Flood - Andrew H. Vachss [125]
“And if I don’t?”
“You can haul your gigantic ass out of here and back under the highway.”
JoJo sat there like she was thinking it over—like she had all the time in the world. She said, “Got a smoke?” and I nodded towards my shirt pocket. She reached one hand toward the pocket, bringing her face close to mine. There was nobody home behind her eyes. I brought the gun closer to her face.
JoJo plucked a cigarette from the loose pack and stuck it in her mouth. She patted herself like she was looking for matches, then let her left hand trail down my chest to my crotch and groped around, squeezed—the gun stayed on her face. JoJo took her hand away, leaned back against the seat cushion, fired the wooden match against the sole of her boot. “At least you don’t get a hard-on behind sticking a gun in my face.”
“I’m here on business, okay?”
JoJo took a deep drag of the cigarette. Her sweater looked like it was going to burst a few threads and I could see the outline of the wire-support bra—she must have been the only whore in the city who wore one.
“Show me the picture,” she said. I watched her face for a clue to her mind and gave it up. I took the Xerox of the mug shot out and handed it to her.
JoJo studied the picture intently. Her eyes narrowed. “That motherfucker, it’s him! I find this cocksucker and he’s dead. On the house. I don’t need your fucking quarter. It’s him . . .”
“Hey,” I said, to snap her out of it.
JoJo swiveled in her seat to look at me. Her face was dead-white under the makeup, red blotches mottled her cheeks—her eyes were crazy. I spoke softly, gently. “Listen, it’s okay. It’s okay, JoJo. I want him too, all right? I know he’s a bad guy. It’s okay—there’s lot of people wanting him now. Relax . . . just relax.”
I patted her rock-hard shoulder, stroked it—but I never moved the gun from her face. JoJo finally took a deep breath, handing me back the picture. “I don’t need this—I’d know that cocksucker anywhere. I don’t need you to tell me what to do. If you want him, you got him dead.”
“Look, I just want you to—”
But she went on like I hadn’t spoken. “And if you’re one of his freak friends, if this is a test, tell him I’ll always remember, okay? He’s dead. You don’t like it you can just fucking blast away right now.”
“JoJo . . . JoJo, listen, babe. I’m not his friend—I don’t even know him, okay? And I do want him. Just call me when you—”
“No calls. I see him, he’s dead.”
“You want the grand?”
“Not if I have to let him live.”
“I’ll pay you a grand for his head, okay, JoJo? When you finish with him, just take off his head, okay? And call me. When I see his head, I’ll pay you the money.”
And JoJo smiled like a little girl with a new doll. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Okay, we got a deal?”
“We got a deal, pal,” said JoJo, and slid over to open her door, leaving the Cobra’s picture and her purse in the car. As she was walking around the back to my side, I grabbed the .25 and popped the clip, jacked the shell out of the chamber, then worked the clip until I was holding a handful of bullets. When she came up to the window I gave her back the purse with everything inside. JoJo leaned in the window, shaking her rump for new customers like she was saying good-bye to an old one. She gave me a wink with one droopy eyelid, and I had the Plymouth in gear and moving even as she was turning away.
I got to the highway before she did and turned downtown, feeling the chills in the back of my neck like the time I had malaria. I put my gun back where it belonged, kneading my left forearm with my right hand to restore the circulation. I had been holding the piece like it was a lifeline—with JoJo so close to me, I guess it had been.
After a few blocks, I felt a stabbing pain in my chest and realized I hadn’t drawn a breath for too long. I got my breathing under control, checked my hands for the shakes—I had them, all right—and started to look for Michelle.
44
I DREW A total blank for a while—then I spotted Michelle working the other side of the highway. I hooked the Plymouth into a rolling U-turn and watched her face as