gunman.'
'They only held you a week?'
She caught something in my tone. 'I stood up, Burke. The P.D. got bail for me and I caught a bus north. I know how to do It - if I go to jail, I go by myself.'
'You never did time - where'd you learn the rules?'
Belle smiled in the dark. Slapped the side of one thigh. 'Maybe I'm too heavy to roll over.'
I looped the Plymouth onto the Belt Parkway, heading east to Queens. A red panel truck ahead of me changed lanes suddenly, cutting me off. I tapped the brakes, flicked the wheel to the right, touched the gas. The Plymouth flowed around the panel truck like a shark passing a rowboat. Belle wiggled her hips deep into the seat, testing her balance.
'This car's a lot more than it looks.'
'So are you.'
Her smile flashed again. A prim smile, showing just the tips of her teeth.
I wheeled the Plymouth off the Belt, picking my way through Ozone Park. No reason for Marques to have the car followed, but Belle said she played by our rules - she wouldn't want the pimp knowing where she lived. We stopped at a light. An abandoned factory stood to the side, waiting for a developer to finish the job a fire started years ago. It was wallpapered with graffiti except for a broad rectangle in the center that somebody had carefully whitewashed. On that white canvas was a message, lovingly slash-scripted by a gifted graffiti-writer. Day-Glo orange letters, shadowed in black so they screamed off the wall.
Belle read the message, fascinated, going over every word, biting her lower lip. 'What does it mean. 'Diss'?'
'It's short for 'disrespect.' This is a border town. Black and white.'
She didn't say another word until we turned onto the Boulevard. I followed her directions into Broad Channel. Mostly little bungalows, set close together, right on the water. Years ago they were summer shacks, but most of them had been fixed up now, and people lived there year-round.
The cottage was at the end of a short block. White with blue trim around the one window, the dark roof almost flat across the top. Her red Camaro was parked in front.
'This is me,' she said.
34
I slid the Plymouth to the curb, killed the engine. The block was quiet, every house dark.
'Come in with me?' Belle asked.
The cottage was set close to the sidewalk, the path to her front door only a few feet long. She turned her key in the door, pushed it open, stepped aside. The inside of the house was in shadow; a soft light coming from the back. Belle motioned me to go ahead of her.
'You first,' I said.
A little smile. 'You being polite? Or scared?'
'Scared.'
She walked in ahead of me. I watched from the doorway, gently pushing the door back and forth with my left hand, feeling for resistance. Belle bent from the waist in the shadows. I heard a click. A lamp came to life. She rnoved a few feet. Another.
'Close the door behind you,' she said.
The cottage was one big room. A long modular couch took up one wall, side tables with lamps on either end. The kitchen was strung out along the opposite wall, Hollywood-style, everything half-size. The side walls were blank, no windows.
'You want coffee?'
'No, thanks.'
I lit a cigarette, walking toward the couch. The back of the house was still dark. I could see a triple-width window next to a door on the far left, a bed on the right.
Belle pulled the top of the sweatsuit over her head, tossing it into a white plastic basket next to the refrigerator. Her black bra was some kind of jersey material, the straps crossing behind her back so her shoulders were bare. She stepped out of the sweatpants. Underneath she had what looked like a pair of men's white boxer shorts.
She took her coffee cup in one hand, a pack of cigarettes in the other. Walked to the back door.
I opened it for her, followed her outside. A wood deck stretched out in the black water, a waist-high railing on both sides. The other cottages had decks too. I saw a small sailboat tied to one, a rowboat with an outboard to another. Belle walked out to the end, carefully balancing her coffee cup.
'Hold this,' she said, handing the coffee and cigarettes to me. She turned her back to the water, one palm out to each side, and vaulted herself onto the railing. I put the coffee cup on one side of her perch, handed her back the smokes. She kicked one out, leaned forward, one hand on my shoulder for balance. I lit it for her.
I could feel the night air's chill through my jacket. Belle didn't seem to notice. I leaned my elbows on the railing next to her, watching the harbor lights a half-mile away. I felt her hand on my shoulder again.
'Did you really do all that stuff?' A soft voice, loaded with her breath. A girl's voice. The twisted snake tattoo stood out sharply on her thigh, inches from my face.
'What stuff?'
'What that guy said tonight.'
'No.'
She giggled the way kids do when they know you're playing with them.
'Yes, you did,' she said.
I shrugged.
'I have something you might be interested in,' she said, her voice quiet.
'You got something anybody'd be interested in.'
She giggled. 'I didn't mean that. Business. Can I tell you about it?'
'Not here.'
'Why?'
'Sound carries over water.'
She put an arm around my neck, pulling her face close to mine. Whispering. 'You think I don't know that? I was raised on the water. Inside.'
'Okay.'
I turned toward the house, slipping an arm around her waist. She slid off the railing against me, her legs pointing straight out. I threw up my other arm instinctively, grabbing her thighs. Belle nestled into my arms. 'Carry me,' she said, soft-voiced.
'I'll get a double hernia,' I growled at her, leaning against the railing for support.
'Please.'
I would have shrugged again, but I needed all my strength.
She ducked her head into my chest as we went through the door, pushing it closed with her toe. I tried to put her down on the couch gently, but I dropped her the last couple of feet.
I flopped down next to her. 'I love to be carried,' she said, leaning over and kissing my cheek.
'Don't get used to it.'
Belle bounced off the couch. She came back in a minute. Put her coffee cup in the sink, lit two cigarettes off the gas burner, walked over, and handed one to me.
'You first,' she said.
I dragged deep on the cigarette, wondering how she knew.
'That music . . .'
