Hard Candy

by Andrew Vachss

  "Amen."

  "So give me something."

  I lit a smoke. Used my own matches. Watching the color drift back into his face. His right arm still hung limp.

  "I'll give you something, Morales. I'll give you a couple of things. On the house. One, your source. The one who you say tied me into some homicide in a playground. And the one who told you about a contract on a guy you found in Times Square. They're the same man. The same family man. Two, you fucking know he's a liar."

  "So you say."

  "Save it for the first offenders, cop. You believed this guy, you'd take me down. Like you said, we're not pals. But I know you. You thought it was me, you sincerely thought I burned you and McGowan, you'd flake me with a piece instead of just selling me wolf tickets about carrying one."

  A smile twisted on his face. "You sure?"

  "Yeah."

  "Say you're right…just to be saying it, okay? What's in it for this guy who dropped a dime on you?"

  I crossed my hands in front of my chest, one finger pointing at Morales, the other to my door. "He did it. Not me."

  "Yeah. But we weren't looking at this guy. He wasn't a suspect."

  "He would be, you kept at it. A cold wind's gonna blow."

  "Torenelli's daughter?"

  "I look Italian to you?"

  "When I thought you were okay, you looked sorta Spanish to me. Now…now you look Italian."

  "I never meant to offend you. I'm not against you. I just want to do my time. On the street, in the jail, wherever. Just do my time. Be left alone."

  "That kind of privacy…it costs."

  "I can't pay what I don't have. And I don't borrow."

  "You already owe something."

  "If I do…if I get the chance, I'll pay it off. Square it up. Ask around. I pay my debts."

  "I think you paid at least a couple. I find out you did it for cash, I'll get you. That's a promise."

  I threw my smoke out the window. "So I'm not busted?"

  He didn't say anything when I opened the door and climbed out.

  102

  I WASN'T under surveillance. The cops don't have the manpower for that, and Morales was still with the Runaway Squad anyway. He'd probably been prowling Lily's joint, watching to see if any of the kiddie pimps he hated so much were working the corners. When he saw me, he couldn't pass it up.

  The phone man was where he said he'd be. We passed each other on the steps of the Federal Courthouse in Foley Square. A quick handshake and we each had what we came for.

  103

  I WAS IN MAMA'S arguing with Max over his stunt with Morales when the phone rang in the back.

  "Young girl," Mama sad, sitting down.

  I picked up the receiver. "What?"

  "It's me. Elvira. You said to call today. I told you I would."

  "I need to talk to you. About your mother. About Train."

  "Go ahead."

  "Not on the phone."

  "Maybe you can come here. I'll ask…"

  "Never mind. I can come there, but I want to talk in private. Tell me where you'll be, I'll pick you up."

  "I'm not sure…"

  "Not sure where you'll be or…"

  "I'm not leaving here."

  "Elvira, I wanted you out of there, you'd be out of there. I'm going to talk with you, one way or the other."

  "I'm not afraid of you."

  "I don't want you to be afraid of me. I want to talk to you."

  "And then…"

  "And then you go back to wherever you want to go. And you never see me again. Okay?"

  A long pause. I wondered who else was listening, signaling to her.

  "Okay," she finally said into the phone. "Where and when?"

  "Tomorrow morning. On the corner of Flatbush and Tillary. The Brooklyn side of the Manhattan Bridge. Ten o'clock."

  "How long will I be?"

  "Couple of hours."

  "Goodbye," she said. Hung up.

  104

  NEXT MORNING, the Plymouth an anonymous hulk lurking just outside the remnants of the commuter traffic stream. Max in the back seat, black wool Navy watch cap on his head, heavy gloves on his hands. He was only wearing a gray sweatshirt—it wasn't that cold out.

  She must have walked from Train's building. I spotted her a couple of blocks away, stone–washed jeans, a dungaree jacket, hair in a pony–tail. A kid cutting school. I stepped out of the car, waved to her. She broke into a clumsy little trot.

  I opened the passenger door and she climbed inside, Max moving in behind her like water flowing over a rock. "Huh!" she said, surprised. I was sitting in the driver's seat by then.

  "Elvira, this is my brother, Max."

