"Terry…"
"Burke, he needs a puppy, he does. She won't be any trouble…she's real smart and all."
I lit a smoke, buying time. The Mole looked away like he was busy with something. No help.
"Terry, Luke's…sick now. He won't always be sick, but…he could hurt the puppy, kid. He wouldn't know what he was doing, but…"
Terry's eyes were his mother's then, Michelle's legacy blazing at me, never backing up. "He wouldn't! I know him too, Burke. I talked to him. He wouldn't."
"Look, maybe…"
"He needs a puppy now, Burke. To make him feel safe. I…promised him."
"You got a blanket for her?" I surrendered.
121
The gypsy cab pulled a little to the left when I tapped the brakes, but otherwise it stumbled along well enough. I looped over the Triboro, caught the FDR south. It was down to two lanes…some construction project…and the yutz in the Lincoln in front of me decided to take his half out of the middle, blocking and guarding so I couldn't get past.
The puppy yawned, half sleeping in her blanket on the front seat. I admired the slick way Terry had hijacked me into delivering her—the Mole was teaching him science, but Michelle had given him art.
Horns blared behind me. I extended my arms in a "what can I do?" gesture and let them blast away.
No cassette player in this heap. I found the all–news station, listened to the body count that passes for electronic journalism in this town. Ninety–one degrees, humidity eighty–eight percent. Some ballplayer was demanding a few more million bucks a year to do whatever he did. Gas prices going up—politicians demand a complete investigation. Body of a baby found in Bowery Bay, just off La Guardia Airport. City–Wide Special Victims Task Force Chief Wolfe says indictments will be sought against those responsible once autopsy is completed.
I lit a smoke, thinking about spirits.
122
Just past eleven. The guy who opened the back door to Mama's nodded at me, ignoring the bundle in my arms. He glanced over my shoulder, pointed at the gypsy cab, said something I couldn't understand, pointed to me. I nodded. He made a "wait here" gesture, came out with a small pot and a brush. Painted some Chinese characters on the trunk of the cab—looked like whitewash, nice calligraphy. He bowed—okay now. You park in Max the Silent's spot and they don't know your car, the neighborhood recycling program goes right into action.
I showed Mama the puppy. She patted its body, clucking at the plumpness. Opened its mouth, raised its tail.
"Good puppy, Burke. Strong."
"Yeah. It's for Luke. A gift."
"Okay. Puppy hungry?"
"Probably. Let's let the kid feed her, okay?"
"In basement. With the woman."
"We'll wait."
123
No lunchtime customers yet—one of Mama's thugs in place at the door, across from the register. Mama was scratching behind the puppy's ears with one hand, the other waving in front of the dog's nose. The pup's eyes were locked on Mama's waving hand.
"Train dog this way," she said. "Rub hand in liver, dog follow everywhere."
Something to that. Something Blossom told me about pheromones, the copper–estrogen smell still sharp in my nostrils whenever I thought of her.
"Hi, Burke!" Luke bounded into the front room, Teresa trailing in his wake.
"Hello, Luke. How's it going?"
But the kid wasn't looking at me anymore, his face rapt with the wonder of the puppy.
"What a puppy! He's yours, Burke?"
"No. The puppy is yours. A gift from your friend Terry. And it's a girl, not a boy."
"Can I…?"
Mama handed him the pup. Luke sat on the floor, cuddling the dog, pushing his face into the animal's snout, giggling when the pup licked his face.
"She likes me. What's her name?"
"She's your pup, kid. So you name her, okay?"
"Okay," the child said, his face all concentration, patting his dog. "Prince," he said. "Prince. Prince the Puppy. My good old puppy."
He was rocking back and forth on the floor, holding the puppy, face wet with tears. "Don't take Prince!" he screamed, rolling over, trying to shield the pup with his body. Teresa started toward him. The front door opened, three men in business suits. Mama barked something at the waiter standing across from the register. He leaped up, his body between the customers and us, chesting them out the door into the street, door closing behind him. Two more of her men ran from the kitchen, the first one pulling an automatic from under his white coat. Teresa had the boy in her arms. The kid was sweat–drenched, mouth open, no sound, veins popping on his neck.
