Blue Belle - Andrew Vachss [86]
"I get it."
"Then explain it to me."
She started to cry, her face in her hands. "I can't," she sobbed.
"Come over here," I told her. "Come on."
She unbuckled her seat belt, slid over against me, still crying. "I'm sorry…."
"Shut up. Just be quiet and listen, okay?"
"Okay," she gulped.
"Telling you about dogs and puppies wasn't the way to do it. You think blood will out, don't you?"
She nodded. "Yes." Still crying.
"You know about Dobermans… how they're supposed to turn on their owners?"
"Yes, I heard that."
"It's a lie, Belle. People get Dobermans, they're afraid of them. They've all heard the stories. So they beat the hell out of them when they're still puppies. Show them who's boss, right? One day, the dog gets his full growth, the owner goes to hit him, the dog says, 'Uh uh. Not today, pal,' and he rips the guy up. So this fool, this creep who's been beating up on his own dog, mistreating him all this time, he says, 'Well, the son of a bitch turned on me.'"
Belle giggled. "He sowed his own crop."
"Sure did. There's nothing genetic about Dobermans' turning on their masters. What's genetic about them is that they don't take a whole lot of shit once they get their growth. That's the truth."
"I thought…"
"We're people, Belle. Not alligators. I know people so cold, so evil, you meet them, you'd swear they came out of their mothers' wombs like that. But that's not the way it is. All the human monsters have to be made—they can't be born that way. You can't be born bad, no matter what the fucking government thinks."
"But if he…"
I cut her off sharp—I knew who "he" was. "It was his choice, Belle. No matter how he was raised, no matter what was done to him. There's no law says he has to repeat the pattern. He's not off the hook. I came up with guys raised by monsters. Did time with them when I was a kid. They still had choices."
I lit a cigarette. "Hard choices. The only kind people like us get. But choices still…You understand?"
"I do. I swear I do this time." She nestled against me. "I knew you were going to rescue me."
She kissed me full on the mouth, stabbing me with her tongue. I pulled back from her, watching the lights dance in her dark eyes. "The man we're going to see, millions of his people died because some slimy little psychopath decided their blood was bad. The psychopath, he's in the ground. The maggots are eating his body, and if there's a god, his soul is burning. And there's a country called Israel where there used to be only desert."
I squeezed her gently. "Okay?"
She let the whole smile go this time. "Okay."
102
I SHOWED Belle where to pull in. "Flash the high beams three times, then shut the lights off."
"Something's coming," she said, peering into the darkness.
"Dogs," I told her. "Just be quiet."
They came in a pack. Simba didn't wait to make his entrance like he usually does. There was a tawny flash and a light thump as he landed on the hood of the Plymouth, baring his fangs as he looked through the windshield. Belle looked back at him. "Is that a wolf?"
"City wolf," I told her. "And that's his pack"—pointing to the river of beasts flowing around the car.
"What d'we do?"
"Wait."
The kid came through the crowd, bumping dogs out of his way like the Mole does. He called to Simba. The dog jumped off the hood, followed the kid around to the driver's side. "Switch places with me," I told Belle. I hit the switch. The window came down. Simba's lupine face popped into the opening.
"Simba–witz!" I greeted him.
Simba sniffed, poking his nose past me to look at Belle. A low growl came out of his throat. The pack went quiet. "It's okay, Terry," I told the boy. "This is Belle—she's with me."
The kid was wearing a dirty jumpsuit, a tool belt around his waist. A regular mini–Mole. Michelle would be thrilled.
"I'll open the gate," he said.
I drove the Plymouth a few feet into the yard, watching the gates close behind us. "I'm going to get out now," I told Belle. "I'll come around and let you out. The dogs will be with us, but they're okay. Don't be scared."