Blue Belle - Andrew Vachss [70]
"Yes?"
"He said this Mortay fought a duel. A bunch of the players got together, put up this purse. Twenty grand. Mortay killed the other guy in front of the whole crowd."
"I can see it. Regular prizefights are too tame for the freaks. Too much cocaine, too much filth… After a while, they have no nerve endings at all. It takes a superjolt to get their batteries started. They want the real thing."
"I told this Lupe I want to meet Mortay."
"Burke, that's not like you, that macho foolishness."
"Not fight him, Michelle. Meet him. Just to tell him I'm walking away. No hard feelings."
"Baby, I've known you forever. All your feelings are hard feelings."
"I have to turn him away from Max."
"It doesn't sound like…"
"I don't know what it sounds like. If he's freelance, it doesn't matter. He can't find Max."
"So?"
"So, if he's tied up with this Ghost Van, maybe he's tied up with people who could."
The bartender brought us another round. I felt a flesh–padded hip bump my arm. A girl in a pink leather skirt, moving onto the stool next to me, talking to her girlfriend. Secretaries prolonging their lunch hour to look around.
Michelle sipped at her wine. "What do you want me to do?"
"Ask around. About the van. I'll check out this Mortay the best I can. See if it all catches up."
"I thought you were going to walk away."
"If I can, I will. I don't like any of this. If this guy's really fighting duels, he can't last forever. There's no old gunfighters."
Her big eyes pinned me over the rim of her glass. "I may be a sweet young thing, honey, but I go back a ways, remember?"
"Ex–gunfighter," I said, quietly.
"Yeah, we're all X–rated, aren't we, babe? I'm an ex–streetwalker, and you want me back on the stroll to listen to the beat. And you're ready to pick up the gun again—I can hear it in your voice."
"It'll be all right. I'll talk with him, square it up."
The girl in the pink skirt leaned into our conversation, her hard–pointed breasts brushing my arm. "Excuse me, honey," she said to Michelle, "could I ask your boyfriend a question?"
Michelle gave her an icy smile. "He's not my boyfriend—he's my lawyer."
"Oh, perfect!" the girl said, pulling her pal into the scene. She looked at me, flicking her tongue over her lower lip. "Do you think prenuptial agreements take the romance out of marriage?"
I blew a jet of smoke across the bar. "Rubbers take some of the romance out of sex," I said, "but they beat the hell out of AIDS."
I tossed a couple of bills on the bar. Michelle followed me out.
79
I DROVE Michelle over to her hotel. She was quiet on the drive, her eyes on the street. I pulled up down the block from her place.
"I can't explain it to you," I told her. "I wish I could—it's somewhere inside my head—I have to work with it until it makes sense."
"Not everything makes sense."
I lit a smoke, shook my head. "It's just a feeling…but I know this whole thing is bad for us. For all of us. I'm not looking for trouble."
"Okay, honey. I'm with you."
"Thanks, Michelle."
She lit one of her long black cigarettes like she does everything else. Elegantly.
"You still with that big girl?"
"Yeah."
"That's a very fine woman, Burke. Believe me when I tell you. Nobody's ever been nice to her."
"I'm nice to her."
She smiled. "Are you?"
"Yeah, I am. She took your advice."
"Vertical stripes."
I laughed. "You should have seen them on her."
Michelle slapped my arm with unerring instinct in the same spot Belle always used. "You work with what you have, baby. You're looking at the expert."
"I know."
"Okay. You got some cash on you?"
"Yeah."
"Then let's do some shopping."
"Shopping? For what?"
"For a present, you idiot. For your girl."
"I have to…"
"Drive down to the Village," she ordered me, not willing to discuss it further.
Michelle found what she wanted in a little basement dive on Sullivan Street. A necklace of small dark–blue stones. The old Turk who ran the place had been a chemist before he fled some border war a hundred years ago. He'd been one of the Mole's first teachers.
"How