Blue Belle - Andrew Vachss [69]
"Do you have pictures of her?"
Mama scanned Belle's face, taking her time. "Many pictures," she said, tapping her head. "All in here."
Belle walked past the warning like she hadn't heard it. "What's the baby's name?"
"Flower."
Belle sipped her tea, prim and proper. Her eyes were soft. "If I was a flower, I know what kind I'd be," she said, half to herself. "A bluebell."
Mama bowed, as though she understood. The way she always looks.
77
"I HAVE to go in the street for a while," I told Belle as we climbed in the Plymouth. "I'll call you when I'm done with Marques. Late, okay?"
"Can't I wait at your office?"
"It's only a little after two now—I'll be coming back there to change around eight. It's a long time to be cooped up."
"I won't be cooped up."
"Yeah, you would. I could leave you there with Pansy, but she wouldn't let you out."
"It's okay."
I drove back to the office, helping Belle carry her boxes up the back stairs.
"I'm not playing, girl. Pansy lets people in, but they're always there when I come back, understand?"
"Sure. Go ahead. I'll just take a nap."
"Don't use the phone. And don't open any of the file cabinets."
"O–kay!! I got it."
I gave her a kiss.
78
I FOUND Michelle at The Very Idea, a transsexual bar on the East Side. I walked through a jungle of hard looks until I got to her table, feeling them fall away when she kissed me on the cheek.
"Hi, handsome." She smiled. "Looking for me?"
I sat down next to her, lit a cigarette, waiting patiently for her two girlfriends to leave. Michelle didn't introduce me.
"The Prof's in the hospital," I told her.
"What's the rest of it?"
"His legs are broken. Somebody did it to him. For poking around, asking questions."
"You know who?"
"Guy named Mortay."
Her big eyes went quiet, two long dark fingernails flirting with her cheekbone, meaning she was thinking. "I don't know him…but it seems like I heard the name…."
"It's Spanish for 'death.'"
"Honey, you know my language is French."
I didn't say anything, looking straight ahead. Michelle's hand grabbed my wrist. "Honey, I'm sorry. But it's business, right? The Prof was poking around, like you said. It's not the first time he stepped on a nail."
"The guy didn't have to do it, Michelle. It was a message. He's some kind of freak—wants to fight Max. That's why he worked the Prof over."
"He wants to fight Max?"
"That's what he said."
"He should change his name to 'death wish.'"
"Yeah, great. Thanks for your help." I got up to leave.
"Burke!"
"What? You think I came here to listen to your snappy dialogue? The Prof's my brother. Yours too. I know you're off the street—I didn't think we were off your list."
Michelle grabbed my arm, her talons biting deep. "Don't you ever say that!" she hissed, pulling me closer. She got to her feet, hooking her arm through mine. "Let's get out of here—too many ears."
We walked out into the daylight. I let her lead me down the street to another joint—a singles bar that wouldn't come alive for a couple of hours. We grabbed a pair of stools near a corner. Glass tinkled; a brittle edge to the juiceless, anorexic laughter of the patrons. The bartender brought Michelle her white wine and me my ginger ale.
"Tell me," she said, not playing now.
"You know the Ghost Van?"
"Just the rumors. The gossip off the street. But I know it's for real—somebody's shooting the working girls."
"There's a bounty on it. I talked with some people. Made a deal to track it down. The Prof was in on it. That's what he was looking for when he ran into this Mortay."
"So they're connected?"
"I don't know. When Mortay leaned hard, the Prof pulled out Max's name. Thinking to put some protection on himself. It backfired. Mortay wants Max—that's what he said. Wanted to know where his dojo was. The Prof didn't know. Mortay snapped his legs."
"How'd you find him?"
"They brought him right to the hospital. Like I said—a message."
"Where are you now?"
"I did some digging. There's this guy Lupe. Works out of the Bronx. Sets up matches. You know: cockfights,