'You want me to tell you another way?'
She spun on her knees again, bending her face down again. She looked back over her shoulder. 'No, send me another message. I like the way you did it.'
Her mouth locked onto me again. I went hard in her mouth. She rubbed her thighs together. My hand stroked her butt. Her thighs opened. I stroked my fingers against the back of her knees. A liquid drop fell into my hand. I felt the pinpricks of pressure in my balls, tightening into a thick mass. I hooked my hand around the front of her thigh, pulling her toward me. She wouldn't move, sucking harder now. Strega flashed into my mind - Strega and her witch games. I jerked her thigh hard, trying to pull her face off me. It was rigid as a cell bar.
'Belle,' I whispered. 'Come here.'
She didn't move. I cracked her hard against the same cheek I'd hit before. She made a humming noise but stayed where she was. I hit her twice more, feeling the sting in my palm, wondering what she felt.
Her mouth came off my cock. She crawled forward on the bed, throwing a leg over me. She pushed her butt between my legs until I was smoothly inside her, moved to her knees, straddling my body, her back to me.
'Come on!' she said, her voice hard, bucking until we both got there.
37
She slept then. On her stomach, one arm flung across my chest. I slipped under it, found the bathroom. It was small-scale, like the kitchen. Cheap black-and-white tile covered the floor and ran halfway up the wall from the tub. The hot water came up right away; the pressure was good that time of night. I took a quick shower, used some of her Brand-X shampoo, toweled myself off. The little medicine cabinet was empty except for a toothbrush and a bottle of aspirin. A plastic hairbrush and a bottle of green mouthwash stood on the sink. I wondered where she kept all her makeup . . . maybe on the dressing table near her bed.
The bathroom was full of steam, the mirror cloudy. I wiped it off, looked at my face. Whatever she wanted, she hadn't seen it there.
My foot hit something under the sink. A black metal box with a latch on the front, carry-handle on top. I popped it open. Sterile bandages, individually wrapped. A roll of gauze. Elastic tape. Three scalpels with different- sized blades. A pair of surgical scissors. A bottle of iodine. Two more of sulfa powder. A pair of matching plastic vials, both full, unlabeled. I opened them. Penicillin. Percodan. There was no tag on the metal box, but I knew what it was. Bulletwound kit.
The refrigerator had a half-empty carton of milk, a lump of cream cheese, and a head of lettuce under a plastic wrap. I found some ice cubes, filled a glass, let it get cold while I got dressed.
I sipped the water in the easy chair near her bed, smoking, trying to think it through. A Ghost Van in my mind.
Belle rolled over on her side as her eyes came open. 'This time you guarded me,' she said.
'I've got to go,' I told her.
'Let me take a shower first.' She didn't wait for an answer, shoving past me to the bathroom. It was still dark outside - my watch said it was almost four-thirty.
She came out of the bathroom brushing her hair, her body gleaming wet.
'Why do you have to go?' she wanted to know, stepping close to where I was sitting.
'There's something I have to take care of.'
'What's her name?' she asked, a mock-growl in her voice.
'Pansy.'
She pulled back. 'You better be kidding.'
'Pansy's a dog. My dog.'
She giggled. 'You have a dog named Pansy? You tie ribbons in her hair and all that?'
'She's about your size.'
'I'd like to see that.'
'You will.'
'Can I come with you?'
'Not this time,' I said, getting to my feet.
She put her arms around my neck, pushing her nose so close to mine that my eyes went out of focus. 'You'll be back here tonight?'
'I thought you had to work.'
'I'll call in sick. Most of the girls do that after their night off - it's no big deal.'
'Okay,' I said, running my hands down her smooth back to the swelling of her rear.
'What are you thinking?'
'I was thinking if I pressed a quarter against your back and let it go it would fly off your ass like it was a ski slope.'
She slipped her hand between us, patting my crotch. 'You got a quarter in there someplace?'
'No,' I said, pushing gently against her. 'I have to go - no joke.'
She put her hand in mine, walking me toward her door. 'Burke, you know when you didn't want to taste me? You said that wasn't you, right?'
I made a yes noise, walking with her.
'That's okay. You can be you. It's okay that I keep dancing?'
'If that's what you want to do.'
'I'm telling the truth now, Burke. I'm going to love you. And you're going to love me too, when you see how I am. But I have to be me while I do it, understand?'
'I'm not arguing with you, Belle.'
She put her mouth on my ear, whispering in that little-girl breathy voice, holding my hand tight. 'I'm me. You don't change for me - I don't change for you. But I wouldn't let you dance.'
'That means what?'
Her voice was pure and sad in my ear. 'If Pansy's a dog, like you said, I'm going to pat her. If she's a woman, I'll kill her.'
She kissed me on the cheek, pushed me away, stood to the side while I stepped out the door.
I looked back at the cottage as I climbed into my car. It was dark.
38
The Plymouth tracked its way back to the office, its monster motor barely turning over. The all-news station was talking about Kuwaiti ships flying the American flag in the Persian Gulf, minesweepers guarding the point. I flipped to the oldies station. Screamin' Jay Hawkins. 'I Put a Spell on You.' Growling his love-threats to his woman and to the world.
Belle would know he was telling the truth.
Most of the traffic was trucks, highballing it toward the city. A customized van passed on my right. Big glass doors cut into the side, a plastic bubble on its roof. As it went by, I saw a narrow metal ladder running from the bumper up to the roof. A mural was painted on the back - some religious scene.
I lit a smoke. The van I was looking for was a custom job too. I knew that meant something, but I couldn't lock in on it. It would come.
If Marques was right, the van had been working for a few weeks now. Time enough for the police to be on the job. I flicked my cigarette out the window, wondering if McGowan was working nights.
