Dead and Gone - Andrew Vachss [117]
He regarded me with mild interest, well within himself, safe where he was.
“You said you had something …?”
“Yeah. The last time we talked, when you told me your … philosophy. About kids.”
“I remember,” he said stiffly. “Nothing has changed.”
“I know. I listened. You told me you loved little boys then. I came because I need to see how deep that love goes.”
“Which means …?”
“What you do, what others like you do, it’s all about love, right?”
He nodded, wary.
“You don’t force kids. Don’t hurt them … anything like that.”
“As I told you. What is wrong with our behavior—all that is wrong with our behavior—is that it is against some antiquated laws. We are hounded, persecuted. Some of us have been imprisoned, ruined by the witch-hunters. Yet we have always been here and we always will be. But you didn’t come here to engage in philosophical discourse.”
“No. Just to get things straight.”
He got to his feet, turned his back on me. Tapped some keys rapidly on the computer, too fast for me to follow. He hit a final key with a concert pianist’s flourish. The machine beeped.
He got up, went back to his easy chair.
“You’ve been logged in. Physical description, time of arrival, your code name, everything. It’s all been transmitted. And the modem is still open.”
“I didn’t come here to do anything to you.”
“I’m sure.”
“Listen to me,” I said, leaning forward, keeping my voice low. “Can we not be stupid? I said I didn’t come here to do anything to you, and I meant it. But don’t fool yourself—the Israelis aren’t your pals. I don’t know what you did for them, what you do for them … and I don’t care. But all they are is a barrier. A deterrent, like a minefield. Somebody wastes you, they aren’t going to get even. Understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, quite well. You are saying, if I don’t give you information you want, you will kill me.”
“That’s cute. You got enough for your tape recorder now? I’m not threatening you. Not with anything. I’m just trying to tell you something. And you should listen. Listen good. Maybe you don’t want this on tape.”
He steepled his long fingers, regarding me over the top of the spire. I counted to twenty in my head before he moved a muscle. He got to his feet languidly, tapped the computer keys again. Then he sat down, waiting.
“This is the truth, okay?” I told him. “You don’t have friends in high places. Not true friends. What you are is an asset, something of value. Everybody protects what they value. You know that good as anyone. Let’s say you have this valuable painting. Somebody steals it, you try and buy it back. But if there’s a fire, and it gets burned to ashes, all you can do is collect on the insurance. The Israelis can only protect you from the federales. They got no reach with the locals. What I have for you, it’s another barrier. Another layer of protection. Something you can’t get from your other friends.”
He raised his eyebrows, didn’t say a word.
I reached in my pocket, handed him an orange piece of pasteboard, about the size of a business card. He turned it over, held it up: GET OUT OF JAIL FREE.
“Is this your idea of a joke?”
“It’s not a joke. You got a lawyer, right? Probably got a few of them. Have your lawyer go over to City-Wide, speak to Wolfe—you know who she is?”
“Yes.”
“See if I’m telling the truth, then.”
“I would get …?”
“Immunity. Kiddie porn’s the only way you’re ever going down, right? The only real risk you take. You’re not going to get stung by Customs. And you don’t deal with strangers. So the only way it could ever happen is somebody drops a dime to save their own ass, and City-Wide does the search.”
“There is nothing here.”
I pitched my voice low, let him hear how deep the commitment really was: “You’re looking at the big picture, pal. And that’s a mistake. What you should be looking at is the frame, see?”
He took a breath. Small, cold