The music faded down. The lights dimmed.
The music wouldn't let her sleep. Her body thrashed under the covers. Drums working her hips, guitar plucking her soft breasts. A blue spot burned down on her face buried in the pillow, turning her taffy-honey hair a ghostly white. The spot turned a softer blue, widening to cover the whole bed. The warning voice came back, soft, demanding. Telling the truth, the way the blues always does.
Belle threw back the covers, the music pulling her from the bed. She looked out into the night, shook herself. She reached for her robe, put one arm into a sleeve. Then she dropped the robe to the floor.
The blue spot played over her body as she walked into the darkness.
27
When the lights came up, I saw I had two more drinks in front of me. I hadn't touched them. The pile of tenspots in front of me was lighter.
I went back to my spot at the end of the bar, no closer to talking with Belle than I'd been. Laura came over to me, her little tray loaded with another gin-and-tonic in separate glasses. She leaned over the bar.
'You like that act better?'
I felt a hand on my shoulder. 'He sure does,' said a little girl's voice.
I didn't turn around. I knew who it was.
'Is this yours?' Laura asked Belle.
'All mine,' Belle said.
'I thought you didn't like men,' Laura said, a nasty little smile on her face.
'I don't like boys.'
Laura looked past me. She reached her hand over to my pile of tens. Took one. Stuffed it in her cleavage, looking over my shoulder.
'Take two,' Belle told her, razor tips on her breathy voice.
Laura shrugged, pretending she was thinking about it. She pulled another bill off the bar and walked away.
I felt Belle's face close to mine in the darkness. Smelled her little-girl sweat.
'Where's your car?' she whispered in my ear.
I told her.
'Finish your tonic. I'll meet you outside in ten minutes.'
I felt her move away.
28
I was still on my first smoke when I saw the floating white shape moving through the parking lot toward the car. Belle. In a white shift a little smaller than a pup tent.
She opened the door and slid into the front seat. 'Got a cigarette, big boy?' she asked, her voice a parody.
I gave her one. Snapped off a wooden match, watching her face in the glare. It was scrubbed clean again. She inhaled the way you take a hit off an oxygen tank. Her breasts moved under the shift. Her thighs gleamed in the night. The blue mark was a tattoo. A tiny snake, coiled in an S shape.
She saw me looking. 'You like my legs?'
'They look like, if you squeezed them, you'd get juice.'
'Want to try?'
I put my hand on her thigh, fitting the snake tattoo in the web between my thumb and finger.
'Not that one,' she said.
I moved my hand. Squeezed. Felt the baby skin on top, the long, hard muscles beneath. I watched her face.
'No juice.'
'Not there,' she said, shifting her hips on the car seat. I took my hand away. Lit another smoke. 'How long were you watching?' I asked her.
'How'd you know?'
'You knew where to find me in the dark.'
'Maybe I worked my way through the joint.'
'You knew I wasn't drinking the gin.'
Belle took another deep drag. 'Maybe you are a detective,' she said, a little smile playing around her lips. 'There's a strip of one-way glass that runs all around the place. So we can see who comes in.'
I didn't say anything, watching the snake tattoo. 'You know why it's set up like that?' 'That joint can't be making money. The strip acts cost a lot to package. The projection TV, the music system, all that. You're running a low cover charge. You don't sell sex. Even with the guidos paying grope-money and the watered drinks, the boss couldn't break even.'
'And . . .'
'And the building's a hell of a lot bigger than the bar.' Belle took a last drag. Threw her cigarette out the open window. 'What's that tell you?'
'Who knows? You got space enough back there for trucks to pull in?'
'Sure.'
'The airport's real close . . .'
My pack of smokes was sitting on top of the dashboard. Belle helped herself to one. I lit it for her.
'Marques said you were a hijacker.'
'Marques is a pimp.'
'I know. Not my pimp. I work for me. That's why that bitch made that crack about me not liking men. I don't sell sex.'
'If you did, you'd be rich.'
That bought me another smile. Then, 'You came out here to tell me you're going to meet with him?'
'Tuesday night.'
'Why Tuesday?'
'That's your night off; right?'
'So?'
'So you're coming along.'
'Says who?'
'That's the deal, Belle. Tuesday night. Pier 47. Marques knows where it is. Eleven o'clock. Tell him to bring two grand. Tell him that's mine. For the talk.'
'That's a lot of money for talk.'
'You get paid for your work - I get paid for mine.'
Belle took another drag. 'What time will you pick me up?'
'I won't. Tell Marques it's gunfighters' rules - we each bring one person with us. He gets to bring you.'
'I don't use guns.'
'Neither does the guy I'm bringing with me. Tell Marques what I said. He'll get it.'
'I don't want Marques knowing where I live.'
'Tell him to meet you someplace.'
'And after . . .'
'I'll take you home,' I told her.