Luke went rigid. Teresa crooned, stroking him like he had the puppy. The boy's eyes closed. A shudder shook him. The puppy stood next to him on its stubby legs, guarding.
Luke's eyes opened. His fine hair was matted to his scalp, blood in one palm from his nails.
"It's okay, Luke," Teresa said to him. "A bad dream, that's all. You're safe. The puppy's safe."
"My puppy…"
"Ssssh, child. It's all over now."
"They killed his puppy." Toby's little wiseguy voice coming out of Luke's body. "They hung it upside down. They cut it open. The man with the hood, he cut out the heart and he ate it. He said he'd cut out Luke's heart too. If he ever told. Luke swore he never would. Luke's a little fucking pussy."
I dropped to my knees, my hand on the back of Luke's head, the way you support a baby who can't hold his head up yet. "Tell what, Toby?"
"Baby baby baby," the child babbled. A murderer's mantra. I watched his eyes. The shift came. "Baby," the voice hissed. "Bad baby. Killed my puppy. Baby wouldn't play like they wanted. I am…"
He launched himself off the floor, scrambling for one of the table settings. Where they had knives. I took him down, smothering his rage with my body, smelling his blood.
He went rigid again. Then I felt him soften beneath me, let him loose. He shook himself, sweat droplets flying. Teresa was talking to him. One of Mama's waiters swept the restaurant with the barrel of his pistol, looking for the evil with a blind eye.
124
Luke sat on Mama's lap, sipping from a glass of ice water. One of the waiters put a Closed for Repairs sign in the window—no customers today. The puppy plodded around on the tabletop, investigating all the smells.
"Luke, listen to Mama," the dragon lady said, soft–voiced. "Nobody hurt puppy. Nobody, understand? You take puppy with you. Everyplace you go, people watch you. Safe, okay?"
"Sure, Mama," the kid said, watching the puppy lick up a mixture of tuna flakes and rice from a saucer.
I stepped away from the table, spoke to Teresa in a corner.
"Dissociation. Trauma–memories. He was reliving, reexperiencing."
"Did he have a puppy…before?"
"I don't know. Now's not the time to ask him. He comes back more quickly now…we're getting closer."
"Is it safe to leave the puppy with him?"
"You saw for yourself. It's babies he thinks are the enemy…a part of him, but he doesn't see that yet."
"Remember what we talked about…? I want to bring that woman tomorrow. To talk to you. Not here, but a place close by. One of Mama's people will take you there, okay?"
She nodded.
I went to the pay phone in the back.
"This is SAFE. How can I help you?"
"You buy my clothes yet?" I asked Noelle.
"Oh, Burke! Not clothes, just a jacket. You didn't give me enough money for…"
"Never mind. Is your mother around?"
"No. She went somewhere with Storm."
"Okay. You know Wolfe's number?"
"Sure. She's so stylish. She's going to take me to the…"
"Noelle, listen to me. Give her a call. Tell her to go to a good phone and call me. Understand?"
"Sure. Want me to do it now?"
"Yes."
"Okay. When you come over I …"
"Now, Noelle."
&nb
sp; Well, fine!"
She hung up.
125
Where's Luke?" I asked Mama after Teresa left.
"Nap," she said, nodding her head toward the kitchen.
The phone rang. I walked back to answer it. Caught a glimpse of Luke, curled up on a dark green futon just outside the kitchen door, the puppy asleep against his chest. Baby's breath soft between them.
"Hello," I answered the ring.
"What's up?" Lily's voice.
"I'm trying to arrange a meet. Let her see what's really going down."
"What if…?"
"There's no 'what if' here anymore. It's what we have to do, now. It's time."
"When is it? I'm coming too."
"No, you're not. Let me do this, get it done."
"I…"
"I'll call you."
126
Luke was up from his nap, playing with the puppy on the floor, Mama watching over the rim of her newspaper.
