Blue Belle - Andrew Vachss [89]
"The Ghost Van."
"Don't look for the Ghost Van," Mortay hissed. "You wouldn't like it if you found it."
"I'm not looking for it. I'm off the case. I just wanted to tell you to your face. We have no quarrel with you—whatever you did, it was just business, okay?"
I turned to go.
"Stay where you are."
I faced him. He hadn't moved.
"I gave the little nigger a message. Didn't you get it?"
"I just told you we did."
"About Max. Max the Silent. Max the warrior. I called him out. I want to meet him."
"If I see him, I'll tell him."
"You know my name? You play with me, you play with death."
"I'm not playing."
"I know you. Burke. That's you, right?"
"Yeah."
"Max is your man. Everyone knows that—it's all over the street. Everyone says he's the best. He's not. It's me. Me. He wants to admit it, go down on one knee, he can live. Otherwise, we fight."
"You can't make him fight."
"I can make anyone fight. I spit on dojo floors. I killed a kendo master with his own sword. Everybody has a button." He opened his hands, a gambler fanning a handful of aces. "I push the buttons."
"Let it go," I said.
He moved in on top of me. Spit full in my face. I didn't move, watching his eyes.
"You're better than I thought," he whispered. "You're too old to jump if I call your mother a name. But you spit in an ex–con's face, he has to fight."
"I won't fight you."
"You couldn't fight me, pussy." I felt my face rock to the side, blood in the corner of my mouth. "Never saw that, did you?"
"No," I answered him, chewing on my lip, my mind back in an alley when I faced another man years ago. Wishing I had a gun, glad I didn't.
"I'm the fastest man there is. Max, he's nothing but a tough guy. I'll kill him in a heartbeat—he'll never see what does it."
"You can't make him fight—he doesn't fight just 'cause you call his name."
"What if I snap your spine, leave you in a wheelchair the rest of your life? You think that'll bring him around to see me?"
"You can't do that either," I said, my voice soft. "I'm not alone here."
The Spanish guy laughed. "I don't see nobody," he said, pulling an automatic from his belt.
I raised my hands as though I was responding to the pistol. One of the beer bottles exploded. I took another step away from Mortay.
"There's a rifle squad on the roof. Night scopes and silencers."
Mortay was ice, watching me.
"Want to see it again?" I raised my hand. Another bottle exploded. El Cañonero was the truth.
"I don't want any beef with you. You scared me good. I don't want anything to do with you. This is a walk–away. You can't hurt me, and you can't make Max fight you. It's over, get it?"
Mortay's voice was so low I had to lean forward to catch it. "Tell Max. Tell him I know about the baby. Tell him I know about Flower. Tell him to come and see me. Come and see me, or the baby dies."
I threw myself at him, screaming. I felt a chop in the ribs and I was on the ground. A flash of white and Mortay was gone. Bullets whined all around the playground. The dark–haired white guy went down. His body jumped as more bullets hit. Pieces of the building flew away.
I crawled over to the car, pulled myself inside. I twisted the key, floored the gas, and blasted through the gate.
105
THE PLYMOUTH thundered toward the river, running without lights. I grabbed the highway, sliding into the late–night traffic, willing myself to slow down. My shoulders were hunched into my neck, tensing for the shot that never came. No sirens.
A quick choice—my office or Belle's? My office was closer, but Mortay knew where it was. The Plymouth's license plates were smeared with dirt and Vaseline—nobody could call in an ID.
I slipped through the Battery Tunnel, staying with traffic, one eye locked to the rearview mirror. Clear. I pulled the sleeves off the jacket I was wearing. The Velcro made a tearing sound. One sleeve went out the window on the Belt Parkway, the other a few miles down the road. I slipped out of the body of the jacket, dumped that too. The orange headband was the last to go, slipping away in the wind.
Two blocks from