Hard Candy

by Andrew Vachss

"Do you ever work as a bodyguard?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "It's not what I do. A bodyguard does his job by getting hurt. Or dead."

  His lower lip flickered. "And you're afraid of getting hurt?"

  "Or dead."

  The concrete chair was comfortable. I lit another cigarette. Train shifted his weight, leaning forward, elbows on knees. "Do you feel safe? Here, with me?"

  "No."

  "Why is that? Your…brother, you called him…seems very powerful. Is that why you brought him?"

  "He's gone," I pointed out.

  "That confused me. It seems that you told him to go as a gesture of faith. As I told my men to leave. We are the only ones here. Are you afraid of me?"

  "Not especially."

  "Then…?"

  "I'm sitting in this chair. Your chair. It could be stuffed full of low–yield explosive. Wired for electricity. Sitting under a sniper's rifle…like that."

  "But you don't think so."

  "No. I don't think so."

  "Would you feel more comfortable if we switched chairs?"

  "No. It doesn't matter."

  "Are you armed? You have a weapon with you?"

  "No."

  He leaned back in his chair. "Have you ever been arrested?"

  "Yes."

  "In prison?"

  "Yes."

  "Were you innocent?"

  "Which time?"

  A smile came and went so quickly I couldn't be sure I'd seen it.

  "Do you mind if one of my people joins us for a minute?" he asked.

  "Why?"

  "She has a special skill. Something that would help our dialogue."

  I shrugged.

  "You sure you don't mind?"

  "We have a contract."

  "Ah…yes." He snapped his fingers, a brittle crack in the empty room. The door behind him opened and a woman stepped through. Long, thick dark hair gathered into a heavy braid hanging down the front of a pale violet robe. She stood next to Train, her eyes on me. Big eyes, tropic skin, a slash for a mouth. Dark polish on her nails. "This is Reba," he said.

  I lit another smoke. Train rested the fingertips of one hand on the back of the woman's wrist. She was a statue.

  "Have you ever taken a lie detector test?"

  "Sure."

  "Did you pass?"

  I felt the ghost of a smile, thinking about it. "The cops never tell you."

  "I will."

  I raised my eyebrows, waiting.

  "Reba has the gift. You know how a polygraph works, yes? Galvanic skin response, heartbeat, pulse rate?"

  "Sure."

  "Reba does that. With your permission…?"

  "Okay."

  The woman walked toward me, stepping out of the robe without moving her arms. She was naked, barefoot. I kept my eyes on Train as she crossed the room, the violet puddle of silk at his feet. She came to the right side of my chair, dropped to her knees, her breasts spilling against my forearm, pinning it to the chair. Her right hand slipped inside my jacket, unbuttoned my shirt, hovered over my heart, gently came to rest. I felt two fingers of her left hand against the back of my neck. My eyes flicked to the right. The dark hair disappeared over her shoulder, smooth line of her back down to the swell of her butt, the soles of her feet were calloused, deeply arched.

  "You know how it works," he said. "Just answer yes or no."

  I dragged on my cigarette, flicking the ashes with my left hand.

  "Have you ever been in prison?"

  "Yes."

  "Have you ever killed anybody?"

  I just looked at him, no expression on my face. He went on as if I'd answered.

  "Have you ever broken the law?"

  "Yes."

  "Are you a professional assassin?"

  "No."

  "Do you pay taxes?"

  "Yes."

  "Did Elvira's mother hire you?"

  "Yes."

  "Did you ever hear my name before you spoke to her?"

  "No."

  "Do you mean me any harm?"

  "No."

  "Have you ever met Elvira?"

  "No."

  "Are you working for anyone now besides the woman who says she is Elvira's mother?"

  "No."

  I tossed my cigarette into the metal bowl. I let my eyes follow the arc of the smoke, swept them back across Train's face, let the sweep carry me to the right. A clear droplet of sweat ran down Reba's spine. Her head came up, lips against my ear. "You told the truth," she whispered. Her hand came away from my heart, brushed smoothly across my crotch as she rose to her feet. She walked over to Train, her back gleaming with sweat. His eyes shifted up to her face as she passed. She went through the door without picking up her robe.

