Flood - Andrew H. Vachss [161]
“You said you had some dynamite blow,” Flood piped up.
“Baby, I got the best coke, the best of everything. I don’t be like some of those halfass simps. I’m a player, you understand? I don’t work a string, got no bottom woman. In fact, I been thinking about letting my woman go for some time now. Saved enough money for her to open her own boutique.”
“Really?” said Flood in a voice full of wonder, her dreams coming true.
“Square business, girl. I ain’t lying. Of course, she was willing to run the fast track, do what she had to do. There’s got to be some pain in the game, little girl, some pain in the game. You got to pay the cost to be the boss, you understand?”
“I don’t like pain,” said Flood in her little girl’s voice. “I like to party but I don’t like that other stuff.”
“Bitch,” said Dandy, walking over to Flood, “you don’t know what pain is.”
“Hey,” gulped Flood in a soft frightened voice. She jumped off the couch and ran into Dandy’s bedroom, the pimp strolling calmly behind—taking his time, all the time in the world. After all, where could the little bitch go?
Flood dashed into the bedroom, saw there was no escape, and whirled like a doe at bay before the hunters. Dandy was right behind her, reaching out a languid hand for her arm—when Flood’s white-booted foot slammed into his solar plexus like a dart of lightning. As the air exploded from Dandy’s lungs Max leaped from behind the door and had the pimp’s throat in his hands before he hit the ground—a quick squeeze of his hands and Dandy went limp.
I came out from under the round bed, holding the needle at the ready. Max ripped the pimp’s jacket from his shoulders, tore away his shirt, snapped off the gold chain with the heavy medallion and tossed it to me. Max’s steel fingers closed on Dandy’s flaccid bicep, causing the veins in his forearm to stand out in bold relief. I tapped a nice one near the inside of the elbow, slipped in the needle and gently fed him the liquid Valium. Then we all stepped back to check on our work. Dandy slumped to the floor, his breathing shallow but regular. He was in no danger—from the Valium.
We propped him up in a chair in the corner of his bedroom, moved the smoke canisters into place, and summoned Pansy. It would take about twenty minutes for the Valium to begin to wear off. We only wanted him dopey for the second act, not unconscious.
Flood went into the other bedroom to change her clothes while I searched the rest of the apartment. If Dandy was working the bondage-photo racket he had to have some money someplace, and it wouldn’t be a safe-deposit box.
It took me almost a full twenty minutes, and all I could come up with was about a thousand or so in bills, some more coke (which I scattered all over the place to throw the dogs off the scent), and some more jewelry. I tried thinking—the Krugerrands kept popping into my mind. Sure. I went over to Dandy’s limp body and started the search. It didn’t take long—the thick moneybelt came off his waist without a struggle, and I found myself looking at forty perfect pieces of South African gold, each one individually wrapped. More than fifteen grand, even with the exchange problems. I put back the empty belt. If pimps were getting into gold coins, I could see the makings of a lovely scam somewhere down the road . . . but Dandy was ready for business.
When I saw he was coming around I snapped the tops off the smoke canisters and stepped out of the way. It wouldn’t do for him to see my face. I took up my position behind him and watched the thick greenish smoke fill the room. I had left the windows tightly closed, so none of it would get out until we were ready. Dandy moved his head, grunted something I couldn’t make out, and then his neck went rigid as he saw Max the Silent standing in front of him, wearing the teak mask and holding the broad leather belt. Dandy lurched to his left, looking for a way out. Pansy snarled, her fangs glowing in the green haze, and lunged at his waist. Dandy fell back into