Flood - Andrew H. Vachss [7]
“Why do you ask?”
“I like to know what I’m working with.”
“So do I, Mr. Burke. And I already satisfied myself about you before I came here. I’m hiring you to do a job, that’s all. I know you’ve done a lot of jobs for a lot of people and never asked too many questions. I don’t expect to be treated any differently because I’m a woman.”
“That’s not why I’m asking. It sounds like you’re trying to find this guy so you can cancel his ticket, and I don’t want to get involved with any number like that. This guy’s not registered anyplace. I can’t trace him on the phone or through the mail—I have to go in the street. I can’t be that subtle about it. If I find him, and he turns up dead, people are going to be asking me questions. I can’t answer some of them.”
“There won’t be any questions.”
“I only have your word for that.”
“I always keep my word, Mr. Burke.”
“I don’t know that either. How the hell would I know? Give me a name—give me someone to call who’ll vouch for you.”
“There’s nobody in New York—nobody who would talk to you, anyway. You should know about people by now.”
“Look, Miss Flood. I’ve seen some things. I’ve done some things. I’m not stupid but I’m no mind reader. You want a bloodhound, I’ve got to know what you want to do with the man after I turn him up.”
Her white teeth against the heavy dark lipstick denied what might have been a smile. Very chilly. “What if I tell you that I only want to talk to him?”
“Is that what you’re saying?”
She looked at me carefully, ran the first two fingers of her right hand softly against the underside of her squarish jaw, then cocked her head slightly to one side and looked at me some more. “No.” She stood up. “May I have my money back, please? I don’t believe we can do business.”
She held out her hand, palm up. The other hand curled into a tight fist, held just in front of her waist. With legs slightly spread, she shifted her weight below her hips. The gun was in the desk drawer—no contest. I put the money in her hand and she stepped backward, brought both her hands together, bowed slightly and stepped back again. She opened both hands and spread them in front of me, like she was asking for something. The money had disappeared. The office was quiet. I looked to my right, and saw Pansy on her feet—a low growl, almost like a purr, came from deep in her chest but she didn’t move. I threw a switch on the desk and the door behind Flood locked with an audible click. Flood looked from the dog to me. I took out the pistol slowly and carefully and held it on the desk. I spoke softly, spacing the words.
“Listen to me. I am going to say something to the dog. It will not be an attack signal, no matter what it sounds like. Don’t do anything stupid, because I’m not going to. Just listen to me, please. You can’t do anything to me here. This is my place—I survive here. I am not trying to scare you or make you do anything foolish. I know you want to leave, and you’re going to. I’m not your enemy. I just want you to understand that you can’t come back. Don’t be stupid, and don’t get stupid ideas. When I say something to the dog, she’ll lie down. Then I’ll throw this switch, and the door will unlock. When I put the gun down on the desk, you open the door, go downstairs, leave here, and don’t come back. Do you understand?”
She didn’t change expression. “I understand.”
I looked over at Pansy—the hair on the back of her neck was standing straight up. “Pansy, jump!” and she immediately hit the deck like she’d been crushed with a hydraulic press. I threw the switch and Flood could hear the door unlock behind her. I cocked the pistol and laid it gently on the desk, the barrel facing her. I looked at Flood and bowed my head slightly as she had done. Without a word, she turned her back and walked toward the door. The roll of her hips looked deadly, not friendly this time. She closed the door behind her softly without looking back.
She didn’t make a sound going down the stairs, but the red light on the desk glowed to tell me she was three steps from the middle of