  She snuck a sideways look, mumbled "Hi," eyes downcast. I fired up the Plymouth, heading over the bridge.

  "Where're we going?"

  "To see a friend of mine."

  "How come he's here."

  "Just along for the ride."

  "I thought we were going to talk private."

  "Max can't hear. He's deaf."

  "For real?" An off–key note in her voice.

  "Yeah. For real."

  We came off the bridge into Chinatown, tunneling through the narrow back streets to Lily's. Elvira fumbled in her purse, brought out a cigarette. Max snapped a wooden match, held it for her. She said "Thank you" in a finishing–school voice. Max bowed slightly. "Does that mean 'You're welcome'?" she asked.

  "Yep."

  "Can you…talk to him?"

  "His name is Max. I can talk to him. So can you, you want to bad enough."

  "Oh! How?"

  "Think of what you want to say, then act it out. Like charades."

  "Can I try?"

  "Go ahead."

  She curled her feet under her, tapped Max on his forearm. Pointed at him, then at me. Pinched her shoulders against her slender neck, spread her hands, palms up. Max pulled off his gloves, tossed them on the dashboard. Watching her face closely, he pointed at himself, then at me. Waited for her to nod. He tapped his chest over his heart. Reached past the girl, tapped me in the same place. Hard. The finger curled into a fist. The fist slammed into his open hand. That hand wrapped around the fist. The two hands twisted together until the fingers were intertwined.

  "He is your brother!"

  "Sure."

  Elvira put her two hands on an imaginary steering wheel, pointed to me, pointed out the windshield, made a questioning look at Max. He shrugged his shoulders, pointed at me, nodded.

  "He doesn't know where we're going?"

  "He doesn't care. He's with me—that's where he's going."

  105

  WE PULLED up behind Lily's. Max got out. He'd go inside, tell them to open the back door for us.

  I lit another smoke, offering her one. "There's a woman inside. Her name's Lily. She's a good friend. Of me and Max both. She's the one I want you to talk to, okay?"

  "About what?"

  "She'll do that part. All you have to do is what you say you always do…tell the truth."

  "Is she gonna ask me about Train?"

  "Not the way Reba asks questions."

  I got a blank look back. Train didn't tell all his people how his fleshy polygraph worked.

  "Never mind," I told her. "Lily's a certified social worker. You know what that is?"

  "Like a shrink?"

  "Yeah, sort of Anyway, the point is that she's not allowed to repeat anything she's told. Anything you say to her is confidential. That's the law."

  "But…"

  "Elvira, listen to me, little girl. You think any of those kids running around in karate outfits could stop Max? This talk with Lily—it's for you. I know you don't understand that. I know you don't trust me. You don't have to. We made a deal. I took you out of Train's joint and I let you go back. He can't stop me and my friends. I have to find out some things and I want Lily to talk with you. You do that and we're done."

  "What if I don't?" Not pouting, curious.

  "Then I'm going to as
k Train."

  "He said you'd be back. He's never wrong."

  "You think about that. You decide how I'm coming back." I'd been searching for the right button. Tried one more. "You want to protect Train, talking to Lily's the way to do it, understand?"

  "My mother…"

  "Is out of this."

  "She says you're hers. Her old boyfriend."

  "What does Train say?"

  "How did you…? He said you were nobody's child. That's what he said: 'That man is nobody's child.'"

  "You know what he meant?"

  "Maybe."

  I threw my smoke out the window.

  "I'll talk to her," the girl said finally.

  The back door opened and I led her inside.

  106

  I INTRODUCED Lily and Elvira. Watched for the hundredth time as waves came off Lily, enveloping the kid, excluding me. "She has a calm center," Immaculata explained it to me once. "Like Max." They walked down the hall together.

  Max was probably in the gym, wrestling with the kids. That wasn't for me. I had some time to kill, so I found an empty office, put my feet on the desk, closed my eyes. I had things to think about.

  When I opened my eyes, Immaculata was sitting on the desk, her hand on my ankle.

  "You're awake?"

  "Sure."

  "Burke, I don't have much time to talk. You must let Max help you. It is very important."

  "Help me what?"

  "Whatever it is you're doing. It doesn't matter."

