Blossom - Andrew H. Vachss [74]
I tapped the Return key again to bypass the message. Hit the Print key.
Nothing.
Hit it again.
Nothing.
Selected Printer Menu. Blinking Message: Printer Is Not Connected.
I turned to see if Virgil was watching. His back was to me, facing the door.
I hit the On switch for the printer. Watched the lights blink as it warmed up. The screen asked me for printer speed. I selected the fastest.
"Gonna make some noise now," I warned Virgil.
He nodded, not moving from his post.
The Print key rattled the machine into life. I went to the window, looked down. The Chevy was still there. Alone.
I stood next to Virgil. "You think he's in there?" the mountain man asked.
"Maybe. Wherever he is, he's not far."
"You sure, now?"
I shrugged. Feeling it more than knowing it, not sure why.
The printer ran on like a machine gun in the darkness, spitting chewed–up lives onto paper.
122
VIRGIL PUSHED LLOYD over, took the wheel. I climbed into the back seat, holding a bundle of fan–folded paper as thick as the phone book.
123
THE BACK DOOR was unlocked. I found my way inside. Blossom was in bed, lying on her side, facing the bedroom door.
"You okay?" she asked, wide awake.
"Sure."
I took off the dark prowler's clothes, put everything I'd worn into a pillowcase, tied it closed.
Blossom didn't ask any questions. Patted the bed. Opened her arms.
124
"YOU WANT SOMETHING to eat? Take a break from that?"
I rolled my neck to loosen the cramping feeling. I was in the easy chair in Blossom's living room. The fan–folded stack of printout was on the coffee table next to me, a yellow legal pad to my right. "What time is it?"
"It's almost one in the afternoon, honey. You've been at it for hours."
I stood up. Followed her docilely into the kitchen. Ate a sandwich I couldn't taste.
"There's so many of them, Blossom. Even narrowing it down, taking the big guesses, there's so many."
She was barefoot, in a pair of pink shorts, a T–shirt with balloons on the front. Looked sixteen. "Tell me," she said.
"Two questions, right? Who he is, where he is. I can find who he is, I could get lucky. Point right to where he is. So I played with it. Patterns, like I told you. So I could see him in my mind."
"What d'you see?"
"He's shooting women. The boys who died, they were just in the line of fire. White women, I figure a white shooter."
"Just like that?"
"There's things I can't explain to you. It's not a black man's crime, sex–sniping."
"Like white women don't throw lye?"
"Don't be cute, girl. This isn't a job for the ACLU. There's a way you just know things. Your mother, she knew men, right?"
"She did."
"Could she explain everything to you…how she knew? There's something way past the red–light district, Blossom. A million miles underground. A white–light district maybe. The white light of the video cameras where they make kids perform for freaks."
"You've been there?"
"Yeah. And now, that's where I hunt."
"I'm sorry. Just tell me, okay. I'll keep my big mouth shut."
"Something happened to this kid. Something so ugly the social workers don't have a name for it. Maybe nobody ever found out about it, but I'm betting they did. Maybe through the back door. Maybe he was torturing little animals and a teacher caught him. Maybe a fire–setter. The way I dope it out, somebody caught wise, but they missed the boat. Missed the reasons. And they took him away for a while. Fixed him up. Gave his parents some counseling. And then they sent him home. Where he still is. Those files, they don't get you inside a kid's head. Or his heart. But I feel like this kid's rooted, you know. Like he never went far. Like he's been out there, brewing. Stewing in freakish juices."
"You're giving me the creeps."
"Something you don't know. Virgil brought me out here not to save Lloyd. To find out the truth. Whatever the truth was, he was going to stand up to it. The reason I know Lloyd didn't do it, it has nothing to do with what the cops know. The reason he didn't do it, he's not the person who could