Hard Candy - Andrew Vachss [74]
"I…"
"Pink, okay? Do it quick."
"Should I wear stockings? Heels?"
"No."
"How old am I?"
"You'll see," I said, pulling hard on the leash. "Hurry up."
I pulled her down the hall to her dressing room. Watched as she dressed.
"Where's the key to this place?"
She handed it to me. I put it in my pocket. "Come on," I said, bunching the leash in one hand, holding it behind her neck. Even when we were kids, that was the way I held her—never her hand.
I led her to the front door, opened it, pushed her outside. She didn't say a word. The hall was carpeted. I took her to the stairwell door. One short flight to the roof. Twenty flights below us. A naked red bulb was the only light. Emergency Exit. I prodded her forward. Pulled the leash. She stopped. I was one step behind her.
She knew what to do. Grabbed the railing with both hands as I lifted her skirt from behind. "What if somebody comes?" she whispered. Making it come back.
"Too bad for them." Max one flight below us. Only one person was going to come.
My zipper rasped. Her hands went behind her, thumbs hooking the waist of her panties. She had them down just before I slammed into her.
I felt the muscles inside her grab and hold. I never touched the silicone.
It didn't take long. She made a greedy noise as I shot off inside her. Pulled up her own panties. Never turned around. Like old times.
124
BACK IN her apartment. Candy sitting on her couch, the leash a dark line between her breasts inside the bright yellow sweater.
"You'll get her back for me now?"
"Yes." I took her key out of my pocket, running my fingers over it, rubbing hard. I tossed it to her. It bounced off her shoulder. She never took her eyes from me.
"I always loved you," she said.
125
I TOOK THE stairs down with Max.
The Prof was waiting in Morehouse's car. I handed him the soft plastic block from my pocket. The key to Candy's apartment was sharply outlined on its face.
"Tell the Mole I need two, okay? He can leave them in one of the cars for Monday night."
"It's done, son."
126
MONDAY, MIDNIGHT. Max and I pulled off the FDR, leaving the car to the darkness. Michelle was in the back seat. Max waited while I walked along the riverbank with Michelle. She leaned into me, her hand on my arm.
"Here's the papers you wanted," I told her.
"This is pretty thick for just a passport," she said, putting the packet into her purse.
"The rest is from the Mole."
She stopped in her tracks. Slit the envelope with a long thumbnail while I lit a smoke. I saw a wad of greenbacks. And a note on the graph paper the Mole uses for stationery. I left her to herself, smoking in silence. When she turned her face to me, tears streaked the perfect makeup.
"After tonight, I'm gone from here."
"I know."
"When I come back, I'll be me."
"Yeah."
"I love you, Burke," she said. Pulled my face down to kiss my cheek. "You watch out for my boy—you take care of him."
I didn't ask her who she meant. "Come back at one, okay?" I told her. "You'll hear some kind of a big bang. Wait five, ten minutes. We're not here, go. If we're coming, we're coming fast. You see us coming toward you, just walk away, leave the keys in the ignition."
"I'm not running around in this mess in my good shoes."
"I mean it, Michelle. Don't wait. We don't need a driver."
She gave me another quick kiss. "Take care of Max," she said.
The ground felt squashy under my boots as we made our way down to the river. Manhattan is a big island; the East River separates it from Queens, dotted by smaller islands. Welfare Island. Roosevelt Island. Once they used them for insane asylums, hospitals, leper colonies. Now they use them for luxury co–ops. Other islands too. Real small ones. Just clumps of dirt and trees sitting in the river. You could get a good view of the Fifty–ninth Street Bridge from them.
Michelle would wait on the Manhattan side. We couldn't just stash a getaway car in that neighborhood—it wouldn't be there when we needed it. The Prof was in place on the Queens side. When the pressure came, we'd move away from it. If we could.