Blossom - Andrew H. Vachss [87]
"This'll be good enough."
"No, it won't."
"Blossom…"
"She's right." Rebecca.
"Reba, you don't know what…"
Rebecca wheeled on Virgil. "What is it I don't know, honey? I don't know what you and Lloyd gonna be doing out there? What if this maniac sees a plastic dummy, figures out it's a trap, starts spraying bullets all over the place? Burke, he's inside this car, safe. What about you?"
Virgil held out his hands, palms up, surrendering. I caught the look between Blossom and Rebecca. Wondered why men ever think they run things.
166
BLOSSOM SAT NEXT to me in the 'Cuda's bucket seat, running her hands over the surfaces, gauging the weight. The coupe's tail slid out a bit as I gunned it around a corner, pavement–ripping power barely under leash.
"He would have just loved this car," she said.
"Who?"
"Chandler."
I watched the Lincoln's taillights through the dull windshield, following Virgil.
167
HE PARKED THE 'Cuda at the end of a dirt road. A few strokes of the foot pump (the one "optional extra" I bought from the sex shop after I passed on a great variety of cheesy negligees and garter belts) and the redhead doll was life–size. I positioned it in the passenger seat. Stepped back onto a rise, settled myself and looked.
The white body was only a dull streak behind the glass. Couldn't tell what it was.
"Look for yourself," I told Blossom, standing aside.
She stood next to me. Nodded.
"Let's get out of here," I said, taking her elbow.
She stood rooted. "Virgil, you got your rifle with you?"
"Yeah."
"Got a scope on it?"
He looked at me. I nodded.
I put the rifle to my shoulder. "Do it right. Play it square." Blossom's voice.
Or Wesley's?
I dropped prone, sighted in. He'd have a night scope of some kind. Infrared or luminous.
I put the cross–hairs on the passenger's window. This time, I didn't just look. I watched.
With his eyes.
The dummy sat stiff—I couldn't feel the heat.
The trap had no cheese.
168
IN THE LINCOLN, on the way back to Blossom's.
"Who else could you get to do it?"
I didn't answer her.
"You want to ask Rebecca?"
"Shut up. You're a smart girl, be smart enough to know when to keep quiet."
169
NO MATTER HOW many times I spun the wheel, it came up double zero—the house edge.
His house.
170
WHEN THE DARKNESS grabbed the ground, I pulled out of Virgil's garage. Blossom sat next to me, a man's white shirt worn outside a pair of blue jeans, her long blonde hair loose and free.
The padlock gave way. I stepped back inside the 'Cuda, drove slowly through the park until I found the spot, the dual exhausts bubbling like a motorboat, leaving a wake of power–sounds. I nosed the purple car into a pool of ink, the orange light from the mercury vapor lamps just brushing the passenger window. Where Blossom sat, profile to the rise where the rusting cross–ties made a perfect sniper's roost.
"What now?" she asked.
"Keep your voice down. I don't know how sound carries out here."
"Okay, honey." She ran her fingers through her hair, leaned back in the seat.
My watch said eleven–fifteen.
"You think he's out there?"
"Not yet."
"How long are we going to wait?"
"Long as it takes."
Waiting inside myself, I knew what the big cop had been thinking, the bargain we'd made. Homicide happens. They call it different things, depending on the uniform you're wearing at the time.
A night bird screamed. Blossom stiffened. "You think…?"
"Probably heard Sherwood and his crew moving around."
"Oh."
171
ONE–THIRTY in the morning.
"Are we going to wait until light?"
"No. Couple of kids parking, they wouldn't do that. If he's watching, he's got to believe. It's got to feel right to him first. The way I see it, he probably stalks all the time. Maybe every night. But he doesn't go off until he sees the signal. Whatever that is."
I rotated my neck on its column, feeling the adhesions crackle as they parted. Too tight.
"Time to go," I told Blossom, lighting a cigarette.
"Burke…?"
"What?"
"How come you…I mean, that's the first