Blue Belle - Andrew Vachss [97]
"From my ride, man. You ever see one of them car phones?"
"Yeah. It's a radio phone. It's not just me you're talking to now, get it?"
"It's cool."
"It's not cool. Give me a number to call you at."
"No way, Jose. I got business out here, won't be back to the crib for hours. Give me your number, I'll ring you in an hour."
I pulled a looseleaf book from the desk drawer. "East Side or West Side?"
"What?"
"Where you going to be in an hour? In your car. Where?"
"Oh. East Side, man."
I ran my finger down the list of numbers. "Make it nine o'clock, okay? Rush hour, nobody's paying attention. There's a pay phone in the gas station at Ninety–fourth and Second. Go there, fill up your ride, I'll ring you there."
"You'll call me? On a pay phone?"
"Yeah, don't worry about it. We set?"
"They got super–premium gas in that station, man?"
I hung up the phone.
112
PANSY PUT her two front paws on the desk, making her noises. I scratched behind her ears. "Not now, girl." She licked my face. I'd have to use disinfectant for an after–shave.
One more call. The Mole. I heard the phone picked up.
"It's me. I need another car. Can I make the switch in a couple of hours, leave mine there?"
"Okay."
I pulled my first–aid kit out of the bottom drawer. "Belle, come over here."
She came over. Quiet and watchful. "I have to meet some people. Can you take a cab over to the hospital? See the Prof? Just stay there until I call—three, four hours?"
"Why can't I go with you?"
"There's a thin line between a brat and a bitch," I said, holding an aluminum splint against my forearm, measuring. "A little girl can't be a bitch, an old woman can't be a brat."
I pulled a three–inch–wide roll of elastic bandage from the kit, put it aside. Started cutting pieces off a roll of Velcro, working fast. "Woman your age, she can be either one. Or both. Big as you are, you can still act like a little brat sometimes. You want something, you put your hands on your hips. Pout, stamp your feet. It's cute, okay? Makes me want to give that big rump of yours a slap."
She smiled her smile.
"But when you try and go back on a deal, you're over the line. Makes me want to dump you someplace. Not come back."
Her face went hard. "You better…"
"Shut up, Belle. We made a deal, right? You're in this, but you…Do. What. I. Tell. You. That's what you said—that's what you do."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. I don't have time for sorry."
"Honey…"
"Get me one of the grenades."
"These?" she asked, holding one of the metal baseballs like it was an orange.
"Yeah."
She handed it to me. I put it down on the desk, rolled up my sleeve, fitted the aluminum splint into place. "Hold this," I told her, wrapping the tape around until I had a thick pad. I put the grenade in my hand, wrapped my fist around the blue lever. Pulled the pin.
"Burke."
"Yeah. That's right. I let go of this thing, everything blows up."
I wound the Velcro strips around my fist, leaving a loose tab at the end. It looked like I broke my hand punching a wall and drew a ham–fisted intern when they brought me to the emergency ward. I swung my hand back and forth, testing the tape. I relaxed my fist. The lever stayed tight.
I got to my feet. "Help me on with my jacket," I said to Belle. She took the surgical scissors, slit the left sleeve neatly. I slipped my arm through.
"Honey, why…?"
"It's safe. Unless I pull this tab," I said, showing her how the Velcro worked to seal the lever. I put the pin in my pocket, handed her a spare. "Tape this to the inside of your wrist—we might need it in a hurry."
"I don't…"
I put my arm around her waist, pulling her close to me. "You go to the hospital, like I said. I'm out in the street, I could run into this freak. I'm trying to put it together. Like I promised you last night. But if he comes for me before I'm ready…"
"It's crazy! If that thing comes loose…"
"Everything's already come loose," I said, holding her. Making her see it in my face.
113
IN THE garage, I said goodbye.
"I'm going out first.