Blossom - Andrew H. Vachss [44]
Judy Henske's voice charged out of the speakers, dominating the dingy room the way she overworked every club she'd ever played. Her early stuff. "Wade in the Water." Making the gospel song into a blue–tinted challenge. When they say a prizefighter hits and holds, they're talking about a dirty tactic. Like we taught Lloyd. Henske, she hits and holds those notes until they turn into beauty past what you can see with your eyes. What you feel. What she makes you feel. A channel to the root.
There was more on the tape. Bonnie Raitt. Henske's spiritual sister, like Henske was Billie Holiday's. "Give It Up." Working that slide guitar like the critics said a woman never could.
When Raitt got to singing "Guilty," I felt Belle's loss so hard I couldn't get a clean breath. I'd paid off her debts, but it didn't set me free. My soul jumped the tracks and it took a monster and a witch to save me.
It wasn't just a sex–sniper I was looking for in Indiana.
60
I DRIFTED IN and out of sleep. Dreamed I was back in prison. The Olympics were on the TV in the rec room. 1972. The cons watched Olga Korbut twist herself into positions the Kama Sutra never imagined. Talking about what they'd do to her if they had her for a night. The little Russian girl was winning hearts all over the world, dancing and prancing, wiggling her teenage butt, waggling her fingers in special waves, smiling like she'd discovered purity.
The senior member of the Russian gymnastics team was a dark–haired beauty who'd been the leader for years—until right then, when Olga burst out. Lyudmila Turischeva. A proud woman, she knew it was time—time for the cubs to challenge the pack leader. When she walked out onto the mat, her shoulders were squared, chin up, eyes straight ahead. Arms moving at her sides like a soldier's. She knew she was up against it—the crowd was Olga's.
The other cons watched her hips, disappointed. I watched her eyes. She did her exercise perfectly. No flash, the fire banked. Then she turned and walked off, head high, going out with class.
A woman, not a girl.
I woke up knowing what I'd recognized in Blossom as she walked by.
61
I DIDN'T NEED the real estate cover anymore, but I dropped by Humboldt's office just to keep the extra cards in my hand. He was out "viewing some properties." I left word that I was still around, still looking into our project.
Used the car phone to call Sherwood. Held on while they looked for him.
"This is Sloane. Did you speak to my friend?"
"Yes. Last night."
"Now a good time to come and see you?"
"A very good time."
"Okay. I'll pull up outside the station in about fifteen minutes. We'll go for a ride and talk, okay? I'm driving a…"
"I know your car. I'll be out front."
He hadn't seemed surprised I didn't want to sit around a police station—I guess he had talked to McGowan.
62
SHERWOOD CLIMBED in the front seat, adjusting his bulk comfortably. "You show them a credit card, they'll rent you anything these days, huh?" Letting me know.
"Anyplace special you want me to drive?"
"You want to see where it happened? That last one?"
"Yeah."
"Take the left at the corner."
I followed the cop's directions until we came to a sign that said Naval Reserve Center A couple of more blocks to the beach. A black man came over to my window, wearing a guayabera shirt, metal change–maker at his waist. "Two bucks for nonresidents," he said.
"Rest it, Rufus," Sherwood rumbled.
The change–maker looked across me to Sherwood, turned away without a word.
I pulled into the parking lot. Lake Michigan spread out before us. Only a few people on the beach, half a dozen cars in the lot.
I killed the engine, flicked the power window switch, lit a smoke. Waited.
"This is it" he said. "Victims were parked just about there"—pointing at the corner of the lot closest to the dunes. "We figure he took a position somewhere up around there"—pointing again. "No use trying that trajectory stuff—too many