Strega - Andrew H. Vachss [85]
I got it. Since the blood of Mongol warriors ran in his veins, he claimed to have a natural kinship with horses. I should listen to him.
Mama nodded in agreement. "Good blood," she said. Immaculata blushed again, but Max was too busy proving he knew more about horses than I did to pay attention.
Mama got to her feet as Immaculata stood to give her room to exit.
She took Immaculata's hand, turned it over to see the underside of her forearm. She tapped the delicate veins there, nodded her head sharply. Smiled. "Good blood here too," Mama said, and kissed Immaculata on the cheek.
Max looked at me, puzzled. I didn't say anything—Mac would tell him when it was time for him to know.
I lit a cigarette as the waiter took away the soup bowls, and started to explain why I needed Immaculata.
61
BY THE TIME I was finished, it was mid–afternoon. Only the clock on the wall gave me a clue—daylight never reached the back booths in Mama's joint.
"You really think you can do it?" I asked her.
"It's not an interrogation, Burke. The little boy has information about what happened to him, but it's not so easy for him to talk about. He feels all sorts of things about the assault…guilt, fear, excitement…"
"Excitement?" I asked her.
"Sure. Children are sexual beings, they respond to sexual stimulation. That's why, if we don't treat a child who has been sexually abused, he's likely to go on looking for the same experience."
"Even if it hurt him?"
"Even so," she said.
"What would make him talk?" I asked her.
"You don't make him talk. He wants to talk about it; he wants to get it outside of him…put down the pain. But first he has to feel safe."
"Like that nobody can hurt him anymore?"
"That's it. Exactly."
"So it's easier if he was assaulted by a stranger, right? So his family can protect him?"
"Yes, it is easier if the assault wasn't by a family member. If someone you trust hurts you, it changes the way you look at the whole world."
"I know," I told her. "If I can get the kid, where would I bring him?"
"Bring him to SAFE, the Safety and Fitness Exchange—where I work. I told you about it, remember? It's the best place for this—lots of other children around, and we know how to act around boys like this one. He'll know nobody can hurt him when he's with us."
"You think he'll come with me?" I asked her.
"Probably—I don't know. It would help if someone he trusted said it was okay for him to go—promised him he'd be all right. Probably the best way would be for you to bring the child's parent, or anyone he trusted, with you. We work with relatives of abused children all the time."
"You wouldn't want to work with this one," I told her.
Max tapped his chest, folded his arms. The kid would sure as hell be safe with him, he was saying. I tapped my fist against his shoulder to thank him, bowed to Immaculata, and went back through the kitchen to Bobby's Lincoln.
62
I STASHED the Lincoln in my garage. Strega had already seen one car; that was enough. Pansy chomped on the heavy beef bones Mama had given me for her, snarling anytime she felt the slightest resistance. Her life would have been perfect right then if I could have gotten pro wrestling on the tube, but only the cable networks carry it during the day. The hippies downstairs must have cable—their lives wouldn't be complete without MTV. I'd have to get the Mole to make the necessary adjustments.
It was getting near time to leave. There's only two ways to ride the subways in New York: dress up like a carpenter or a plumber—anyone who routinely carries tools around with him—or carry a gun. I didn't handle tools like I knew what I was doing, and if I got dropped holding a piece I was looking at some serious time upstate. I put on a dark suit over a blue chambray shirt with a darker–blue knit tie. A hard–working architect. I pulled my new attaché case from under the couch. Its black fabric sides expand to hold a lot of stuff, but that's not why I wanted it. This attaché case is made of Kevlar—the same stuff cops