Blue Belle - Andrew Vachss [118]
She nodded, solemn–faced.
I went back to work. The paint gun would need something that looked like a silencer. I fitted a piece of aluminum tubing, trying it out. Coming to it.
146
WE PULLED into the alley behind Mamas just before eleven. Instant replay: the Buick rolling in behind us, the monster coming out the door. At least this time he didn't rattle the car.
Michelle was already inside, sitting in my booth. She looked pristine and elegant in a white double–breasted wool jacket, black blouse underneath. I let Belle in first. Michelle took Belle's face in her hands, turning it to catch the light.
"Much better. I think we could go for a little stronger look around the eyes. And your hair…"
"Michelle, we don't have a lot of time."
"You drag me down to this godforsaken neighborhood—no offense, Mama—right in the middle of my working hours, and you're in a hurry." She flashed her smile at Belle. "Men are always in a hurry, but they never have that much to do. That's a beautiful necklace," she cooed. Belle leaned forward so Michelle could hold it. "Burke bought it for me."
"Unbelievable. It's a beautiful thing, perfect for you. Maybe he's learning some class."
Belle was throwing off more wattage than the lights. Clothes weren't the only thing Michelle did right.
I got out of the booth. Bowed to Mama. "We can use the basement? Talk?"
She bowed.
The women followed me downstairs. "Very chic," said Michelle, pointing at the wall of stainless–steel vats. "Is that high–tech?"
I ignored her. The basement is well lighted. The subbasement isn't. Max keeps things down there. I never asked what.
Mama bowed again, leaving us alone. Michelle perched on a wooden crate, crossed her silky legs. "You didn't bring me down here to talk about our stock investments."
"No. It's the Ghost Van. We're all in it now. All that's left. I have to pull a sting. Smoke out a freak. It's all worked out, but I need you to run it."
"Tell me."
"There's a massage parlor in Times Square. Sadie's Sexsational, it's called. You know it?"
"Nasty place."
"Yeah, it is. Our place, for the next couple of weeks. McGowan cleared out the trash—nobody'll bother us."
"Us?"
"Marques Dupree; we're going to run his girls out of the place. There's two guys left from the Ghost Van. The shooter, he's into pain. Other people's pain. He's the one that tortured that girl before the cops moved in to close the place. So we're opening up again. I want to pull him in."
"I know Marques. His girls…"
"He's going to get one more. A freelancer. She'll do all the whip–jobs. The rest, we run it like a regular joint. Customers come in, say what they want, pick a girl, pay the money. Guy comes in, asks for some freak–fun, we turn him over to this other girl. I'll be there—it won't get out of hand. But when this other guy comes, this guy we're looking for, he gets Belle."
Michelle's eyes flicked to Belle, back to me. She took a long black cigarette from her purse, tapped it on a fingernail.
"Belle takes him to the back. We'll have a place fixed up."
"What then?"
"Then he tells me where to find the other guy. And I go find him."
"There's no other way?"
"No. He walks back with Belle, I'm ready for him. We'll have it all worked out. You see this guy go back with Belle, you're gone. Just walk out. The other girls too."
"Who else is in on it?"
"The Mole. He found the van. I can talk him into it, he'll work the front desk."
Michelle's lovely face was serious, not playing now. "I always wanted to be a madam. Of course, I envisioned nicer surroundings, but…this'll do. I'm in charge?"
"You're in charge. The girls get to keep what they make, but pull the money at the front desk to make it look correct."
"You have pictures?"
"Pictures?"
"Of the girls. We need a book of pictures, show the johns when they come in. Let them pick the ones they want."