Strega - Andrew H. Vachss [3]
"He's gonna rape her?"
"No, this kind doesn't do that. He's a watcher—but he wants to hurt women just the same. He wants to make them dance to his tune. And the ones that dance, he speeds up the music."
The old man slumped against the fender. All of a sudden he looked ancient. But an old alligator can still bite.
"She's good people, Burke. I never had a daughter, but if I did I wish it would be her. She's got a heart like steel. But this kid of hers, Mia, she turns her to water. She ain't scared for herself."
"I know," I told him.
"And she can't tell her husband. He'd wanna file a fucking lawsuit on the guy or something."
"Yeah," I agreed, sharing the old man's profound respect for citizens.
"So what do we do?" the old man asked me."Where did this 'we' come from, Julio?"
"You do bodywork, right? I heard around for years—you do this kind of work, like private–eye shit and all."
"So? This is different."
"What's so different? Just nose around and find out this guy's name for me—where he lives and all."
"Not a chance," I told him.
The old man looked into my eyes, slipping into a new game quicker than a striking snake.
"Burke, this is family."
"Yeah," I said, "your family."
"In the joint, we was like family," he told me, his voice quiet.
"You been reading too many books, old man. I was never in your fucking family."
"Hey, come on, Burke. Just 'cause you ain't Italian don't mean nothing to me," he said, with all the sincerity of a real–estate broker.
"I went to prison because I wasn't going to spend my life kissing ass," I said, "and kissing some old man's pinky ring don't race my motor either. A boss is a boss—I don't have much but at least I don't have a fucking boss, you hear me?"
The old man kept his face flat against this sacrilege, but his lizard eyes blinked. He said nothing, waiting for me to finish.
"I showed you respect then—and I show you respect now," I said, letting him save face. "But don't disrespect me with this bullshit about 'family,' okay?"
The old man thought he got it. "You want money?" he asked.
"For what—for doing what?"
"I want to make this freak stop hurting Gina."
"Will she do what you tell her?" I asked him.
The old man made a clenched fist, pounded his chest where his heart would be if he had one. It was all the answer I needed.
"I'll take a shot," I told him. "Tell her to go to the park on Friday, just like the freak told her to. I'll be around, okay?"
"Burke—you'll do it right?"
"There is no 'right' about this, Julio. I'll get it done or no charge, how's that?"
"How much?"
"Ten large," I told him.
The lizard eyes didn't blink. "You got it."
I climbed back into the Plymouth. It was only two days to Friday and I'd need some help for this one. The old man's small hand reached for my arm—I stared down at the hand the way you do in prison when someone touches you who shouldn't—it was boneless—nothing but parchment skin and blue veins.
The old man looked at me. "Burke," he pleaded, "take him off the count."
"I don't do that kind of work, Julio."
The old man's eyes shifted again. "You said thirty large, right?"
"I said ten, old man. I don't do that kind of work. Period."
Julio tried to look injured. "You think I'm wearing a wire?"
"No, old man, I don't think you're wired. But you know better than to ask me to drop someone. I'll do what I said I'll do. That's it. Say yes or say no."
"Yes," said the old man, and I backed out of the garage, heading back to the city.
2
IT TOOK us most of the night to get everything in place. I couldn't bring Pansy on a job like this—if I kept her in the blind with me and some fool let his dog lift a leg against a nearby tree, the emergency ward would have some new customers. She's perfect on a job when you're working people, but other dogs annoy the hell out of her—especially male dogs.
Max the Silent was somewhere in the nearby brush. He's a Mongolian free–lance warrior who works for only those he wants to, and walks where he will. Calling him a karate expert is like calling a politician crooked—it doesn't tell you