'Can you pull the clips for me?'
'You looking?'
'Looking around, anyway.'
'You'll clue me in front?'
'If I can.'
'I'll pull the clips, leave them downstairs by six. Okay?'
'Yeah. Could you do a NEXIS spin too? See if there's any more van jobs around the country?'
'You think it's a group?'
'No, but check anyway.'
'You got it.'
One more call. Belle answered on the first ring, sounding like she ran a hundred yards to snatch it off the hook.
'Hello?'
'It's me. Want to get some dinner?'
'Oh, I'm starved. There's nothing in the house.'
'I know. Why didn't you go out?'
'I knew you were going to call.'
'I said . . . never mind. I'll pick you up in an hour, okay?'
'Hurry up,' she said.
I put the phone down, moving fast to beat the charge out of the city.
42
I pulled in behind the red Camaro a little after five. The door opened as my fist came down to knock. A hand came around my neck, pulling me inside. Belle mashed her face against mine, kissing me hard, firing her hip at the door to close it.
She pulled her face back a couple of inches, still holding on to me.
'That was a cold kiss. Didn't you miss me?'
'I was working, Belle.'
Her mouth went down at the corners. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I didn't mean to push you.'
I put my hand on the back of her neck, working the tight muscles, keeping my voice quiet.
'You're not pushing me. You don't know me, okay? I don't show a lot on the surface -it's not my way.'
'You did miss me?'
'I did miss you.'
She twirled away, flashing a smile. Her face was all made up, the blue eye shadow making her eyes look bigger, bright lipstick smeared on her teeth. She was wearing a fire-engine-red T-shirt big enough for a linebacker. It fell to mid-thigh, just covering the tattoo.
'I'm just about ready, baby. Give me a minute. I have to find my shoes.'
She scooped a pair of glasses from the dressing table. Big round lenses with a light-blue tint, sitting in a thin black plastic frame. 'Here they are,' she said happily, dragging a pair of red spike-heeled shoes from under the bed.
'Belle.'
She was bending forward, slipping on the shoes. Black panties that didn't have a prayer of covering her rump peeked out as the T-shirt rose. 'What, honey?'
'You're going out like that?'
Her face fell. 'You don't like it?'
Damn. 'It's not that,' I said quietly, walking over to her, taking her chin in my hand. With the spikes on, she was taller than me - l had to look up into her eyes.
'You go on the street like that, every man that's not brain-dead is going to remember you.'
'So?'
'So it's not my game to attract attention, girl. The places I have to go - I don't make reservations, understand?'
'You like me better when I'm all covered? When I look like a big fat cow?'
'I like you the same. It's you I like, yes?'
'Yes?'
'Yes!' I said, slapping her rear.
She grabbed my hand, pulled it around to her butt. Held it there. 'You like this big fat thing?'
I looked deep into her eyes, watching a tear run down her cheek. Keeping my voice quiet: 'Belle,' I told her, 'it works on me like a hormone shot.'
She never took her eyes off mine. 'Burke, I'd do anything for you.'
'Will you put on a pair of pants?'
'Sure, baby. I've got just the thing.'
She rummaged through a chest of drawers, throwing clothes on the bed. Finally, she pulled out a pair of white overalls, the kind with suspender straps. She kicked off the high heels and stepped into the overalls, pulling the straps over her breasts. She wouldn't disappear in a crowd, but at least she wasn't flashing a hundred yards of skin.
'You look beautiful,' I said.
She threw me a smile, lacing up a pair of dirty white sneakers. 'I'm ready,' she announced, bouncing off the bed to me. She wasn't the only thing bouncing.
'Belle . . .'
'What now?'
'Could you put on a bra too?'
She took off her glasses, unsnapped the suspenders, pulled the red T-shirt over her head. She found a white bra with heavy shoulder straps. Slipped into it, hooked it in front.
'I didn't know they made them that big,' I said, watching her.
'Boobs?'
'Bras.'
She slapped me on the arm, smiling, pushing me to the door with her hip.
43
I held the car door open for her. She slid across and flicked the inside handle to let me in. I wheeled the Plymouth in a tight U-turn and headed back to the city. When we hit the highway, I shoved a cassette into the dash. Belle sat with her back against the door, feet on the seat between us, hands clasped around her knees. Smoking and listening. Charley Musselwhite's harp barking its challenge on 'Stranger in a Strange Land.' Buddy Guy driving his mojo north to Chicago, Junior Wells riding shotgun. Lightning Hopkins being sly about grown-up schoolgirls and John Lee Hooker threatening anyone with an eye for his woman. Paul Butterfield riding the mystery train.
The tape looped over to the Brooklyn Blues. One group after another slipped through the speakers and surrounded us. The Jacks, the Chantels, the Passions. When I heard Rosie and the Originals, the clear, high voice of the girl singer hitting 'Angel Baby' like no one else ever could, I kicked out the cassette.
I felt Belle's eyes on my face. 'Remind you of something?'
'Yeah,' I said. Dancing with Flood in the warehouse garage, helping her pull it back together before her last fight. I should have erased the fucking thing.
We were heading toward the Midtown Tunnel. I pulled into the Exact Change lane, tossed a two-dollar token into the basket, and slid into the right lane. When we pulled up outside the magazine stand on Second Avenue, it was already past six.
'Go inside and tell the guard you're there to pick up a package from Mr. Morelli,' I said.
