Blue Belle - Andrew Vachss [30]
The Prof's hand worked on my shoulder again. "Yeah," I said.
"It's good money, Burke. I'll work out any collateral you want."
"You're carrying your collateral."
Marques looked puzzled. "My jewelry?"
"Your head," I told him.
He took another deep breath. "You'll do it?"
"I'll think about it."
"You need to know anything else?" he asked.
"When the van goes down, we'll be around," said the Prof.
"Let's go, bitch," Marques said to Belle.
"She'll go with me," I said.
Marques Dupree smiled. "You like cows?"
"Go home and play with your coat hangers," I told him, waving to the Mole. So Marques could open his trunk later without losing his collateral.
32
THE ROLLS moved off. "Wait in the car," I told Belle. She waggled her fingers at the Prof in a goodbye. "Good night, pretty lady," he said. Max stood stone–still.
I watched her walk away.
"Prof, you know what he was running down?"
"The van's for real, Burke. It's been all over the street for weeks."
"You know something?"
"Something. When I know it all, I'll give you the call."
I gave Max his five hundred, a thousand to the Prof. "Take care of the Mole—he'll drop you off."
Max bowed. I shook hands with the Prof. "Watch yourself," I told him.
I got into the Plymouth. Belle was sitting against the passenger door, looking out at the river through the open window.
"Where to?" I asked her, watching the dark sedan pull away.
33
BELLE REACHED into the waistband of her sweatsuit, pulled out pack of smokes. I handed her my little box of wooden matches, waiting. She inhaled deeply. It was like watching the Alps shift.
"You know Broad Channel?"
"Sure."
"I'll show you once we get on to Cross Bay Boulevard."
I pointed the Plymouth downtown, heading for the Battery Tunnel.
"How'd you meet Marques?"
"When I first came to New York. I was working at Rosie's Show Bar."
"Dancing?"
"I was a barmaid."
"He try and turn you out?"
"He thinks I'm a lesbian. Okay?"
She knew the score. Plenty of lesbians turn tricks, but a smart pimp doesn't want one in his stable. One day he turns around and he's missing two girls.
"They think the same thing at that joint you work at?"
"The boss doesn't care one way or the other."
"So why did Marques pick you for a messenger?"
"It's one of the things I do. I carry stuff, drive a car, deliver a message… like that, you know?"
"You carry powder?"
"No."
"That's where the money is."
"The fall's too far."
"You ever been down?"
"Just overnight a couple of times. Once for a week. In West Virginia."
"What for?"
"The cops thought I drove on a bank job. They didn't want me—I was just a kid—they wanted the gunman."
"They only held you a week?"
She caught something in my tone. "I stood up, Burke. The P.D. got bail for me and I caught a bus north. I know how to do it—if I go to jail, I go by myself."
"You never did time—where'd you learn the rules?"
Belle smiled in the dark. Slapped the side of one thigh. "Maybe I'm too heavy to roll over."
I looped the Plymouth onto the Belt Parkway, heading east to Queens. A red panel truck ahead of me changed lanes suddenly, cutting me off. I tapped the brakes, flicked the wheel to the right, touched the gas. The Plymouth flowed around the panel truck like a shark passing a rowboat. Belle wiggled her hips deep into the seat, testing her balance.
"This car's a lot more than it looks."
"So are you."
Her smile flashed again. A prim smile, showing just the tips of her teeth.
I wheeled the Plymouth off the Belt, picking my way through Ozone Park. No reason for Marques to have the car followed, but Belle said she played by our rules—she wouldn't want the pimp knowing where she lived. We stopped at a light. An abandoned factory stood to the side, waiting for a developer to finish the job a fire started years ago. It was wallpapered with graffiti except for a broad rectangle in the center that somebody had carefully whitewashed. On that white canvas