Flood - Andrew H. Vachss [16]
Every time I get a little ahead I always buy some clothes, give Mama some money to hold as credit for Maurice and other emergencies, and give the car whatever it needs at the time. A couple of weeks ago I had to go into my stash at Mama’s because there was an epidemic of a lethal dog disease called Parvo virus going around. The vaccine was in short supply and I had to go for seventy-five bucks just for two ready-to-inject needles from this vet I know. I always give Pansy her shots myself—the needles don’t bother her, but strangers do.
I drove down by the Hudson on West Street near the docks, under what would be the West Side Highway if construction ever got down this far. I cruised over to one of the piers, backed the car in so I was facing the street, and waited. The Plymouth looked enough like the law to keep the locals away for a while, but it wouldn’t last. I just sat there, playing the radio softly and smoking. You can’t be in a hurry working down here—you have to settle in. One of them finally approached, slowly. She was of medium height and had ridiculously high spike heels topped by black pencil-leg pants, a wide belt to emphasize the narrow waist, a quasi-silk blouse and a shoulder-length red wig. Skinny and pale, even though she worked out here in the sun. A veteran, she walked carefully through the rubble without once tripping on the high heels. She approached the Plymouth. “Hi. Looking for a party?”
“No, I’m waiting for a friend.”
“Anybody I know, baby?”
“I hope so. I’m looking for Michelle.”
“I don’t know any Michelle, sweetheart. But whatever she can do, I can do.”
“I’m sure that’s true—but it’s Michelle I need to talk to.”
“Let me see your badge first, baby.”
“I’m not the heat. I’m a friend of Michelle’s.”
“Baby, Michelle don’t work anymore.”
“That’s too bad.”
“I’d love to stand around talking to you, baby. But if you don’t want to party, I’ve got to run along, okay?”
“Whatever you say. But tell Michelle that Burke’s looking for her—tell her I’m right here.”
She turned and wiggled away to show me what I’d missed by opting for Michelle’s brand of party, but at least she wasn’t aggressive about it.
I sat and waited. Two men walked by, one guy’s hand on the neck of the other, and ducked into one of the abandoned buildings on the pier. I’d gone into one of those once, at night, looking for a runaway kid. I didn’t find him. I wouldn’t go back in there again without Pansy.
About an hour later, I saw her starting to walk over this way again. I eased the .22 out of the door pocket and held it down against the floor with my left hand. She took her time about getting over to me. I didn’t move, didn’t turn the radio down. I wanted a smoke, but didn’t reach for one.
“Remember me, baby?”
“Yes.”
“I heard Michelle was going to be down on Pier Forty in a few minutes. Now I don’t know if this is straight or not, you know. But I just heard it, you understand?”
“Thank you. I appreciate you coming over to give me the message.”
“It’s not a message, baby. It’s just something I heard, okay?”
“Whatever you say.”
She just stood there by the car. I slowly reached out to the dashboard for my cigarettes. Held out the pack to her. She took one and moved closer for me to light it for her. “I heard something else, baby.”
“And what’s that?”
“I heard that sometimes, if a working girl had troubles with her man, that you’d talk to her man for her.”
“You hear that from Michelle?”
“Michelle don’t have no man. You know that.”
“Yes, I know. So?”
“I do.”
“Yeah?”
“And I just heard that sometimes you’d talk to a girl’s man if there was a problem.”
“You’ve got to be more specific.”