Blue Belle (23 page)

108

I FELT the heat. My eyes snapped open. My head turned to the side.

Belle stood naked in front of me, my eyes on a level with the triangle of her hips, the soft pelt between them.

"You think you're being a man?" she asked.

"I'm being myself. Trying to be myself."

"I won't stop you. I love you. But you can't stop me either."

"What're you talking about?"

"I'm in this. I'm with you. Whatever way it plays."

"I told you…"

"What're you going to do, big man? Beat my ass? I
like
that, remember?"

"Belle…"

"You know
why
I like it?" she whispered. "Yes. Yes, you do. I only let two people hit me in my life. Sissy. And you. She loved me, and I wanted you to love me too. Own me. Take care of me. Rescue me, like she did. You don't want to live in this world alone. I understand what you said. I listened to you. I'm not running away, make some fucking phone call, find out if you're dead."

"Do what I tell you."

"I'll take your orders. I'll take whatever you have. But only if I'm
yours
, understand? I'm in this."

"You're not."

"I'm
in
this, you bastard. You can't stop me. You let me in this, you let me help you, I'll obey you like a slave. I'll do whatever you say. But if you don't, I swear I'll go back to work tomorrow night. And I'll tell every man in the place that I'm your girlfriend. I'll tell my boss. I'll put it on the street. I'll take an ad in the fucking newspapers, I have to! You don't want me in the pattern, you have to let me in your life."

I propped myself on one elbow, looking straight ahead. "You big, stupid bitch." It was all I could say.

I wasn't watching her face, but I could feel the flash of her smile. "I'm a beautiful young girl," she whispered, "and you taught me that. I'm a woman. Your woman. And you're going to see just what a stand–up woman is all about."

I closed my eyes again.

109

WHEN I came around again, Belle was standing in the same place, hands on her hips. "What time is it?" I asked her.

"Time to get up," she said, kneeling down next to the couch, pressing her mouth against me, hands fumbling at my belt. I stroked her back, smooth and moist, like she just stepped out of a bath. She smelled of jasmine.

She unbuttoned my shirt, her face against my chest. The necklace shone against her skin. She licked my chest, my belly. Then she took me in her mouth.

I knew what she was doing. I knew it wouldn't work. But I felt myself grow in her mouth. Swell to bursting. I looked at the ceiling. Shadows. I closed my eyes.

She took her mouth from me. "Almost ready," she whispered.

"I'm ready now."

"Not yet. Wait." She stroked me with something slippery in her hand, gently working it in from the root to the tip. She took my hand. "Come on," she said, pulling me from the couch, leading me to the bed.

She sat down on the bed, pulling me with her, pushing me onto my back again. She lit a cigarette, put it in my mouth. She lay down on her stomach, her face inches from mine.

"Will you do something for me?"

"What?"

"Never mind what—will you do it?"

"I…"

"Just listen to me, okay? Then decide. All right?"

"Yeah." I felt so tired. Like an old man starting another long sentence.

"Remember I told you about that man I was with once? That tough guy? The guy who wouldn't have a bitch dog?"

"Yeah."

"Remember I told you he said all bitches would turn tail? That's what he wanted me to do?"

I nodded, dragging on the cigarette.

"You know what he meant? He meant turn
my
tail. He wanted to fuck me in the ass."

"Uh."

"He said a real man could always find a piece of ass—said he'd been in prison and he even found some there." She reached over, took the cigarette from me, drew on it. Handed it back. "Did you ever do that?"

"What?"

"Fuck a man. In prison."

"No."

"What'd you do?"

"I went steady with my fist," I snorted. Close to a laugh, but not there yet.

"'Cause a real man doesn't do that?"

"I don't know what a real man does. It's like everything I know, Belle—I only know the dark side. I only know what a man doesn't do."

"Is that why you wouldn't taste me? The first time we made love?"

"I told you the truth then—it's the same truth. In prison…men do things. I don't put them down for it. Man wants to fuck another man, it doesn't say anything about him."

"What is it a man
doesn't
do, then?"

"He doesn't fuck someone who doesn't want to be fucked, okay? That's the only rule, the only real one. Fucking another man in the ass doesn't make you less of one. But
taking
it…"

"I know. It makes a man into a girl."

"That's bullshit. A kid who gets raped in prison, it says something about the guy who did it to him, that's all."

"But if the kid doesn't fight…"

"He
has
to fight. He doesn't have to win."

"What happens to a kid who's raped?"

"He can lock up, go into PC. Protective Custody. Or he can hang up. Take himself off the count. I guess he could even escape. But he can't walk the yard unless he squares it."

"How does he square it?"

"Kill the guy. Shank him, pipe him, poison him… it don't matter. Even it up. Get it back."