  "Yeah, big fucking help he is. You know what he did yesterday?"

  "He told me."

  "He tell you he almost turned a lousy roust into a Class A felony?"

  "Max is your brother. He is in great pain. Men don't know how to take some things. Some gifts. He cannot forget what you did. To save our baby. What it cost you. He must believe he is helping you or he cannot feel whole."

  "Mac, you know what Max does?"

  "I am his wife. He is the father of our child. You remember when we met?"

  I remembered. A night subway run. Me carrying the goods, dressed like a bum. The Mole at the other end of the train, a satchel full of explosives. And Max the Silent sitting across from me, looking like a tired, drained old man. Three punks got on the train. Looked me over.

  Wouldn't bother with a wino. Started on Max. Asking him for ten bucks for a cup of coffee, shoving him around. No big deal—we only had a couple of more express stops to go. It was going okay until Immaculata saw the action. Dressed like a Vietnamese bar girl, as out of place on that subway as a clock in a casino. She charged the punks, telling them to leave the old man alone. One pulled out a pair of brass knuckles, giggling at the new prey. Max took them all out quicksilver–fast—just flashes and sounds. He shed his filthy raincoat and the tired old man became the Mongol warrior. Bowed deeply to the woman who had come to save him. He signed, I interpreted. She saw past his strength, he past her beauty. They've been together since.

  "I don't care what it takes." Her voice soft and relentless. "Is that clear enough for you? I want my husband back. His daughter needs him back. You know what he is. If you tell a true warrior he cannot make things right, his duty is to die trying."

  I lit a smoke, playing for time. Her eyes stabbed. "Don't try and trick me. I know you could do it. For now. Max even said so—how you can lie so smoothly."

  "How can I…?"

  "There is a man you went to see. Your enemy. Max has no fear of him, this little killer with his guns."

  "Mac, I'm telling you the truth. Believe it or don't, it's still the truth. The man you're talking about…he's not my enemy. I don't know how I know…I'm not even sure I knew until I just said it. But I'm not gaming to protect Max."

  "You must let him help you." Intractable. No slack in the rope.

  "What am I supposed to do?"

  "Let him help you find what you're looking for."

  "What I lost."

  "No. What you seek. Please."

  She bent forward, kissed me lightly on the cheek. Her perfume stayed after her.

  107

  MAX WALKED IN, kids hanging on him like amateur mountain climbers. Before I could say a word, Lily pushed past Max, holding Elvira's hand. She gave me a "stay where you are" look. Told Elvira, "Go with Max. I have to talk to Burke for a minute before he takes you back."

  Elvira obediently held out her hand. It disappeared in Max's. He went back toward the gym, leaving a wake of rowdy kids running to catch up.

  I lit a smoke. Lily sat down. Her voice had that distanced, professional tone she uses when the anger laps at the boundaries of her self–control.

  "Post–Traumatic Stress Disorder. Long–standing. Original stressor undoubtedly the mother. Compounded by numerous instances of sexual exploitation so frequent that they merged into a real–world distortion pattern. Amoral, almost sociopathic aura to her productions. She imitates affect, but has very little sense of feeling things. Nerve–endings blunted. Some indication of Borderline Syndrome too. She actually…physically feels a void inside of her. Relates to mother almost as a rival. Tested clean on the MMPI Lie Scale. Telling the truth. Guiltless. Heavily bonded to this Train individual. And she's pregnant, maybe two, three months gone."

  I let her see my eyes, willing her to relax. "All that means…?"

  "I don't have time for games, Burke. You know damn well what every single word I said means. You've spent years studying. Just because it wasn't in college doesn't make you a stupid thug."

  I held up my hands. "Okay, okay. I wasn't being cute. I meant what's the bottom line? Where she is: it's better than being with her mother?"

  "There's no better to any of this. Where she is now is just one of the places kids like her end up. Nobody wants you, so you hit the streets. And there, somebody always wants you. For something. They prove they want you by paying you money. A child like that, she couldn't tell a rescue mission from a cult."

  "Is she being abused now?"

  "Not in her mind. She's working for this wonderful goal. This island they're going to buy someplace. Where they can all live in peace…a big, loving family."

