Shella

by Andrew Vachss

“We’ll take you to her,” he said.

  The next morning, he was back. “It’ll take a couple a days to set it up, all right? We got a long way to travel, we have to make all the arrangements.”

  He had more papers with him. A police sheet with arrests on it, all different names. Girls’ names. He said that was Shella too.

  “I wasn’t there every day,” he said after a while.

  “Where?”

  “In the woods. We figured it out, finally. Where you were going every day. It had to be his house. But he didn’t live there. He went in the same door you did. The front door. Every day. There’s no angle on it, even from the woods, it’s shielded by the other buildings, like in a tunnel. No way to get a shot off. The back, that was easy, but he never went there. The woman, the pregnant one? She would go outside sometimes, but she never got far.”

  “Did she …?”

  “We didn’t shoot her. She didn’t scream either.”

  I didn’t say anything. After a while, he started talking again.

  “When we saw you come out with the bandanna on your head, we knew it was done. If you’d gone out the front, you wouldn’t have made it. No way we could cover you. And we couldn’t get a message in. All we could do is wait.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “He’s dead. I guess you know that. There wasn’t nothing in the papers, but the crazy man, he found out. He said he’s satisfied. That’s when he turned over the information … about your woman.”

  “We’re going soon?”

  “Day after tomorrow.”

  The next day, he gave me an envelope full of money. “We sold your Chevy,” he said. “Everything else too. It’s all gone. You’re starting over. This is all new ID, like he promised. You can buy whatever you need when you decide.”

  “Decide what?”

  He just shrugged, like I knew what he was talking about.

  Three of them came up the morning we left. The Indian stepped to one side. “This is Joseph. This is Amos,” he said. They held out their hands and we shook. I knew them—they were in the front seat of the Jeep when we came through the roadblock. Amos was the driver.

  “They’re volunteers,” the Indian said.

  Downstairs, we got in another Jeep. A red one. They really liked Jeeps, the Indians. They had all kinds of stuff piled in, even stuff on the roof.

  “Hunting trip,” the Indian said to me.

  We took off.

  “Better to stay off planes,” the Indian said. “I don’t think they know anything, but they might have a picture or something. They won’t look for long—they’re not professionals. For now, this is better.”

  We just kept driving, like Amos never got tired. The Indian talked. Sometimes Amos talked. Joseph, he just watched.

  By the time they decided to stop, we were someplace in Nebraska.

  Amos and Joseph took one room in the motel. I guess they always stayed together. The Indian and me had a room too.

  “We got about another day’s drive,” he told me. “Five, six hundred miles. We’ll leave first light, time it so we get there next morning coming.”

  “Okay.”

  It was quiet in the room. The Indian told me about his tribe. I listened with my eyes closed. When he stopped speaking, I opened my eyes.

  “The crazy man kept his word?” I asked him.

  “Sure. We’re just taking you to her ourselves to finish—not because we don’t believe him.”

  “But you want to see for yourselves?”

  He looked across at me, nodded his head.

  “What about the rest?”

  “The rest?”

  “Hiram. Ruth’s brother. Did they transfer him?”

  The Indian didn’t say anything. He looked at me for a long time. Then he dropped his eyes, played with a cigarette until he got it going.

  “You remembered his name …?”

  I was surprised too. I didn’t know I even knew his name until I said it out loud like that.

  The Indian got up, walked around a little bit. I closed my eyes again. I felt him come close to me, sit down on the bed near my chair.

  “Hiram was transferred the next day. They must have been typing the papers the minute the body hit the ground. They moved him into a Level Three joint. Cake. We can go in and get him anytime we want. It’ll take a while, set it up properly. But our brother has spent his last winter behind the walls.”

  “Then …”

  “He wouldn’t cheat us, John. It wouldn’t be worth it to him. But he might not know how things are…. You’re with us, understand?”

  “With you?”

  “Until it’s done. You did your piece. You did it perfect. We think she’s there. But we’re not walking in the front door waving a sign. She’s there, it’s done. Like we agreed. She’s not there …”

  “What?”

  “We’ll find her. All of us.”

  Amos kept the Jeep near other cars all the time, always rolling in the middle. He’d move from pack to pack, so smooth you could hardly feel it. He held the wheel loose in his hands, just flicked it a little bit when he wanted to move. Every couple of hours, he would move the seat. Forward, back. Up, down. Every time he did that, he would move the mirrors too.

  I saw the overhead signs—we were in Arizona. Joseph turned around in the seat.

  “No more problems, brother. Plenty of places to disappear to now.”

  The Indian looked at him. “They’d rat us out just as fast on the damn reservations. We only have ourselves.”

  Joseph nodded, turned around to look out his window.

  We found a motel. Amos dropped us off, went away to get some stuff for the car.

  “She’s close,” the Indian told me. “We go in tomorrow, soon as it opens up.”

  “What?”

  “A hospital,” he said, looking at me. “A hospital in the desert.”

  The Indian was on his bed, smoking with the lights out. It was late, past midnight. I could see the red tip of his cigarette.

  “Wolf?”

  “What?”

  “You think she’s there?”