I sat up in the bed, lit another cigarette. "That's what I was trying to tell you. There's rules. For everything. They don't have to be fair ones. The first time I was in reform school, one of the bigger kids rolled on me. I never let him finish his pitch. We fought. He could beat me, but he knew he'd never turn me. The next time I went back inside, I was older. Smarter. They were running another game then. It was all gangs inside. They'd make one of the little kids run. Take off at night. Then they'd run out and catch him. Kick the shit out of him, drag him back. They used to get a go–home behind it. Just another way of being raped.

"When they came to me, I told this big guy I'd do it, but I wasn't doing it for nothing. He had to give me his radio. I watched his face—I could see he was thinking what a chump I was.

"He gave me his radio and I told him I'd run in a week. I spent a lot of time on the grounds. Looking around. Getting ready. When the night came, I took off. I told him I'd be waiting for him by this big tree. Made him promise not to hurt me when he brought me back. I kept watching his face—I knew he was lying.

"I took off. Climbed up in the tree with this cinder block I'd found. He came looking for me. Calling my name. Real quiet, so he'd be the one to bring me in. Get all the credit for himself."

I bit into the filter tip of the cigarette, feeling myself smile inside at the memory, my hand on Belle's hip.

"I dropped the cinder block right on his head. He went down. I jumped on top of him, stomped his face into the ground. I held the cinder block over my head and slammed it into his ribs a couple of times. Then I went back and told the Man that this guy had escaped and I'd stopped him, but he was too heavy for me to drag back.

"I got my parole. He went to the hospital."

"Good."

"Yeah, good. I know how things work. I had to pay for what I know, but I know."

"You can figure this out too, honey."

"I don't know."

"You're scared of this guy, but…"

"I'm always scared of
something
, Belle. The trick is not to let it get in the way. Like ego—ego gets in the way. I went there tonight to tell the guy I wasn't carrying a beef. Almost
begged
him to walk away, let it go. But it wasn't what he wanted."

Belle reached for me again. "How about what I want?"

"
What
do you want?"

She squirmed until she was next to me, one arm on my shoulder, still holding me in the other hand, slippery.

"I told you only two people hit me in my life. You and Sissy. I told you the truth—I told you why," she said, moving closer to me, whispering in the night. "I took my clothes off for men to watch. Everything I ever did with a man, I did with you. But special. From the very first time. I knew. Sometimes you just
know
something. I want you to do it to me. What he wanted. Nobody ever did."

Her voice dropped even lower, swamp–orchid soft. "I didn't know what I was saving it for, but I knew I had to save something. It's for you."

I kissed her cheek. "You saved it
all
for me, girl. Don't fuss about it."

"Burke, do it! Come
on
. I need you to do it. It's special. For you. Not for you to take…for me to give."

"Belle…"

Her mouth was against my ear, tongue darting inside. "Want me to get down on my knees and beg?"

I got off the bed, stood facing her. She was on her knees, taking me in her mouth. "Aagh!" she said, pulling her face away. "That stuff tastes awful."

"What is it?"

"K–Y Jelly. I bought it when I went shopping. It was supposed to be your surprise." She stroked me again, slathering the stuff on. "Yes?"

I nodded.

She turned, still on her knees, her backside to me. "Where's that stuff?" I asked her.

She handed it to me. I covered myself again. Patted her butt, squeezed a glob on my finger, worked it inside her. Softly, slowly. She wiggled her rear. "Uhmmmm…"

I put one hand on each side of her, gently pulling her apart. I felt the tip slide into her. Pushed forward.

"
Easy
, honey. A big house can have a little door."

I pulled out of her.

"Come on."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"I was just teasing, baby. Come on, now. Come on."

I slipped in her again, working the tip back and forth, a little bit at a time. She rammed herself back against me, grunting, maybe in pain. I looked at her in the dark, split by my cock, her palms flat on the bed, elbows locked. She looked back over her shoulder. "Nice and easy," she said, smiling. The blue beads swinging from her neck.

I found the rhythm. She moved with me, just a little, working me deeper into her. "Just for you," she whispered, as I shot off inside her.

110

WE WERE on the move before it got light outside. I swung the Plymouth into the garage, led Belle up the stairs, the pistol cocked in my hand.

Everything was as I left it. I let Pansy out to her roof, poured some food into her bowl. Belle stood next to me.

"You're not worried he'll try this place?"

"I don't think he wants anything to do with rooftops after last night."

"What happened?"

"It doesn't matter," I said, popping open file cabinets, handing her papers to put on the desk.

Pansy strolled into the room. Belle patted her head. The beast ignored her, demolishing the food. I opened the floorboard in a corner of the back closet. Belle knelt next to me. "Take this stuff over there," I told her, filling her arms with death.

