Blossom - Andrew H. Vachss [46]
"Like who?"
"Gun freaks. Survivalists. Like that. You got Nazis around here?"
"Like in the Klan?"
"Yeah."
"Sure."
"There'll be a connection. These freaks, they're all quasi–cops in their heads. Like to play soldier. Wear the clothes. Handle the toys."
"Quasi–cops?"
"You got cop buffs here, right? Got police scanners in the houses, join the auxiliary force, work as security guards…you know?"
"Yeah. We always look through that file when we got filth—a hooker killing. Or a kid raped."
"If this freak's looking for a group, that's where he'll look."
"Okay."
"You got a friend in the postal service?"
"What if I did?"
"Then I'd write out this list of magazines. And you'd ask your friend who gets them delivered."
He gazed out his window for a minute. Down into the ravine where they found the bodies. "Write out the list," he said.
It only took me a minute. Then I started the engine, backed out.
As we drove along Lake Street, Sherwood turned to me. "You carrying?"
"No."
I pulled over outside the precinct house at Broadway and Thirteenth to let him out. The big man nodded like he'd made up his mind about something. "Burke, that's your name, right? Burke, you're not the only one looking for this guy."
"I know."
"I don't mean me. Someone else came around, asking questions. Spoke to me."
"Who?"
"We're not there yet, you and me."
He closed the door with a snap of his wrist as he exited the car.
63
THE NEXT MORNING, I picked up Virgil and Lloyd. Dropped Virgil off at the plant, said we'd pick him up at lunchtime.
Lloyd and I drove around for a few hours. I had him show me the high school, the woods, the dunes, lovers' lane. Questioned him about every kid he knew, trying to listen with his mind. Straining to hear the music, pick out the false notes.
If Lloyd had run across the sniper, he hadn't seen the shadow.
64
I PULLED THE LINCOLN into the diner parking lot. Walked in, Virgil and Lloyd close behind me. Virgil was back to himself, the worry–lines off his eyes. Like he was in the joint—not asking questions, waiting and ready. Virgil slid in first, right across from me, leaving Lloyd on the corner.
Cyndi flounced up to the booth. "Hi, Mitch! These your friends?"
"My brother Virgil, and his nephew Lloyd."
"Pleased to meet you. Mitch, if Virgil is your brother…and Lloyd is his nephew, what's that make him to you?"
"Close enough," I said. Virgil laughed.
I had tuna. Virgil had burgers, fries, and a beer. Lloyd ordered exactly what Virgil did.
The jukebox came on. Jim Reeves. "He'll Have to Go."
A voice from a booth behind us. "Hey, get your ass over here! We ain't got all day."
Blossom walked past us, order pad in her hand. I turned. Her booth was full of greasy humans in biker–drag. Big fat slob on the end, wearing a denim jacket with the sleeves cut out over a T–shirt. Weaselly little guy in the middle. Two drones on the end.
I couldn't hear what they said. Blossom came past us again, two bright red dots on her cheeks.
Bonnie Tyler on the juke. "It's a Heartbreak."
Cyndi came back with the food. Leaned over. "See those slobs in the back booth? I told Blossom to watch out for them. Offered to take the table for her. Those boys are trouble."
Virgil peered over. "They don't look like trouble to me," he said.
Blossom came by, a tray in each hand.
I chewed the tuna slowly, thinking about my target.
A crash from the booth behind us. "Get your hands off me!" Blossom. I turned. The fat one had his hand under Blossom's skirt, laughing as she pounded at his face, warding her off easily with one hand.
Lloyd was out of the booth like he'd kicked in an afterburner. "Let her go!" Voice cracking and squeaky. Fatso flung Blossom aside with one hand, stood up just as Lloyd charged into him, face against the bigger man's chest, hands pumping like pistons on nitromethane. I whirled out of the booth, feeling Virgil on my back.
The fat man backed up under Lloyd's attack, grunting at the body–shots. The kid was holding his own until the fat man grabbed the