  Train's hand went back to his temples. "What do you think of my security here?"

  "What security?"

  "I don't understand."

  "Security against break–ins? Telephone taps? Firebombing? What?"

  "Oh, I see. I mean my personal security…say, if somebody wanted to injure me."

  "Seems easy enough to me."

  "How so?"

  "I walked in here with my brother. We wanted to do it, you were a dead man once you came in the room."

  He dismissed the possibility with a wave of his hand. "Forget that. What if you wanted to kill me without getting into the house."

  "You ever leave the house?"

  "Sometimes."

  "That'd be the time."

  "How?"

  "There's too many ways to even talk about. Shooting, stomping, stabbing…"

  "What if I had bodyguards. True bodyguards."

  "Bullet–catchers?"

  "If you like."

  "So somebody pops you from a rooftop. Or blows up a car with everybody in it."

  "If I stayed in this house?"

  "Set fire to it, you'd come out quick enough."

  Train rotated his head on the column of his neck, working out the kinks from sitting so stiffly. A glaze over his eyes. Maybe it was the rainbow. Finally, he nodded. "Do you know what we do here?" he asked.

  "No."

  "Do you care?"

  "No."

  "When we were talking before…about assassinations? You seem to be saying that if someone wants to kill you, there's nothing you can do about it…no way you can protect yourself. Is that right?"

  "No."

  "What can you do, then?"

  "Hit them first."

  He bowed his head over clasped hands. Like he was praying.

  Looked up. "You are a man of your word. I will honor our contract. Come back tomorrow. Anytime after seven o clock in the evening. The girl you call Elvira will be ready to leave with you then."

  He snapped his fingers again. The door behind him opened. One of the guards came out. I got to my feet. Bowed to Train and walked to the door I'd come in, the guard at my heels.

  The street was dark as I stepped outside. I didn't look back.

  I found the Plymouth, started the engine, waited.

  The door opened. Max slipped inside. Shook his head. I hadn't been followed.

  44

  BACK AT the restaurant, I explained what had gone down to Max. His face didn't change, but I could feel the sadness. Wishing Train had refused me the girl. I made the sign of a rifleman on the roof, watching Train through a sniperscope. Max pointed his finger at me, questioning. I shook my head. I left the symbol of the rifleman in place with my left hand, walked the fingers of my right hand up behind it. Knife–edged the right hand, chopped at the symbol, flattened my left hand. Max pointed at me again. Did Train want us to do the job? No.

  I didn't know what he wanted. We'd pick up the girl tomorrow and it would be over.

  45

  I FOUND THE PROF working the Living Room—what the army of homeless humans who live in the tunnels and work the corridors call the arena–sized waiting room at Grand Central. He was propped against the wall by the gourmet bakery, a thick blanket
beneath his legs, single wooden crutch standing next to him, a paper plate half full of coins in front of him. I bought him a large cardboard cup of black coffee. Hunkered down next to him, back to the wall. Street people stopped by the Prof's station, talking their talk, dealing their deals. Cops strolled past, eyes working from the ground up. Drugs moved in and out faster than the trains. It felt like being back on the yard in prison.

  "You know a guy named Train? Over in Brooklyn."

  He sipped his coffee, buried inside a winter overcoat that tented around his shoulders, running it through his memory bank. "It doesn't scan, man."

  "He's got some kind of thing going. Like a cult, only…I don't know. Woman asked me to bring her kid home from there."

  "Runaway?"

  "I don't think so. The deal was, I just ask him, okay?"

  "Ask him hard?"

  "No. And just once.

  "If it's like you say, what's the play?"

  "He asked me the questions."

  "Show me a piece."

  "Mostly about his security system…did I think it was good enough."

  "For what?"

  "To protect him, I guess. I thought he was trying to hire a body–guard at first, but he never really asked."