  He smoked the whole cigarette through, ground it out in the ashtray. After a long time, he said “Yes.”

  SHELLA

  In the morning, I felt like I should do something different, but I couldn’t think of what it should be. It was still dark. The Indian wasn’t in his bed.

  He walked in about an hour later.

  “You want some breakfast before we go? Some coffee?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “What’re you doing?” he asked me, looking at the bed where I had my stuff laid out.

  “Packing.”

  He nodded his head, walked out again.

  By the time he came back, I was ready to go. But when I put the duffel bag over my shoulder, the Indian shook his head.

  “What?” He was looking at the room key in my hand.

  “We’re not going by the front desk. It’s paid for a few days, but if things don’t work out, we’re gonna keep rolling…. You don’t check out, they’ll think you’re coming back.”

  “Who would?”

  He just shrugged his shoulders … not like he didn’t know, like it didn’t matter.

  Amos pulled the Jeep over to the side of the road on a long curve. I could see a bunch of white buildings on the right.

  “Stay with Amos for a little bit,” the Indian said. “We’ll be back soon.”

  I saw the flash of a shoulder holster on Joseph as he climbed out the front seat. I guessed the Indian had one with him too. They started walking away.

  Amos drove off, with me in the back seat. “Its all right,” he told me. “We checked it last night, top to bottom. Just wanted to be sure, one more time.”

  He circled around, a long loop. No matter where he drove, I could always see the white buildings.

  It took about half an hour. Then Amos pulled to a bus stop. The Indian and Joseph were sitting on a bench, like they’d been there fo
r days. They climbed back in the Jeep.

  In the parking lot, the Indian took a bunch of papers out of his coat. He smoothed them on his lap, pointed out a name to me. Olivia Oltraggio.

  “That’s the name she’s using,” he said.

  I looked at it deep. Said it to myself over and over, so I’d know it. I couldn’t say the last name. The Indian said it for me. Slow. In four parts. It sounded Italian. She had been there almost three months … I could see that from the papers. It said Ward Four. The Indian turned over the papers, tapped his finger again. She was in Room 303, starting a few days ago.

  “It’s a private room,” the Indian said. “They had her moved once it was done.”

  I reached for my duffel. Felt the Indian’s hand on my arm. “Leave it here,” he said. “Outside her room, right next to it, there’s a staircase. You have to get out of there fast, go down the staircase. All the way down, to the basement. Turn to your left, go past the laundry room, there’s a fire door there, a red door. You know the kind … you push the handle and the alarm goes off … emergency exit? You push it, nothing’s gonna happen, no noise, but the door’ll open, okay? We’ll be outside, keep you covered.”

  “Ill be—”

  “Right to the end,” the Indian said. “You come out the front door, there’s no problem, just get into the Jeep, drive it away yourself. Here’s the keys. Your stuff’ll be in the back. Go back to the motel, go someplace else, it’s up to you.”

  I heard a door open. Joseph was already out, moving to the front of the building.

  “When you get inside, just get on the elevator, the one right past the front desk. Go on up to the room, understand?”

  “Yes.”

  The Indian nodded at me, and I got out too. When I walked in the front door, I couldn’t see Joseph.

  I went over to the elevator. Thinking it’s good that people never pay attention to me. There were people in white coats on the elevator, talking. I stood to the side. Got off on the third floor.

  There was a sign there with an arrow. I walked down the corridor. People were going in and out of the rooms. It smelled like a prison with flowers.

  The stairway was at the end. Room 303 right next to it. There was one of those thin holders on the door, where they slide a piece of plastic in it with a person’s name. To tell you who’s inside. The name she was using was there. White letters on the blue plastic. It looked strange.

  The door was closed. I pushed it open—it made a little hiss. The back wall was all glass. A bed was there, parallel to it. The sun slanted in—it was hard to see. The door closed by itself behind me. I stepped over to the bed and a face turned to me. It was all eyes, shrunken.

  “I knew you’d come,” Shella said.

  My legs locked. I moved toward her.… I felt like the white pit bull, crawling to the line. There was a brick in my chest. Right in the center of my chest, not over my heart.

  I got there. Her hair was long, more white than blonde now, like dead straw, thin. Everything about her was thin, her arms were sticks. As she turned, the nightgown fell away…. her breasts were almost gone. Her cheeks were sucked in, big splotches on her face, dark ones.… I couldn’t see the beauty mark I made for her.

  I saw her teeth. I couldn’t tell if she was smiling or snarling. She held out her hand.

  I moved closer. I could hear a crackling in my chest, like when you crush the stuff they put around cigarette packs in your hand. I got close enough to touch her. She looked up at me.

  “Hello, John,” she said, real quiet. “If you came to kill me, you’re too late.”

  I just stood and looked at her. Shella. It was Shella.

  “Same old motormouth, aren’t you?” she said. She shifted her hips under the sheet, patted the bed for me to sit down.

  I did that. She put her hand on my thigh, the way she used to, like it was hers. The sun came in on her hand. I could see every bone in it.

  I closed my eyes. Breathed as slow as I could. I could feel her doing it too.

  When I opened my eyes, hers were still closed, but she wasn’t asleep.

