Dead and Gone - Andrew Vachss [80]
About an hour and a half later, Gem took my thumb out of her mouth long enough to remind the guys in the front seats that she knew a very fine diner just down the road a piece.
We pulled into an area of dense darkness near the dock; a light rain falling, just a touch past mist. Gem and I climbed out of the back, and Flacco popped the trunk from inside again. We hauled our bags out. Gem pointed to her right and started walking, leaving all the luggage to me. The Chevy moved off—the 409’s growl sounding even meaner from the outside.
When I saw Gem step on the gangplank I must have hesitated, because she turned around, asked, “What is it?”
“You live on a … boat?”
“Yes. It is very nice. Come on.”
“I …”
“Burke, what’s wrong?”
“The boat … It’s not going to … I mean, you’re not going to, like, sail it, right? It’s going to stay tied up?”
“For now, yes,” is all the assurance I could get out of her.
I followed her onto the deck. I could feel it shift slightly, but I couldn’t tell if it was our weight or the damn water under it making that happen. Neither prospect cheered me much.
Gem ducked slightly and stepped into the cabin. I followed her, expecting … I didn’t know what. It looked like a little efficiency apartment with a Murphy bed. At least, I figured there must be a Murphy bed, because I couldn’t see anyplace to sleep.
“The bedroom and the head—the bath—are downstairs,” Gem said, as if reading my thoughts.
“Below this?”
“Yes,” she said, suppressing a giggle. “Below this. We will actually be under the water there. Does that frighten you?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh,” she said, caught up short by my answer. “I was only teasing. I didn’t mean to make light of …”
“It’s okay. Water scares me, no big deal.”
“Why?”
“Why does it scare me?”
“No. Why is it no big deal?”
“Because it’s just a fear. They only count if you let them get in the way.”
“Ah. So you will stay here, with me?”
“Does the boat rock at night?” I asked her, hedging.
“Of course. But there are no real waves in this cove. It is a very gentle motion.…”
“I guess we’ll see,” I told her.
It wasn’t so bad down there. At least that’s what I kept telling myself. Gem’s bed was a single, but she fitted herself over me like a sweet-smelling sheet.
I woke up the next morning ready to go fishing. But I had to wait until past New York’s nightfall to reach out to Mama.
“Gardens,” she answered the pay phone in the back of the restaurant. One in the morning in New York, right in the middle of Mama’s workday.
“It’s me,” I said.
“Very quiet here.”
“Dead quiet?”
“Yes. Many people … hear news.”
“Cop come back?”
“Not him. Others.”
“What’d they want?”
“Not come inside. Just watch.”
“Ah. They still there?”
“No. But maybe come back. Looking for—”
“Well, they won’t see it.”
“You not coming—?”
“Not for a while, Mama. Can you grab Michelle for me?”
“Sure. Where call—?”
“No call. Tell her to ask the Mole to send me some phones, okay?” And I gave her an address Gem told me was safe—a tackle shop a few miles down the road from where she was docked—and a name to use.
“Sure,” she said, like it was a take-out order of roast-pork fried rice. “You need Max?”
“Not where I am now, Mama. We’ll see, all right?”
“You see, you tell me, Max come, okay?”
“Okay, Mama. See you soon.”
“Sure,” she said. And hung up.
I fitted the cellular I’d been using in Portland into two halves of a Styrofoam block, wrapped it tight with duct tape. “Why are you sending that phone away?” Gem asked me.
“Byron had this number.”
“Yes?”
“So it’s going back to New York. Like I’m supposed to be doing. A pal of mine’ll make some calls on it over the next few days. Then he’s going to trash it. Anyone checking, they’ll know the calls were made from there,” I told her.
“So if Brick …?”
“Yeah.”
“It is hard for you to trust, isn’t it?”
“No. Not like you think, girl. If I don’t have to make the decision, I don’t, understand?