Blue Belle - Andrew Vachss [115]
"She help you. On this?"
"We'll see."
Mama bowed. More food came. Belle ate like Pansy, only with better table manners. I never felt so safe.
Finally, I pushed the plates away. Belle was still eating. "You hear from Mac?" I asked Mama.
She smiled. Made a gesture with her hands like a flower opening to the sun.
"Boston quiet?"
"Quiet soon. Max working."
I bowed. Held out my hand to Belle. She looked unhappy, not wanting to leave the warmth any more than I did.
Mama walked us out to the back. "I'll call later—check on Michelle."
The monster was still standing by the door. The Buick was still across the alley mouth, no gunners in sight. I backed up the Pontiac slowly, watching the Buick move out of the way in the rearview mirror. Pointed the car toward the pier.
139
BELLE WAS finishing off a last egg roll. She delicately wiped her mouth with the chiffon scarf, tossed it into the back seat.
"How come you call her Mama?"
"It's what she calls herself."
"Where're we going?"
"Meet some cops."
"Cops?"
"They're okay. For this, they're okay. They want him too." I handed her the grenade. "You stay in the car."
"But…"
"Shut up. I let you have your grenade, took you for a nice drive to the Bronx, gave you a nice meal. That's all the babying you're going to get today."
She reached into the back seat, put the greasy scarf in her lap, covering the grenade. I turned in to the pier and backed the Pontiac into an empty space, watching for McGowan. We were early.
"Burke?"
"What?"
"That huge guy…the one who came out the back door?"
"Yeah?"
"If he's Chinese, how come he has an Italian name. 'Zilla'?"
"It's not his name, just what people call him. Short for 'Godzilla.'"
"Oh. Why'd he say that name? Mor–Tay?"
"He was asking a question. That pimp, Marques. He wants to know about putting a bounty out on someone, he should talk to Mama."
140
MCGOWAN'S CAR pulled up. I got out of the Pontiac, making sure he could see me, walking toward him, both hands in sight. His partner reached behind him; the back door popped open. I climbed in. His partner closed it behind me—no door handles on the inside.
"You know Morales?" McGowan asked.
"Yeah."
"He's with me on this. Understand?"
"Yeah."
"You called me out here."
I lit a smoke. "You sure you want your partner to hear this?"
They looked at each other. Morales said, "I need some cigarettes. Be right back. You need anything?"
McGowan shook his head. Morales stepped out.
"I found the Ghost Van."
"Where?"
"It's underground. There's three men in on the front end. One's the dead guy you found in the Chelsea playground. Two more left. I got a plan to trap one, work him until he shows me where the other one is."
"You saw the van?"
"Not with my eyes. I know where it is."
"That's enough for a warrant."
"The guy who saw it, he's not coming in. Neither am I. I got a deal. You interested?"
"Go."
"I need some things from you. Everything works out, I take this guy who wants Max. And the Ghost Van goes boom."
"What's mine?"
"The shooter," I said. "And Sally Lou."
McGowan knew the name. He puffed furiously on his cigar. I could see where they got the idea for smoked glass. "What do you need?"
"A massage parlor. In Times Square. And for the cops to stay away. A week, maybe two."
"Where am I gonna get a massage parlor?"
"McGowan, don't negotiate. I got no slack in my rope. You already got a couple of them. Maybe not you personally, but the cops have. That joint just off Forty–sixth—that was yours, right?"
"That was a sting. The tax boys. And it's all closed down now."
"But you got more. You've been after Sally Lou for years."
"There is one. But it's not ours."
"The federales?"
"Yeah."
"Tell them you need it. Couple of weeks. I'll staff it myself."
"With what?"
"Marques Dupree. He'll lend me some girls."
"He's in this?"
"It started with him. Like I told you. I'll be calling him in an hour. Get him over here. I want you to tell him it's okay."
"Now you want me to make a deal with a pimp."
"McGowan, you'd make a deal with the devil