Near the end, I got to the part he left me in his will.
I killed somebody named Mortay. It was a contract from a man named Julio. He works for Don Torenelli. I shot him with a .38 Special, then I dropped a grenade on his face. I killed a man named Robert Morgan. In a playground in Chelsea. A rifle shot from the roof The same contract. Julio wouldn't pay me. He said it was the don's orders. So I hit Torenelli's daughter on Sutton Place. I cut off her head and stuffed it in her cunt. I wrote 2 on the wall. It was a message. They didn't listen.
Then he listed the other hits. Queens, Brooklyn, Staten Island.
Torenelli put out a contract on me for revenge. I shot him on the Fifty–ninth Street Bridge. A .220 Remington with a night scope. Then I killed Julio. I killed a man named Train. I blew up a car on Wards Island with him in it. A man named Morrison hired me to do it. On Long Island. He tried to get out of paying me, so I killed him too. With a .357 magnum, wad cutters. Two in the chest, one in the face. He owed and he had to pay.
All my life, I worked for the same people. They had different names, but they were all the same. All bosses. Generals. I was a soldier.
I have no love in me for any of you. You have no love for me. You don't need my story. Why doesn't matter. What I did, you did it. You did it to me, I did it to you. I'm tired. I'm tired of all this. I'm not a man. I don't know what I am, but I wasn't born to be it. So I'm dying to be it. What I am.
I have no friends and I have no fear. I only stopped because I got tired. You could never have stopped me.
I worked for my money. That's what I did. They didn't pay me. So I made them pay. They didn't listen to my warnings. So I'm leaving them one last warning. I don't know where I'm going and I don't care. But they better not send anyone after me.
If you're reading this, you're a cop. Some kind of cop. I'm not leaving you this as a favor. It's my last chance to tell you how much I hate you.
Pray to your fucking gods that I'm the last one. But you know I'm not. There's more coming. You do things to us, we grow up and we do things to you.
I'm signing this with the only name you ever cared about.
His dark thumbprint was at the bottom of the last page.
151
I READ IT through twice. He wasn't just getting me off the hook, he was warning me. For the last time. Never show them your soft spot. Everyone in the street knew mine.
Wesley checked out and took a bunch of kids with him. Seeds. Cards in a stacked deck. They dealt them—the monster played them.
I held the pages in my gloved hands. Knowing the last word Wesley never said to me.
Brother.
I waited until my hands stopped shaking. Then I called Morales.
"It's Burke. Let's play some more nine ball."
"I get off at four."
152
I WAS AT MY TABLE when he walked in. In the middle of a rack.
"Take off your coat," I said under my breath. "Just do it, you're not the only guy in the room wearing a gun. When we're finished, go someplace private and read what you find in your pocket."
His mind wasn't on the game. I was up a yard and a half before he split.
153
WHEN I called Mama's the next day, the message was waiting for me. I met Morales on West Seventeenth, just off Twelfth Avenue. Whore corner. We watched the girls jump into cars for a while.
"What do you want…for what you gave me?"
"To get square."
"Most of it's the dead truth. Most of it. We checked it out. He knows things only the killer would know. Why would he take you off the hook?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"We can clear a couple of dozen unsolved homicides behind this. It means a gold shield for me."
"And for McGowan."
"He's my partner," he said, insulted.
"I'm not."
"No, you're not. But we're square. There was no paper on you anyway."
"I know. It's over."
He held out his hand. I took it.
154
IT WASN'T OVER.
Just Wesley's killing was.
Candy let me in. Wearing a man's button–down dress shirt over toreador pants. Like a hundred years ago. "You want to play?" she asked.
"Not today, outrider."
The cat's eyes narrowed. "What?"
"It was always you and Train. From the beginning. Elvira didn't run from you—you dumped her. Into Train's net. You knew Train was on Wesley's list. You thought I killed this Mortay freak. Thought I was a killer too. You knew Wesley was coming, so you put me on the same track. Facing him."
"I had to find out. I just watch—I don't risk. I didn't know how to find Wesley, so I sent you after Elvira. I knew there was a contract on Train—I knew Wesley was holding it. I know how he works. He watches. He waits. And then he does his work. It was all a play, and I wrote the lines. Wesley sees you hanging around, he figures you're with Train. Then he comes. You get in his way, somebody goes down. Not me. Never me."
"And you fuck the winner," I said. Remembering the subway tunnel, the kitten in the basement.
"Sure. That's the way it works. But I never thought you'd win. And you didn't."
"How long have you been with Train?"
"Since I was nineteen. I was one of his first. His very first. But I'm no outrider. That's a game. For the kids. Nobody leaves. I'm a partner, not a soldier. I made him…all that mumbo–jumbo bullshit. He tell you the one about truth?"
"No."
Her voice changed the way her face could. Train's voice: "If there is no truth, saying it is the truth. So there is always truth."
She watched my face, smiling. "Pretty good, huh? I gave him that one. He works the place in Brooklyn, I work here."
"Your partner's gone. So's Elvira."
"I'm still here. I know how to do it. There's plenty of kids. I'll always have me. I don't need anybody else."
"You're garbage."
"Am I? You think I loved you? Even when we were kids? It was Wesley I loved. He had the power. You…you're a weak, soft man. You were never hard. Me, I made you hard. I can do it again. I'm the one that's hard. Like Wesley. You should see your eyes…you want to beat me to death right here. But you can't do it. You can't hurt me. I know you. We can go in the back room right now. Tie me up so I can't move. And I'll still be in control."
I didn't say anything, watching her. The love Wesley never knew he had. He was better off where he was.
"You won't go to the cops either. That's not your way. The secret is to know. Like I know you. You could never hurt me. Wesley won. He's out there someplace. And I'll find him. I know you. If you were really a killer, you'd kill me."
She turned her back on me, walked out of the room, leaving me alone. Giving me a choice.
I closed the door behind me.
155
AS I WALKED down the carpeted hall, a puddle of shadow moved. I nodded. Max drifted silently back the way I came, a key in his hand.
Andrew Vachss
Andrew Vachss has been a federal investigator in sexually transmitted diseases, a social caseworker, a labor organizer, and has directed a maximum-security prison for youthful offenders. Now a lawyer in private practice, he represents children and youths exclusively. He is the author of numerous novels, including the Burke series, two collections of short stories, and a wide variety of other material including song lyrics, poetry, graphic novels, and a "children's book for adults." His books have been translated into twenty different languages and his work has appeared in Parade, Antaeus, Esquire, The New York Times, and numerous other forums. He lives and works in New York City and the Pacific Northwest.
The dedicated Web site for Vachss and his work is www.vachss.com
BOOKS BY ANDREW VACHSS
Flood
Strega
Blue Belle
Hard Candy
Blossom
Sacrifice
Shella
Down in the Zero
Born Bad
Footsteps of the Hawk
False Allegations
Safe House
Choice of Evil
Everybody Pays
Dead and Gone
Pain Management
Copyright © 1989 by Andrew Vachss
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Vintage Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York. Originally published in hardcover by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., New York, in 1989, and in trade paperback by Vintage Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, in 1995.
Grateful acknowledgment is made to Famous Music Corporation for permission to reprint an excerpt from "The Ballad of Charles Whitman" by Kinky Friedman. Copyright © 1973 by Ensign Music Corporation. Reprinted by permission.
The Library of Congress has cataloged the Knopf edition as follows:
Vachss, Andrew H.
Hard Candy: a novel/by Andrew Vachss.
p. cm.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Random House Web address: http://www.randomhouse.com/
eISBN: 978-0-375-71904-2
v3.0
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