Blue Belle - Andrew Vachss [68]
"Very nice," I told her.
"This is some lovely car."
"You're some lovely woman. You call Marques?"
"No answer. Can't we try him from your office?"
"That phone's no good past eight in the morning. You can't stay on the line more than a minute anyway. I'll show you where to pull over."
We found an open pay phone by the river. I handed Belle a quarter. She took one of those premoistened towelettes from her purse, ripped off the foil, wiped down the mouthpiece.
She dialed the number. Waited. Somebody picked up. I only heard her end of the conversation.
"Could I speak to Marques, please?"
…
"Belle."
We waited a couple of minutes. I opened my palm to show her I had another quarter ready.
"Hi. Remember that man you wanted me to call for you? Burke? He came by the club. Said he wanted to meet with you. About what you talked about the last time."
…
"He said it was up to you. Any time. Any place."
…
"No, he didn't seem mad at all. He just said he needed information about the scene, and you were the best person….He didn't want to poke around without checking with you, he said."
…
"Okay. Wait, let me write this down," she said, signaling to me. I nodded. "Go ahead," she said into the phone.
…
"Junior's? Where's that? Oh, he'll know."
I nodded to her again.
"What time?"
…
"Eleven. Okay. And tell him not to bring his friends? Sure. Okay, thanks. I'll tell him—he said he'd call me before I go to work tonight."
She put down the phone.
"Good girl," I told her.
She tossed her head, smile flashing in the sun. "You just wait and see," she promised.
76
I TOOK the wheel. As I pulled out, I noticed the back seat full of cartons. "What's all that stuff?" I asked her.
"Stuff I needed," she said. Case closed.
"You hungry?"
She made a noise like Pansy does when you ask her the same question.
I pulled in behind Mama's, taking Belle by the hand as we walked through the kitchen. Mama's collection of thugs watched us impassively—they'd seen stranger things come through the back room.
The joint had a few customers—no way to keep them all out at lunchtime—but my booth was empty, the way it always is.
The waiter came over to us, blocking Belle's side of the booth, looking a question at me with his eyes. I shook my head, telling him Belle wasn't trouble. He flicked his eyes toward the front of the room. I nodded—send Mama over.
Mama's dress was a deep shade of red. Opal earrings matched the ring on her hand. She returned my bow, face a mask.
"Mama, this is Belle," I said. "Belle, this is Mama." I said it carefully. Nice and even, same tone of voice. Mama was stone–solid reliable when it came down to a crunch, but she was funny about women.
She bowed. "Friend of Burke, friend of Mama."
Belle started to reach out her hand, thought better of it. Bowed gently. "Thank you, ma'am." Polite as a little girl in church.
Mama slid into the booth next to me, barking something in Cantonese over her shoulder.
The waiter brought the soup. Mama served me, then Belle, then herself. Watched carefully, smiling with approval as the bowl emptied. "You have more soup?"
"Yes, please. It's delicious."
Mama bowed again. "Very good soup—good for strength. Special for my people. Always here."
Belle looked a question.
"Burke my people," Mama said. No expression on her face, nothing in her tone. But a low–grade moron would have caught the warning.
Belle quietly worked her way through beef in oyster sauce, snow–pea pods, water chestnuts, fried rice, hard noodles, paying no attention to us.
Mama took a look at the empty plates, raised her eyebrows, called the waiter over again. Belle had a portion of lemon chicken, washing it all down with some Chinese beer. She patted her face with her napkin. "Oh, that was good!"
"You want more?" Mama asked. Belle smiled. "No, thank you."
"You come back sometime. When no more trouble, okay? See my granddaughter, yes?"
"You have a granddaughter?"
"Why not?" Mama asked, her face hardening.
"You don't look old enough."
A smile flashed. Disappeared. "Plenty old enough.