"I love her," the kid said, looking at me.
"Seems like she loves you too."
"Yes. She does. I can tell. Burke, will you help me with something?"
"Sure."
"I need a name for her. A good name, just for her."
"I don't know, Luke…I mean…a name, that's a special thing."
"Yes, I know. And it has to be a real name, Burke, you understand?"
"Sure. But…"
"Remember our names? Luke and Burke?"
"Yes. Lurk."
"That's right. Together we're more than just the two of us. Friends. That's what I want…" His forehead furrowed, thinking so hard his body trembled. I lit a smoke, wary of his eyes, but he was okay, still Luke.
"Do you know his father's name?"
"Sure," I said. Thinking how I'd never know mine. "His dad's name is Simba."
"I know Simba—I met him. What's his mother's?"
"Elsa."
"Simba and Elsa…Elsa and Simba…I know, Burke! Her name is Simsa! Do you like it?"
"Yeah. It's perfect."
"Simsa," the boy called. The puppy wagged its tail happily.
127
Wolfe called just past three.
"Can we do it tomorrow?" I asked her.
"What time?"
"I'll pick you up around ten…?"
"Okay. At the diner."
"I'll have a black Dodge. Gypsy cab. I'll be at the curb at ten."
"See you."
"Yeah. By the way, congratulations. Autopsy done yet?"
"See you tomorrow," she said. And hung up.
128
I drove over to Max's around eight the next morning. Went upstairs. He was arguing with Immaculata about something—I couldn't tell what.
"You ready?" I asked Immaculata.
"Everybody's ready. You can drop us off at SAFE, okay?"
"Sure."
Max and his woman got in the front seat with the baby, me and Luke and the puppy took the back.
"Wow, Burke! It's dark in here—I can't see outside."
"It's okay, Luke," I told him, switching on the Tensor light. "We're safe here. With Max up front and Simsa back here, nobody would dare bother us."
"Don't forget Immaculata," he corrected me gravely. "She's tough too."
"Yeah, you're right. You know you're going to see Teresa over at Max's house today?"
"It's Immaculata's house too."
"Okay, okay, kid. I got it. What are you…studying to be a feminist?"
"What's a feminist?"
"Ask Lily, okay?"
"Okay. Are you mad at me?"
"Hell no. I'm not mad at anyone. Just embarrassed that a kid's smarter than me sometimes."
"Oh, you're very smart. Lily said so."
"Lily said I was smart?"
"Tricky, is what she said."
"Oh."
"It's okay, Burke. You're my friend. Like my big brother."
"More than you know, kid."
Couldn't hear anything from the front seat. I wouldn't anyway—Max and Immaculata can battle to a fever pitch without making a sound.
"How was Simsa's first night?"
"Oh, it was good. Mac told me I could wrap an alarm clock in a towel and the puppy would feel like it was his mother's heartbeat…but she slept with me instead. My heart beat for her."
129
The cab slid to a stop. Luke scrambled out, holding his pup, eager to show everyone. Mac put a hand on the boy's shoulder, made some gesture at Max, stamped her foot. Max pointed at me, shrugged his wide shoulders. Mac stepped in close to me.
"He says you don't want Lily to be at the meeting with Wolfe."
"That's right. You guys are battling each other—I got no time for it. You asked me to persuade Wolfe to jump back—I'm trying to do that—what'd you want to get in the way for?"
"Oh, go away," she snapped. "Go someplace with your pal. Come on, Luke," turning away from me.
On the way to Queens, I tried to explain things to Max. He kept his eyes on the road, pretended he couldn't pick up my gestures.
130
We were waiting at the curb by the diner a good twenty minutes in front. I picked Wolfe up in the side mirror, stepped out and opened the back door like a chauffeur, climbed in after her. Max took off smoothly, heading for the highway. If she had people following us, they'd have an easy time until we hit Chinatown.
Wolfe threw a quick glance at the blackout windows. Her mouth twitched. "Very clever," she said.
"Better than a blindfold, huh?"
