Blue Belle - Andrew Vachss [75]
I let her come close, watching the other girls through the windshield, trying to get the feel of the street. It felt calm—didn't make sense. The Plymouth sat through the green light; the pross took it for a signal. She leaned into the window, folding her arms under her breasts to poke them forward.
"What you say, honey. Fifty takes you around the world."
I looked in her face, keeping my voice low.
"You got a room?"
"We just drive around the block, honey. Nice dark places to park—take all the time you need."
"Around here? Haven't you heard about the Ghost Van?"
She laughed. Hard and bitter. "The Ghost Van don't eat no dark meat, baby."
It started to hit me then. I feathered the gas pedal and the Plymouth moved off, leaving the whore alone in the street.
84
PAST MIDNIGHT. I found a phone, rang Mama's.
"It's me."
"Nobody call."
"Okay."
"Max has your money."
"You keeping him close?"
"Yes. Keep close. Waiting for you."
"I'll call you tomorrow."
"Burke?"
"What?"
"Nice girl you bring here. Nice big girl."
"Yeah."
I put the phone down. Dialed the Mole. I heard the phone being picked up, nothing on the other end. The way he always answers.
"It's me. I need to come see you tomorrow night—talk something over. I'm bringing someone with me—someone you need to meet. Okay?"
"Eight o'clock," said the Mole, hanging up.
85
IT HIT me as soon as I stepped out of the back staircase into the hallway. The electricity started at the base of my spine. It shot upward in little jolts, forming a T–bar at my neck, firing out to my shoulders. My hands trembled. I knew what it was—an old friend. Fear.
I opened the door. The office was pitch–dark. Pansy was standing at her post, wire–tight, eyes glowing. The hair on the back of her neck was standing straight up. I closed the door behind me, hit the light switch.
Belle was on the couch—on her knees, a butcher knife in her hand.
"What happened?" I asked her.
"Somebody rang the bell downstairs. It buzzed up here. Maybe twenty minutes ago. I didn't answer it. I killed all the lights, turned off the radio. Then those strobes, the ones above the door, they started flashing."
"Somebody coming up the stairs."
"That's what it was. Pansy, she ran right over to where she is, making these ugly low sounds. Like a gator eating a pig. I got scared."
"Anybody try and get in?"
"No. They just pounded on the door. Real loud. I thought the dog would bark, but she just stayed where she was. Like she was waiting."
"She was."
"They rattled the doorknob—you know, just shaking it, like they were mad. There were at least two of them; I could hear the talking."
"You hear what they said?"
"No. I was scared to move from here—I didn't want to get in the dog's way—she looked crazy. But one had like this Mexican accent."
"How long'd they stay?"
"Just a minute, maybe—but it seemed longer. The strobes went off again. It's been quiet since then."
"And you're still on the couch?" I asked, as I walked over to her, put my hands on her shoulders.
She looked up at me. "Burke, I don't know much, but I know about men. You learn to tell. From little things. The guy talking—the Mexican—he was one of those nasty men you see in the club sometimes. The way they look at you—like screams would make them smile."
"I know. You did the right thing." I gave her a smile, my thumb under her chin. "What were you going to do with that knife?"
"I didn't know what to do… but I could see the dog knew. Where she was standing, they'd walk in right past her. I figured they come toward me, and Pansy'd just blind–side them."
"That's what she'd do all right. But she'd do the same thing if you hid in the back room."
"I was going to give her a hand," Belle said, her hands still shaking but no tremble in her voice.
I cupped a breast. It overflowed my hand. "There's a big heart under this big thing," I said.
"It's yours."
"Which?" I asked, squeezing her breast.
"Both. But only one's for playing with," the big girl said, eyes locked on mine.
I kissed the bridge of her nose, between her eyes. She put her face