  "He want a favor? Don't he know you only play for pay?"

  I lit a cigarette. Told the little man about the lie detector Train used, the karate–man he had at the door, the layout of the house.

  I wasn't watching his face but I could feel him nod. The words came out of the side of his mouth. "I ain't read the book, but I'll take a look."

  I left him at his post.

  46

  I CALLED CANDY from a pay phone in the station.

  "He said okay."

  "You have my girl?"

  "Tomorrow night. I'll bring her to you."

  "See? I told you…"

  I hung up.

  47

  A DOLL–FACED young girl was working the exit ramp to the subway at Forty–second Street. Soft brown hair in pigtails down the sides of her face, body buried in a quilted baby–blue jacket.

  "Mister? Can you help me? I'm trying to get together enough money to go home."

  "Where's home?"

  "In Syosset—on Long Island."

  "That's where I'm going. Come on, I'll give you a ride." She bit her lower lip. "Twenty bucks."

  "What?"

  "Twenty bucks. And you can ride me wherever you want, okay?" Before I lost Belle, I would have taken her with me. Called McGowan.

  I walked out into the street.

  48

  THE NEXT DAY it was dark enough by seven, but we gave the night a couple of hours to settle in. I went to Train's place alone. A different guy let me in. I followed him upstairs. Took my seat. Waited.

  The door opened and they all walked in. Train was with them. The woman who said I had told the truth came in last, leading a girl by the hand. A short, slender little girl wearing faded jeans with a rip above one knee. A pale green T–shirt with "Zzzzap!" across the chest, plastic strap of an airline bag across one shoulder, denim jacket in one hand.

  "Do you know this man?" Train asked the girl. She shook her head no.

  The lie detector opened her robe. She was naked beneath it. Took the girl inside, hugging her close, looked over her shoulder at Train. Nodded.

  "This is who you asked for," Train said to me.

  "If you say so."

  "You don't know her?"

  "No."

  "But you've seen a photograph… had her described to you?"

  "Sure."

  "And?"

  "I can't tell." The girl's yellow cat's eyes watched me.

  "Do you want to ask her any questions?"

  "No." I lit a cigarette. "If she's not the right girl, I'll bring her back."

  His lower lip twisted. Hands went to his temples. The lie detector opened her robe. The girl walked over. Stood in front of me. "Let's go," she said, slipping one arm into her jacket.

  I stood up. Nobody moved. She followed me to the door. The new guard stepped aside. We walked down the stairs by ourselves. Opened the front door and stepped outside. She didn't look back.

  49

  SHE WALKED beside me to the Plymouth. I unlocked the passenger door for her. As she swung her hips into the front seat I slipped the airline bag off her shoulder. She didn't react. I closed the door behind her, walked around behind the car, unzipping the bag, rooting through it with my hand. Nothing in there that could hurt you unless you swallowed it.

  I climbed inside, handed her the bag. She put it on the floor, groped inside, came out with a cigarette.

  "Can I have a light?" Her voice was soft, like she was asking me for something else.

  I fired a wooden match, held it out to her. She wrapped both hands around mine, lit the smoke, eyes on me. "Your hand feels strong."

  I wheeled the car down Flatbush Avenue, heading for the Manhattan Bridge. Turned right on the Bowery, heading uptown.

  "My mother sent you?"

  "That's right, Elvira."

  "Nobody calls me that."

  "What do they call you?"

  "Juice," she said, flashing a smile. "You think that's dumb?"

  "Kids have funny names."

  "I'm not a kid."

  "Fifteen, your mother said."

  "My mother is a liar. She always lies."

  I shrugged.

  "What if I don't want to go back?"

  "Talk to her about it."

  "I'm talking to you."

  "You're talking to yourself."

  I pulled up at a red light on First Avenue. She snapped her lighted cigarette at me and ripped at the door handle, shoving her shoulder against the passenger door. It didn't budge. I picked her cigarette off the seat, tossed it out my window. She pushed her back against the car door, watching me, breathing hard through her mouth.

