Strega - Andrew H. Vachss [132]
"We'll do it upstairs," I told the Mole, gesturing to Max to bring the fat man along.
I took the curving staircase first, listening. Nothing. Then came the Mole, with Max last. We stopped at the landing; the fat man stood against one wall, breathing much too fast.
"We need the fire now," I said to the Mole. "Something that started in the boiler."
He nodded, returned the hypo to his satchel, and went back downstairs.
The fat man was still having trouble with his breathing, sucking in gulps of air and trying to talk at the same time. I pulled off one glove to scratch at the mask, letting him see the tattoo.
"You guys! I know your bossI mean, we have a contract, right? We got no problem…"
I put the glove back on as if I hadn't noticed what set him off. "Shut up,' I said, talking the way a machine talks.
The fat man never tried to make a move—combat wasn't his game. But it seemed like he had to find out mine—he couldn't keep quiet.
"What would it take?" he asked.
"I'm just doing a job," I told him, in the same mechanical voice.
"Look, you don't get it, okay? It's not like anyone got hurt, all right? Kids…they get over it. It's just a business.
I could feel the heat coming off Max, but I was empty inside. All maggots have a story to tell, and I'd heard most of them by then.
The Mole walked up the staircase, satchel in one hand. A day at the office. He held up a palm, fingers spread wide. Five minutes to ignition.
I took Scotty's picture from my pocket, held it up to the fat man's face. I was really showing Max that we'd rescued the kid, but the fat man decided I wanted an explanation.
"Hey! I remember him. Is that what this is all about? Hey, look, man that is one sexy little kid, you better believe…I mean, he loved lapping it up…It's not like I started him off or anything…"
I saw red dots in front of my eyes where his face should have been. I gripped the pistol handle so hard my hand throbbed, hearing the sound of the shot in my mind, willing myself not to pull the trigger.
"Don't!" the fat man screamed, clasping his hands in front of his chest like he was praying. I heard a sharp hiss from the darkness where Max was standing, and then a sound like a meat ax driving into bone. The fat man's neck snapped to the left—and stayed there. Max released him and the body slumped to the ground.
The Mole dropped to his knees, doing his job even though we all knew it was over. "Gone," he said.
"The jailhouse or the graveyard," I'd told the Prof. Now it really didn't matter if the old lady upstairs was dead. I gestured Max to pick up the fat man's body and we all went back downstairs. I could feel the clock ticking in my head—the boiler was going to go. "He tried to escape the flames—ran up the stairs. Slipped and fell. Broke his neck," I said to myself. We hauled the fat man halfway up the stairs, to the place where they started to curve. Leaned him across the railing and pushed him over, face first. The silent basement swallowed the sound of his fall.
"Go!" I said to the Mole, pointing to the back of the house. Max's shadow followed him back into the basement.
I pushed the button on the radio transmitter, telling the Prof I'd be hitting the front gate any minute. I still had a little piece of time left to finish what I had to do—even when the boiler went off it wouldn't reach the first floor for a while. I ran back upstairs to the big office room, grabbing handfuls of the filth, throwing it all around the hallway, dusting every room with pictures and film. I pushed a few of the cassettes back in the safe and slammed it closed, thankful for the gloves I was wearing—no time to wipe everything down.
I checked the bedroom. The woman was still lying on the bed, like she hadn't moved. Maybe she never would.
I charged down the stairs, the gun in front of me, my ears sucking in every sound, waiting for the sirens. I heard a crackling sound from someplace in the basement.
I opened the front door a narrow slit, poked my head out. The street was quiet. I made