Blue Belle - Andrew Vachss [127]
The snout of the scattergun froze his balls down to dots. His hands shot into the air, belt still dangling. I stepped to him, the gun leveled at his gut. Five feet away.
"Drop it. Slow."
"Hey, man…"
"One more word, I'll blow you all over the walls."
The belt dropped from his hand.
His leather jacket was hanging from a hook in the corner. I could see the shoulder rig inside.
"Got any more guns on you, Ramón?" He shook his head no.
"Take off your clothes. Real, real slow. I want to see for myself."
Belle's voice from the side of the room. "Mister…"
"Shut up, bitch!" I snapped at her.
Ramón dropped his pants. Black bikini briefs. Very macho. "Those too," I said. "Watch your hands."
He pulled off his cowboy boots, one at a time, standing on one leg, never taking his eyes from me.
"Sit on the couch," I said quietly. "Next to the cunt."
He sat down. I pulled the handcuffs off my belt, flipped them into Belle's lap. "Put them on. One cuff on your wrist, one on his. Now!"
Belle snapped the cuff on Ramón first, her hands shaking. Her left hand slid to the back of the couch cushion.
I took out the paint pistol. Slowly, letting Ramón get a good look. He didn't want one.
"You know what this is, shooter?"
"I know what it is." His voice shaking like Belle's hands.
"You got two choices. You live. Or you die. Pick one."
"I want to live, man." Thin, weak, soft voice. If he recognized me, he was keeping it to himself. Holding that card.
"Your pal Mortay, he stepped in some shit, understand? Sally Lou's decided to take him off the count."
"But…"
"That's the way it plays. I got my money, I got to come back with a head. His head. One more don't mean a thing to me. I'm gonna waste him. Tonight. You tell me what I want to know, you take that fucking diamond out of your ear, and you make tracks. Got it?"
"Man, I don't know where he lives!"
"You're going to meet him. Tonight. Where?"
"He'll kill me."
"Ramón, he's a dead man. I don't find him tonight, I find him some other time. But you don't tell me what I want to know, he won't get a chance to kill you."
"Man, I don't know where he is. I'm serious!"
"So am I," I said, leveling the pistol at Belle's chest. I pulled the trigger. Splat! Belle slammed back against the couch, a red stain running between her breasts. I aimed the gun at Ramón—he never looked at Belle. The sound I made cocking it was the loudest thing he ever heard.
"Where?"
"Under the New York Times clock! Between Seventh and Eighth! On Forty–third! Don't!"
"What time?"
"Ten–thirty!" Piss flowed down his legs.
"Who gets there first?"
"He does, man. He always does…."
Belle's left hand flashed, plunging the hypo deep into his thigh, her thumb driving the plunger home as I fired a paint ball into his face.
"I…" and he was out. Belle rammed the speed key home, unsnapping her cuff. I pulled his free arm behind his back, locked the other cuff. Belle jumped off the couch, rubbing her breasts. I kicked Ramón onto the floor.
"Go get the Mole," I told her.
168
MICHELLE AND the Mole stood on either side of me. Ramón was in the corner, breathing deeply, out.
"The joint is closed," I told Michelle. "How many of the girls have customers?"
"Just MaryAnne."
"When he's finished, let him out. Tell the girls the show's over—the cops are going to hit in an hour. Get them out the door. You have any trouble, you hit the buzzer, they'll come from next door. Then take off yourself."
She kissed me. "Call as soon as it's over."
"I will."
She went out the door. I knelt down, pulled Ramón over my shoulder by one of his arms, positioned his weight. "The basement," I said to the Mole. Fuck McGowan and his deals—I wasn't going to leave a body around for the cops to hang me with.
He led the way. Pansy met us at the bottom of the steps. "Speak!" I told her, tossed a slab of steak through the air. She caught it on the fly.
"Is the panel truck ours?"
"Yes."
"I'm going to throw this garbage in the back. That shot'll keep him out for hours. You get stopped, it's not