She dumped it all on the couch like it was laundry. A sawed–off .12–gauge holding three–inch magnum shells. Double–O buckshot in one barrel, a rifled deer slug in the other. A Sig Sauer .45—the closest thing to a jam–proof automatic they make. Six fragmentation grenades, little gray baseball–sized bombs. Four sticks of dynamite, wrapped together with duct tape. A heavy Ruger .357 magnum single–action revolver.

I went over to the desk, moved the papers to one side, reached for the phone. Belle was standing by the couch, watching.

"Come here," I said, watching her face. When she got close, I made one last try.

"I don't think he's coming here. But if he does, it'll take him a while to get through that door. He does, and this whole building's going up. You understand?"

"Yes."

"You
sure?
I can't use the guns. There's no way to shoot through that door, and if he gets inside, there's no room. No time. He's too fast. Mortay makes it inside here, there's no gunshots. Just one big boom."

"I know."

"You can work with me. I'll keep my promise. But I don't want you to stay here. You take the car, go back to your house. I'll call…"

"Forget it."

"I'll call you when I
need
you, okay? Not when it's over. Before that. When I need a driver," I said, trying my last hope.

She put her hands on her hips, her legs spread wide apart. "You want me to take Pansy with me?"

"No."

Her dark eyes were on fire. "One bitch is good enough to die with you, not the other, huh?"

"Belle…Pansy wouldn't go with you."

"That's bullshit. You could get her out of here. You just think she might do you some good."

I threw up my hands. "I give up," I told her.

"Burke, don't give up. I'm not asking you to give up. Let it play out, okay?"

"Okay," I said, reaching for her hand.

She sat on the corner of the desk, looking down at me. "Where do you think you go when you die? You think we all go to the same place?"

"I don't know."

"This guy comes here, we'll find out together," she said, holding my hand tight.

111

I STARTED going through the papers piled on my desk. Smoking and thinking. Belle put her hand on my shoulder. "You want some paper, write stuff down?"

"No. I'm not used to working like that. I have to do it in my head."

"Can I help?"

"Not yet."

I went back to the files, working over the clips on the Ghost Van, sorting what I had into little boxes inside my head. Stacking them in rows, building a foundation. You work from the ground up, brick by brick. When you reach out your hand for a brick and it's not there, you've found the door. Whatever's missing, that's where you have to look.

The man who played with death wanted Max. I wanted him. He had all the cards, but I had one edge. I knew something he never would. How to be afraid.

The edge burned at the corners of my guts.

Seven–thirty. I picked up the phone. All clear. Dialed Mama. She answered in the middle of the first ring.

"Gardens."

"It's me. What?"

"Gone."

"All of them?"

"All gone. Maybe three weeks, okay?"

"Perfect."

"You have two calls. Man called Marques, couple hours ago. And the cop. McGowan. Maybe ten minutes ago."

She gave me the numbers. McGowan was calling from the Runaway Squad; I didn't recognize the other one.

"I'm off, Mama."

"You come soon?"

"Soon."

I lit a smoke. Ten minutes ago… I dialed McGowan. He answered himself.

"You called me?"

"We got to meet, pal.
Now
."

"I'm hot."

"Just say where."

"Battery Park. Where they park to go out to the Statue of Liberty. The benches facing the water."

"Thirty minutes?"

"I'll be there."

Belle was behind me, her hands on my shoulders. I told her the number Mama gave me for Marques.

"That the same one you have?"

She went into the back room, came out with her purse, fumbled around. Pulled out a little red leather book, thumbed through the pages. She looked up. "No."

I punched the number into the phone. A woman's voice came on the line.

"Mr. Dupree's office," she said, a coked–up giggle in her voice.

"Get Marques," I told her.

The pimp took the phone. "Yes?" Like an executive.

"You called me a couple of hours ago?"

"Who's this?"

"You called at the Chinese Embassy, okay?"

"Oh, yeah. I get you. Look, man, I got some dynamite stuff. This guy who hangs with him, he…"

"Hold up," I barked, listening hard. The phone didn't sound right. "Where you calling from?"

"From my ride, man. You ever see one of them car phones?"

"Yeah. It's a
radio
phone. It's not just me you're talking to now, get it?"

"It's cool."

"It's
not
cool. Give me a number to call you at."

"No way, Jose. I got business out here, won't be back to the crib for
hours
. Give me your number, I'll ring you in an hour."

I pulled a looseleaf book from the desk drawer. "East Side or West Side?"

"What?"

"Where you going to be in an hour? In your car. Where?"

"Oh. East Side, man."

I ran my finger down the list of numbers. "Make it nine o'clock, okay? Rush hour, nobody's paying attention. There's a pay phone in the gas station at Ninety–fourth and Second. Go there, fill up your ride, I'll ring you there."

"You'll call
me?
On a pay phone?"

"Yeah, don't worry about it. We set?"

"They got super–premium gas in that station, man?"

I hung up the phone.