  "Yeah, like every pimp is going to let his woman retire someday. Open up her own boutique, right? They have her turning tricks?"

  Lily's eyes were dark, soulful. Little dots glowing like plutonium around the iris. Holding something in check.

  "No. She was in Germany. Making porno movies. But she's too old now."

  "Fifteen."

  "Yes, fifteen. All she could bring in as a prostitute would be a couple of hundred a day. And she'd have to work outdoors, take a lot of risks. Train doesn't let his people take risks. No, she's not turning tricks…they're breeding her."

  "What?"

  "Breeding her. Like a brood mare. She told me she was 'mated' to one of the young men in the cult. When she has her baby, Train's going to sell it. You know the going rate for a healthy white baby with a solid medical history, educated parents, the whole works?"

  "Fifty K and up."

  "Yes."

  "Doesn't she want the baby?"

  "She doesn't want any baby. She expects to have a baby a year for a few years. So Train will love her. He takes the best of care of her. A special diet, exercise, regular visits to a doctor."

  "The boys… he can't use them all for breeding."

  "She's so cold about it, it's frightening. She says boys are worth more than girls. They can earn money even when they're old…she means like eighteen, nineteen. They go on the circuit too. The boy she mated with, he was in Amsterdam for a few years, then he came back here to work."

  "She told you a lot."

  "Don't you get it? She doesn't see anything wrong with it! You know what the words mean. She's not a child in her soul. Hasn't been for a long time. It's all okay. Train saved her. He saved all of them."

  "She tell you about Danielle?"

  "Yes. And she told me you brought Danielle back to her father. Don't blame yourself."

  "You think i
t's true, then?"

  "Oh yes. All true."

  Wesley's voice in my mind: "They didn't pay me." Somebody owed me too. "Isn't she afraid Train will do something to her when he finds out she talked?"

  "She's not afraid. She thinks you're a criminal. She says Train knows you. He's in control. Two of the young men, they're his bodyguards. She says they took one of the girls out of there when the girl went crazy. She wouldn't answer my questions about it—she just assumes the girl is dead. And she says her mother knows you too."

  "So she thinks…"

  "I don't know what's going on in that damaged brain of hers. She thinks you and her mother want to blackmail Train, or that you're going to work for Train, or you have your own organization like Train's…or God knows what. It's a simple world to her: the big fish eat the smaller fish. They eat enough little fish, they grow into big fish themselves. Here's what she said: 'Everybody gets used. The way to keep from getting used up is to learn to be useful.'"

  "That's not her line."

  "No. But she recites it like a fundamentalist quoting the Bible."

  "You said she was bonded to Train…sounds more like bondage than bonding."

  "It isn't. The bonding is real. Train is real to her. He saved her. Remember that. She's a bright girl. She knows her life was short on the streets. Drugs, a trick with a razor, a sadistic pimp…it doesn't take much to snuff out a candle in a hurricane."

  Homicide danced in my mind. "Rescue me." My blue Belle. That was all she'd asked. I took her off the runway and into the ground. Like I took Danielle from her pimp. I ground out my smoke with the tip of my boot. Lily was too focused to even frown at me.

  "What happens to her if Train goes down?"

  She shrugged. "Elvira would find another."

  "There's no place for her?"

  "A psychiatric hospital. A prison, maybe. No place good."

  "What should I do?"

  Lily's hands went to her hips, titanium threads in her soft voice. "You brought her to me for a reason. To find out some things. Are your questions answered?"

  "Yeah. Are you making any calls?" Lily was best pals with Wolfe, the head of the City–Wide Special Victims Unit. Wolfe was part of the tribe of warrior–women in the city. I'd met a few of them over the years. Catherine, the beautiful social worker in City–Wide's office who specialized in elderly victims. Storm, the brand–new head of the hospital's Rape Crisis Unit. Queenie, an investment banker who left her lizard briefcase and upscale outfits at home when she volunteered at Lily's joint on weekends. All of them not taking prisoners, slugging it out aboveground. Where it's legal. Where the light doesn't shine for men like me. Wolfe had crossed the line with me once. Just for a minute in time. Then she dropped my hand and went back to her life. I wouldn't ask her again.