"Sure."
"Want a drink? This thing isn't air–conditioned," I said, offering her an unopened bottle of cold spring water I'd bought from the deli across from the diner.
"Thank you." She unscrewed the bottle cap, took a long pull.
"I appreciate you doing this."
She took another sip. "The baby's been positively identified."
"How'd you do that? He was in the water a long time."
"The coroner said it was Battered Child Syndrome—just about every bone was fractured, some of the old ones had healed. Derrick had been X–rayed before—the last time there was a child abuse complaint. The pictures were a perfect match."
"You know for sure what killed him?"
"He was beaten to death. Hard to tell exactly what finally did it—lungs punctured, blood in the spinal column…maybe all of that and more. Doesn't matter now, it's a homicide, not an accident."
"Who's gonna be indicted for it?"
She looked at me like I'd have to step up in class to be stupid. "Both of them—the mother's already made statements. Lots of statements. Sometimes she says the kid fell down the stairs, sometimes he choked on his bottle. Doesn't matter…the coroner said the baby was killed over a long period of time. She had to know."
"She did know."
"Yes. She'll come up with some kind of defense—they've always got new ones. She's going down for this, just like he is, once we pick him up. He won't go far. He's a Welfare vulture, living off dead–souled women. We'll find him."
"Find him? I thought he was locked up on another charge."
She looked at me squarely, faint traces of disbelief in her face. "He made bail—they never set high bail for beating up a woman."
I offered her a smoke. She shook her head, rummaged in her purse, came out with one of her own. I lit it for her.
"This won't take long today," I promised.
The cab rolled along. Felt like we were still on the highway.
"How did you know…about the water?" she finally asked me.
"I figured it out," I told her. Meaning: the mother hadn't told me.
She dragged on her smoke, pale eyes focused on something not inside the cab. "You started this…investigation, it was a job, yes?"
"Yeah."
"To find the baby?"
"Yeah."
"So the job's over…?"
"Un–huh."
"And you're not looking for Emerson?"
"I didn't even know he was out. How c
ome all the questions?"
"You know now. The way most people would look at this, we'd need her testimony to convict him, understand?"
I nodded.
"We don't. What we need, we need his testimony to convict her. The only way they both get dropped for this is for them to point the finger at each other. Try them separately."
"Okay."
"Yes, okay. That means, we want to find this Emerson. If he turns up in the water himself…if he just disappears, it might get her off the hook."
"Why tell me?"
"You have different…reputations, Mr. Burke. Depending on who's talking."
"My record speaks for itself."
"Very funny. We've got records too. Like the visitors' logs from the jail."
"So?"
"So you visited a man named Kenneth Silver three times over the past couple of months."
"He's an old friend."
"He's an assassin. For a white supremacist gang. The way the prisons are today, he may be more dangerous inside than out."
"You don't understand the way things are in there. It's not politics, it's survival. I've known him since I was a kid. We went different ways, he got caught in a cross, but I'm not gonna turn my back on him when he's down."
"Is that loyalty…or peer pressure?"
"You put a lot of guys in there, but you don't know how it works. Inside the walls, what you call peer pressure, it's as sharp as a knife sometimes…You understand what I'm saying?"
"Better than you think. Like I said, about Emerson…"
"You think I'm some kind of vigilante?"
"No. I think you're some kind of mercenary. And I think you do what you're paid to do."
"Nobody hired me to do Emerson. I'm not looking for him."
She ground out her cigarette. "I'm sure you're not, you say so. But if you happen to run across him in your travels, give us a call, okay?"
"Okay."
131
The cab's rhythm changed. In the city now. Harsh, hypertense traffic sounds. We'd have picked up our outriders by now. If Max spotted a car too interested in us, he'd flash his high beams—maneuver so he was first off at a light. The driver of the car trailing us would never see it coming, wouldn't even have time to wonder why a pack of Chinese teenagers dressed in bright silk baseball jackets would be trying to clean his windshield. Never hear the ice picks puncture his tires.
Sacrifice Page 17
