Blossom - Andrew H. Vachss [56]
"Or maybe you'd rather have an assortment. I got a few hand–loaded thirty–eights here. Mercury tips, hollow points, full metal jacket…"
"Got some wad cutters?"
"You got to be very close for those."
"I understand."
"We got a deal?"
I ground out my smoke. "Tell you what. Why don't we make it an even grand. For the pistol, some ammo, and some advice."
"I like it."
I handed over the money in hundreds. He eye–counted it, passed me the pistol, sorted through his collection of shells, filled a box.
I lit another smoke. "You hear anything about those sniper killings over in Indiana? The Lovers' Lane Killer, the papers call him?"
"Yeah." Waiting.
"Let's say, just for a minute, that we know something about the guy who did it, all right? Let's say he's a Rambo freak. Lives at home, don't get out much. Likes to play dress–up in camo gear, that kind of thing. He's not military, not a cop. Not a merc either. Probably no training, no contacts, okay?"
"I'm with you."
"So he's probably buying mail–order. He wouldn't have the cash for a really quality piece. What would he have?"
Arnold's face flickered, computing. "Got to be one of those 'assault rifles,'" he sneered. "Which is just about anything with a Kalashnikov action. The caliber isn't the problem. Damn near has to be .223. Could be Russian, Chinese, even Brazilian. Everybody makes a knockoff of the original. But your guy, he'd want the look, okay?"
"The look?"
"Like high–tech, man. Dark and evil. I figure him for a Mini–14 with all the goodies. Black plastic stock, flash suppressor, maybe even a bipod on the front for prone–position fire. Maybe an AR–15 but…I like the Mini. You can get 'em anywhere, real cheap."
"Through the mail?"
"Hell, yes. Buy all the camo gear he wants too, boots to hats. Underwear, he wants it. The Mini, it'll take anything from twenty rounds up. Up to a hundred, he wants to go with a drum."
"Silencer?"
"Now that's a different game, man. You can buy books on how to make them, but a good one, one that'd work, he'd have to know somebody. That .223 stuff, it pulls a high harmonic. Like a crack, you know? Not a boom."
"Arnold, let me ask you one more question, okay? You sell a rig like the one we're talking about here in the last few months?"
"Oh, man. I don't sell junk."
"But if some guy had only so much cash…?"
"Guy like you're asking about, he wouldn't know where to find me."
76
WHEN WE CAME back to the table, Blossom and Rebecca had their heads together, whispering. We sat down. The waitress brought Virgil a bottle of beer, looking a question at me. I shook my head no.
Virgil looked at his watch. "We need to pull out of here in a few minutes. There's another band coming on—we don't want to walk out in the middle of their set. Wouldn't look right."
Blossom rested her fingertips lightly on my forearm as we walked to the car.
Just before we crossed into Indiana, Rebecca spoke from the back seat. "Want to visit with us a bit, have some coffee?"
"Blossom has to work early tomorrow morning," I told her.
The blonde woman's voice was sweet and soft. "I'm a big girl now. I can get myself up in the morning."
Virgil laughed. "You as smooth as ever, Burke."
I caught his eyes in the mirror. The Prof was right—once a Hoosier, always a Hoosier.
Blossom curled in her seat, looking out the window.
77
A LIGHT SHONE in the kitchen as we walked up the path to the back door. Lloyd was seated at the table, a book propped in front of him. Line of fresh stitches across the bridge of his nose. Saw Blossom. Blushed. Kind of ducked his head, mumbled something that sounded like "Hi."
She gave him a dazzling smile I didn't know she had. "You watching the kids?"
"Sure. They're in bed, fast asleep. I figured…maybe I'd better wait up till you all got back."
Virgil nodded his approval.
"Any calls?" Rebecca asked.
"Just your friend Bette. Said she'd see you tomorrow."
"Okay, honey. Thanks. You want some coffee—we're all having some."