Blue Belle - Andrew Vachss [121]
Belle's laugh was sweetness on the morning.
153
PANSY PROWLED the floor, sniffing the corners, snarling at nothing in particular. Our last night in the cottage. Belle was stuffing another pair of suitcases.
"Why'd you bring that old dog anyway?"
"I wanted to get her used to sleeping outside the office—she's going to be at the massage parlor with us."
"In case somebody wants something special?"
I didn't answer her. I dialed the Runaway Squad. They told me McGowan was in the street—they'd take a message. I hung up. Mama had nothing to tell me. I had nothing to tell the Mole.
"Don't make it look like you moved out," I warned Belle.
"I'm just taking a few things. The rent's paid till the end of the month, and I got two months security down. I'll throw another money order in the mail to the landlord. People mind their own business out here."
I went out on the deck, minding mine. Pansy trotted along next to me. She jumped up on her hind legs, hooking her front paws to the railing. I scratched the back of her neck. "You want to see the junkyard, girl? Meet a few new guys?" She made a happy rumble in her throat. The sound rippled across the water. I smoked a couple of cigarettes, calm inside. Once you jump off the bridge, everything's smooth until you hit the water.
It was past midnight when we came back inside. Belle was wearing a gauzy blue nightgown, her face fresh–scrubbed and clean. Ready for bed. She took a bottle of beer from the refrigerator, poured herself a glass. Pansy made a pitiful moaning noise, brushing her head against Belle's thigh.
"Oh! Now you wanna be pals, huh?"
She found a cereal bowl, another bottle of beer. Took them both into a far corner. Bent from the waist and filled it up. Pansy got about half of it, the floor got the rest.
I lit a cigarette. "You taught me something."
"What, honey?"
"The poison–proofing I did with her…so she won't take food unless she hears the right word?"
"Yes?"
"I'm a jerk. I never thought about liquids. She'll drink any goddamned thing."
"Can't you…?"
"Yeah. You take the time, the patience, you can train a dog like Pansy to do just about anything. I didn't do it. And I just figured out why."
Belle was next to me, my arm around her waist, listening like I was saying something important.
"There's no way to throw liquid under a door. She wouldn't take it anyway—not unless it was in a bowl, or in a pool. I never figured on anyone being inside, you understand?"
"I'm inside," she said softly.
"Yeah, you are. Let's go to sleep."
She gently twirled away from me. Turned off the lights. "Not yet, honey. Sit in the chair. This is our last night here. Until it's over. I want to say my prayers."
She knelt before the bed, hands clasped in front of her. Her skin glowed under the nightgown. Blue light.
Belle looked over her shoulder. She played with the sash at her waist. The nightgown floated to the floor.
"Rescue me," she whispered.
154
IT WAS still dark when I watched Belle slip the Camaro into my garage. I stashed the Pontiac a few blocks away, in a safe spot near the river.
I didn't like the walk back to the garage. Pinprick tingles all across my back. But it was quiet—my fear was just picking up long–distance signals.
The garage was dark when I stepped inside. I headed for the stairs, sending Pansy ahead, Belle right behind me. She pulled at my arm. "Wait."
She stood before the circuit–breaker box. Punched the three buttons in the right sequence, puffing out her chest like a proud little girl when the box popped open. If little girls looked like that when they got a question right, I might have stayed in school. She slipped off the necklace, holding the blue glow in her hands. I watched her, one foot on the first rung of the stairs.
"I can't do it," she said. Slamming the box closed. "It don't seem right to wear it inside a whorehouse, but…" She patted the front of her thigh. Where her mother's gravestone was etched in her flesh.
155
UPSTAIRS, I dialed McGowan again. This time he was around.
"It's me. Everything okay?"
"It's empty right