.
I want to live, man. Thin, weak, soft voice. If he recognized me, he was keeping it to himself. Holding that card.
Your pal Mortay, he stepped in some shit, understand? Sally Lou's decided to take him off the count.
But . . .
That's the way it plays. I got my money, I got to come back with a head. His head. One more don't mean a thing to me. I'm gonna waste him. Tonight. You tell me what I want to know, you take that fucking diamond out of your ear, and you make tracks. Got it?
Man, I don't know where he lives!
You're going to meet him. Tonight. Where?
He'll kill me.
Ramón, he's a dead man. I don't find him tonight, I find him some other time. But you don't tell me what I want to know, he won't get a chance to kill you.
Man, I don't know where he is. I'm serious!
So am I, I said, leveling the pistol at Belle's chest. I pulled the trigger. Splat! Belle slammed back against the couch, a red stain running between her breasts. I aimed the gun at Ramón - he never looked at Belle. The sound I made cocking it was the loudest thing he ever heard.
Where?
Under the New York Times clock! Between Seventh and Eighth! On Forty-third! Don't!
What time?
Ten-thirty! Piss flowed down his legs.
Who gets there first?
He does, man. He always does . . .
Belle's left hand flashed, plunging the hypo deep into his thigh, her thumb driving the plunger home as I fired a paint ball into his face.
I . . . and he was out. Belle rammed the speed key home, unsnapping her cuff. I pulled his free arm behind his back, locked the other cuff. Belle jumped off the couch, rubbing her breasts. I kicked Ramón onto the floor.
Go get the Mole, I told her.
CONTENTS
168
Michelle and the Mole stood on either side of me. Ramón was in the corner, breathing deeply, out.
The joint is closed, I told Michelle. How many of the girls have customers?
Just Mary Anne.
When he's finished, let him out. Tell the glrls the show's over - the cops are going to hit in an hour. Get them out the door. You have any trouble, you hit the buzzer, they'll come from next door. Then take off yourself.
She kissed me. Call as soon as it's over.
I will.''
She went out the door. I knelt down, pulled Ramón over my shoulder by one of his arms, positioned his weight. The basement, I said to the Mole. Fuck McGowan and his deals - I wasn't going to leave a body around for the cops to hang me with.
He led the way. Pansy met us at the bottom of the steps. Speak! I told her, tossed a slab of steak through the air. She caught it on the fly.
Is the panel truck ours?
Yes.
I'm going to throw this garbage in the back. That shot'll keep him out for hours. You get stopped, it's not a murder beef. He won't testify.
Where should I dump him?
He's the shooter, Mole. One of the Nazis.
He nodded.
Take Pansy too.
She won't . . .
Yes, she will. That last piece of meat I gave her was laced. She should be asleep by now. Keep her with you - lock her up in one of the sheds. Leave water for her. I'll be back in the junkyard sometime late tonight. Belle will get there before me. Your piece is done.
The basement?
Eleven o'clock. You can do it?
Yes. Me and the boy.
He's a good boy, Mole. You should be proud.
You too.
Yeah. Look, Mole. If I don't come back, do something for me. Tell Belle I love her.
He nodded.
And Pansy,
let her loose. Let her run with your pack. Let her and Simba-witz make puppies.
I dumped Ramón's body in the back of the panel truck. The Mole snapped a heavy padlock across the back.
I went back for Pansy. I scooped her up in my arms, carried her to the truck. Open the front door, I told the Mole. I don't want her to ride with garbage.
I laid her gently across the front seat. Kissed her snout. See you soon, girl.
The Mole wrapped his stubby arms around me, squeezed hard. Sei Gesund , he said. Go with God.
CONTENTS
169
Michelle was pushing the girls out the door when I slipped back upstairs. It sounded like sorority girls saying goodbye for the summer.
Belle was in the back room, toweling herself off, the cat's-eye mask still on her face.
You were perfect, I said, holding her close.
I was scared.
I still am. It's almost over. Get out of here. Take the Pontiac. Don't leave the office until past midnight. I'll see you at the junkyard.
Where's Pansy?
She's with the Mole. It's okay. Go.
What'd you do with the freak?
He's gone.
But you're working with the cops, right? They're right next door. He's not dead - why don't you just leave him for them?
I cupped her chin, making her watch my face. I'm not working with the cops, Belle. A cop sees me doing my work on the street tonight, I'm going down. McGowan, he can't call off the whole fucking force. He wouldn't do it if he could. I'm not leaving that freak around to tell his story.
I felt a pulse in her throat, just under her chin. Steady beat.
We're outlaws, little girl. We can step over the line to the other side, but we're not welcome there. We can't stay. The next cop I see, he'll be trying to stop me from coming home.
She nodded, knowing it was the truth. Burke, it's not even eight o'clock. You have until ten-thirty. Let me wait here with you.
No.
I knew you'd say that.