  "You think you're smart—you're not so smart."

  "Just relax."

  "Will you talk to me?"

  "About what?"

  "Just talk to me. I'm not a package. Not something you just deliver."

  "Yeah you are."

  "Look, you can keep me in this car, okay? But you have to bring me in the house too."

  "I can do that."

  "Oh yes. You're a hard man. Momma only likes hard men."

  "It's just a job."

  Streets passed. Her breathing got calm again. "Can I have another smoke?"

  "Sure." I handed her the little box of wooden matches.

  "You don't trust me?"

  "Why would I?"

  "Because I'm not like my mother. I never lie. Never, ever. If I tell you I'll do something, I'll do it."

  "And so you're telling me what?"

  She drew on the smoke. "I'm telling you I want to talk to you. Just for a couple of minutes. Pull the car over…anyplace you want…just talk to me. Then when we get to my mother's, I'll walk in with you just like I was supposed to. No trouble, no screaming, nothing. Okay?"

  I made a right turn on Twenty–third, found an empty slot facing the river under the East Side Drive. An abandoned car, stripped to its shell, was on my right, empty space on the left. I slid down my window, killed the ignition. Lit a smoke. "Let's talk," I said to the girl.

  Her smile flashed again, knocking the pout off her face. "What's your name?"

  "Burke."

  "Are you my mother's man?"

  "No."

  She shrugged out of the denim jacket, arching her back so her breasts poked at the T–shirt. "Is this what you do?"

  "What?"

  "Deliver packages."

  "Sometimes."

  "You like it?"

  "It's work."

  "But do you like it?"

  "If I liked it, people wouldn't have to pay me to do it."

  "Sometimes you get paid for what you like to do. Like a whore who loves to fuck."

  I shrugged. I had never met one.

  She took a drag on her cigarette. Handed it to me
. I tossed it out my window.

  "It's real dark here."

  "You're all done talking, we can leave."

  "You want me to shut up?"

  "It doesn't matter. We have a deal, right? We talk, then I take you home."

  "You mean you take me to my mother's."

  "Whatever."

  "If you wanted me to shut up, you know the best way to do it?"

  "No."

  "You put something in my mouth. You want to put something in my mouth?" Her voice was bad–little–girl teasing. She knew how to do it.

  "No."

  "Yes you do. I can feel it." Her hand snaked toward my lap in the darkness.

  I grabbed her wrist.

  "All done talking?"

  "What's the matter, Mr. Burke? You never went back to your girlfriend with lipstick on your cock before?"

  "Lipstick, yeah," I told her. "Not bubble gum."

  "I'm old enough."

  "Not for me.

  The car was quiet for a couple of minutes. "I'm done talking," she said, her voice soft and flat.

  She didn't say another word until I pulled up outside Candy's apartment building.

  "This is it," I said.

  "I know."

  50

  "DOES THE DOORMAN know you?" I asked her.

  "Sure."

  He waved us in as soon as he saw her face. Never looked at mine. She was quiet in the elevator.

  The door swung open before I had the button depressed enough to ring the bell. Candy.

  "Come in here," she said to the girl, not looking at me.

  Elvira walked past her to the couch, dropping her bag on the floor like the maid would get it in the morning.

  Candy walked over to me, reached up and put her hands on my shoulders. "Thanks, baby," she stage–whispered. The girl was sitting on the couch, watching her mother's back. Waiting for the truth.

  I gave it to her. "Where's the money?"

  Her fingers bit into the top of my shoulders, eyes lashed at me. I waited.

  She whirled, heels tapping on the parquet floor. Elvira put her fingers to her chin, like she was considering something important. Her mother came back into the living room, stopped two feet in front of me. Handed me an envelope. I put it into my coat.

  I heard the door click closed behind me.

  51

  I GOT BACK into the Plymouth, started the engine. Lit a smoke. The door opened and Max slid inside. I handed him Candy's envelope, pulled out into traffic.