  “What happened?” I asked her.

  She didn’t say anything for a long time. I didn’t move. “You don’t look any different,” she said. “I knew you wouldn’t. You’re not gonna die slow.”

  “What happened, Shella? Why did you go?”

  “Ah, who knows?” she said. “I got a whore’s heart. Maybe I just got bored. What does it matter anyway?”

  “I’ve been looking for you … for a long time.”

  “Why?”

  “For you to tell me the truth.”

  She opened her eyes. “The truth-truth? The real thing?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was afraid of you.”

  “Of me? Of me, Shella? I never did …”

  “I know. When I took off, in the car, with everything … I didn’t go far. I drove for about an hour, and I got a room. The next day, I got out of the motel and I rented a furnished apartment. A nice studio. There was nothing in the papers until the next day. I could see it was gonna be a while before you went to trial. I figured I’d get work, wiggle my big butt enough to make some money, get you a good lawyer. I knew you wouldn’t want me to come and visit in the jail…. They might be waiting on me … know you had a partner.”

  “A partner … sure, that’s right.”

  “Yeah. Anyway, I started working. The next thing I knew, you were gone. I found out you pleaded guilty. After they took you down … oh Jesus, John … you expected me to be there, didn’t you? Waiting for you when you stepped out of the gate.”

  “I thought you would stay,” I told her.

  “I couldn’t stay, you fucking moron! What was I gonna do? Buy a house, get a job at McDonald’s … what?”

  “I don’t…”

  “People like us, we can’t stay in one place. It’s bad rhythm, dumb. You know that much, right?”

  “I guess.…”

  “I was never that far away. Not in my mind. I called the PD, told him I was your sister. He ran it down for me. I knew how much time you had to serve.… I went out on the track, got lost in the scene for a while.”

  I must of looked stupid at her when she said that—she kind of shifted gears with her voice. “You remember Bonnie? That skinny bitch I owned back when we had that beach cottage?”

  I nodded.

  “Like that,” she said. “Most of them, just like that. I did some men too, but not many.”

  I looked around the room. It was a nice room. Big and clean. There was a TV set on the end of a metal arm, a stand-up shower over to the side. Behind the bed I could see a pair of tanks, like for propane gas. I took out a cigarette.

  “Go ahead,” Shella said. “It doesn’t make any difference.”

  I lit the smoke. “Give me some,” she said, the way she used to, moving against me. I handed her the smoke. She took a deep drag, handed it back. She was watching me close. She kept watching until I took a drag myself, then she lay back and closed her eyes again.

  I thought maybe she was tired, but she started to talk again.

  “By the time I came up for air, they had cut you loose. I took a plane, I was in such a hurry. I didn’t think it would be so bad, so hard finding you. Some man would know where you were, on parole. I could always make men tell me things. I got a room in a real nice hotel. I had a whole bunch of money too, John. Your share. I kept your share for you, all the time. I was all excited. Like maybe the other stuff was over, I don’t know.”

  “I—”

  “Shut up. Talking makes me tired. Let me finish this piece. I called the parole office. When I asked for your PO, they made me wait a long time. That’s the way they do, anyway.… It didn’t spook me. But when the man came on the line, he wouldn’t give me your address. Not over the phone, he said. I’d have to come in. I knew it then. I put down the phone. It only took me a couple of nights to find the right guy. A guy on parole. I promised him some pussy and he came back to the s
ame joint in a couple of days, after he reported in himself. He told me you hung up the parole … that you were a fugitive. There was a warrant out for you…. When they got you, you’d have to serve the rest of your time. A crazy move, not like you. So I figured you were coming after me. I ran. I kept running.…”

  “Shella …”

  “I’m tired now, John. Real tired. I just drift off when I get like this. They’re gonna come in with my shots soon anyway. Just let me go, now. Come back in a couple of hours, okay?”

  “Sure. I didn’t …”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she said, closing her eyes.

  I don’t remember walking out of the hospital. I think I took the elevator, but I don’t remember. The next thing I knew I was on the bench. The bench where you wait for the bus, where the Indian and Joseph were before. A bus came, but I didn’t move. Other people got on, but I didn’t. I knew people were looking at me after a while. I knew it was stupid to stay there. I knew I was stupid.

  I got up and walked. Around and around. I knew that was stupid too. People would notice me. I couldn’t find a dark crowd.

  I saw a sign, TOPLESS. Inside, the cold came right at me. It must have been hot outside. It was the same as all the other places. The daytime girls are never the best. They’re tired, like they have jobs at night too.

  I bought drinks and didn’t drink them, like always. They didn’t really have acts in that place. The girls came on and danced to records. Men watched. Nobody was laughing. It was quiet watchers, mostly.

  All the girls looked alike, but I knew that couldn’t be. I guess I wasn’t paying attention.

  I sat at the bar until time passed around me. There was no clock there, and I didn’t have a watch.

  After a while, I got up and went back outside.

  I went in the hospital like I was going in the first time again. The elevator was there. Everything was the same.

  Her door was closed. I pushed it open. She was sitting up in the bed, watching. There was a chair next to her bed. She saw me and moved her hand, like I should sit down. I went over and did it.