Hard Candy - Andrew Vachss [24]
"You wanted to speak with me?" His voice was mellow–calm, almost polite.
I reached into my coat, watching his eyes. They stayed calm. I took out a smoke, fired it up, dropped the match into the metal bowl.
"You have a girl here. Elvira. Her mother wants her back."
"Is that your message?"
"Half of it. I'm here to take her."
"Just like that?"
I shrugged.
"Do you want to know why she's here?"
"No."
"Or how she got to us?"
"No."
He closed his eyes. Held his hands to his temples like he was waiting for a message.
"Are you a private detective?"
"No."
"What if she wants to stay?"
"She's underage. It's not her choice."
"Everyone makes choices."
"Everyone tries."
He put his fingers to his temples again. "Can we discuss this?"
"What's to discuss?"
"I'm interested in people. Why they do things. It helps me do my work."
I dragged on my cigarette.
"Are you interested in a proposition?"
"Enough to listen to it."
He leaned slightly forward. "I'm interested in you. Why you would do something like this. An hour or so of conversation. Just you and I. We'll talk. You'll answer my questions. And I'll answer yours, if you want. A dialogue. I will have to prepare the girl. You'll come back tomorrow. She'll leave with you. Fair enough?"
My face stayed flat. "Even if you don't like the answers I give you?"
"Yes."
I made a sign to Max. He flowed to his feet, approached the man sitting across from us. Train didn't move. The guards stepped in front of him. Max kept coming. I couldn't hear what Train said, but the guards parted when Max closed in. He took one of Train's hands in his, turned it over, examining it. Stepped back, nodded to me.
Train's eyes flickered in the artificial rainbow. "What was that about?"
"My brother is leaving now. I'll talk to you. Like you said. I'll come back tomorrow. For the girl. Like you said."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"Yeah it does. You keep your word, there's no problem. You don't, my brother comes back to see you. He'll know you when he does."
Train shrugged. Max stepped away from him. Stood behind his own chair. Thrust his fingers into the handholds and lifted the concrete blob off the ground. The only sound in the room was the whistle of air through the Mongol warrior's flat nose.
That wasn't like Max. Muscle–flexing. Maybe none of us would be ourselves again.
He gently lowered the chair to the floor. Bowed to Train. Walked to the door we used to enter the room. The guy in the white karate outfit stepped in his way, looking to Train for a sign. By the time Train shook his head, the guy was on the floor, face a black shade of red, holding his ribs gently so they wouldn't cut into his lungs. And Max was on the other side of the door.
I lit another cigarette. "Let's have that dialogue," I said to Train.
43
THE TWO guards helped the guy in the white outfit to his feet. Went out the same door, leaving us alone. Train put his hands to his temples again.
Silence.
"What do you call yourself?" he finally asked.
"Burke."
"Not who, what. You say you're not a private investigator…you're not a lawyer, not a doctor…all of us are something. You're…"
"Waiting."
His eyes stayed calm. "A dialogue. As we agreed."
I nodded my head forward, acknowledging. "I'm just a man. I guess you could call me a contractor."
"Could you explain?"
"I make contracts with people. I promise to do something for them, they promise to do something for me."
"Pay you money?"
"Sometimes."
"And other times?"
"It depends. I need certain things. Just like you or anybody else. I do my work to get those things. It's not always money."
"Are you for hire, then?"
"Only by people who know me. Or know my people."
"This girl you want…her mother hired you?"
"Yes."
"And you know her?"
"Yes."