Flood - Andrew H. Vachss [159]
I looked down at Flood’s lovely resting face. She was living well within herself now, at peace finally—another fucking club I couldn’t join.
The phone rang, I reached out the window to pick it up, and heard the Mole say, “Moving. Now,” and I knew it would take the mark only a few minutes to get on the scene.
Soon after, the black Lincoln Town Coupe pulled up and I saw the weak sunlight glance off the sheen of nylon and the flash of a red scarf as Margot exited Dandy’s pimpmobile. Time to go to work.
Flood knew her part. She bounced out of the Plymouth wearing some new white vinyl boots over dark stockings topped by a pair of white hotpants and a brilliant orange silk top. Her blonde hair was in pigtails on each side of her clean fresh face, a face marred by the Cobra’s fangs only a short time ago. She switched over to the highway, to all eyes a piece of juicy young stuff who had just gotten a lesson from her pimp and was now working off the debt.
Her big butt looked even more so in the white pants, and her skin looked too small for all the flesh underneath. Heels clicking on the pavement, her body swayed and bounced like it was moving slower than her feet. She reached into her little plastic clutch-bag and pulled out a big pair of dark glasses.
The timing had to be right—we had been watching Dandy and we knew he didn’t hang around long after he dumped Margot off every morning. But Flood was right on the money—her path crossed Margot’s and she walked just in front of the Lincoln’s hood like she was going back to work. I watched Margot keep on walking and disappear into the shadows—and Flood stop and whirl around, hands on hips. When the Lincoln crept slowly forward, I knew Dandy had taken the bait. It’s not every day a quart of vanilla ice cream falls into your lap. I couldn’t see much from where I was, but the Lincoln was standing in place, smoke still burbling from its exhaust.
Then Flood swivel-hipped her way around the front of the black car and climbed into the passenger’s seat. The Lincoln slithered away and the game was on.
I didn’t have much time. Flood would keep him talking for a bit, maybe ask him to buy her some coffee, but sooner or later Dandy would try to make her end up in his crib. I fingered the key to his lobby and the key to his apartment that I’d gotten from the Mole. Margot had supplied us with the plastic impressions from the kit I’d given her, so I was sure they’d work.
As the Plymouth pulled away Pansy momentarily stuck her head up, saw there was no work to do, and rolled over on the backseat. I only had to get to the West Twenties, a short run. The Plymouth swung into a lazy U-turn, split the shadows over the highway and picked up speed. I reached over and rolled down the passenger-side window. As I slowed for the turn onto the uptown road, a canvas bag came flying through the window, immediately followed by a moving shadow. Max. The fucking showoff—there was plenty of time for me to have stopped the car.
Pansy sat up, sniffed the air briefly, growled. Max put his hand into the backseat. Pansy sniffed again, licked his hand, and went back to sleep.
Dandy’s block—quiet and peaceful. I drove its full length until I saw the white Dodge parked where it should be, Michelle at the wheel. She spotted the Plymouth, kicked over her engine, and pulled out, leaving me an ideal escape space. I reversed into the spot, hit the protection systems, and we all climbed out. Pansy bounded out to me and I snapped on the short leash, handing it to Max. The Prof was working the front, picking through a week’s worth of trash in a curbside dumpster. When he saw Max and Pansy move toward the back where the Mole would be waiting to let them into the basement, he shouldered his collection bag and followed.
I opened the front door, saw a couple talking in the lobby, and lit a cigarette to wait them out. Finally I walked in, pushed Dandy’s buzzer, and used my lobby-key without waiting for a response. I knew where he lived—second floor, rear. The Mole’s key opened the lock.
I went