Blue Belle - Andrew Vachss [27]
I picked up one more coin, gesturing that it was the Mole. Put it on the table, deliberately outside the circle. Patted my back. Insurance policy. Max nodded.
Immaculata came over to the table, put her hand on Max's shoulder.
"Burke, is this dangerous?"
"Not a chance, Mac," I said, making the sign of steering a car. "You think I'm going to let Max drive?"
She laughed. Max looked burned. He thought he could drive the same way he walked: with people stepping aside when they saw him coming. But weasels who wouldn't meet his eyes on the street get big balls when they're behind the wheel. Driving a car, he was a rhino on angel dust.
Max kissed Flower goodbye. Mac held the baby's little hand at the wrist, helping her wave goodbye to her father.
31
WE FOUND the Prof where he said he'd be, standing by a bench at the east end of the park in Union Square. When he saw the Plymouth pull up, he hoisted a canvas sack over one shoulder and walked to us. The Prof was wearing a formal black tuxedo, complete with a white carnation in the lapel. The shiny coat reached almost to his feet, like a cattleman's duster. Some chump was going to be poorly dressed for his senior prom.
"Yo, bro', what you know?" he greeted us, climbing in the back of the Plymouth like it was the limo he'd been waiting for.
I turned west on 14th, heading for the river. The Prof poked his head between me and Max, linking our shoulders with his hands. "What's down, Burke?"
"Like I told you, Prof. Marques Dupree wants a meet. He went to a lot of trouble to get to me—walking around the edges. He's supposed to bring two G's with him. Four–way split. All we have to do is listen to his pitch."
"Who's the fourth?"
"The Mole will be there. Off to the side."
"You want me to ride the trunk?"
"No, we go in square. I don't know what he wants, okay? I may need a translator."
"The street is my beat," said the Prof.
Max looked straight ahead.
We got to the pier around ten–thirty. I pulled the Plymouth against the railing, parked it parallel. The pier was deserted except for a dark, boxy sedan parked about a hundred feet behind us.
We all got out. Max was dressed in flowing black parachute pants and a black sweatshirt.. Thin–soled black leather shoes on his feet. He disappeared into the shadows. The Prof stood next to him. I leaned against the railing a few feet away. We waited. Max and the Prof took turns smoking, Max bending forward every time he took a drag when it was his turn. A watcher would see the little red dots, murky shapes. Two people.
Headlights hit the pier. A big old Rolls–Royce, plum–colored, with black fenders. I could see two heads behind the windshield. The Rolls parked at right angles to the Plymouth. Two doors opened. The Prof and I stepped into the outer fringe of the headlights, letting whoever was in the car see us.
Two people came toward us. Belle was a shapeless hulk in a gray sweatsuit. Even with sneakers on her feet, she was as tall as the man next to her.
Marques Dupree. A chesty mahogany man with a smooth, round face. He was wearing a dove–gray silk suit with a metallic pinstripe. Deep–slashed lapels over a peach–colored shirt. Sprayed in diamonds. He and Belle stopped in front of me.
"You're Burke?"
"Yeah."
"Who's this?" Indicating the Prof.
"My brother."
"You don't look like brothers."
"We had the same father."
Marques smiled. I caught the flash of a diamond in his mouth. "I never did time, myself."
I didn't want to swap life stories. "You want to do business?" I asked him.
Marques put his hand in his pocket, pulled out a roll of bills. A car door slammed. He didn't turn around. "What's that?"
"Just checking your car. Making sure you didn't bring friends."
"You said one friend apiece."
"You said you never did time."
Another door slammed. I lit a cigarette. Two more slamming