I was stopped at a light at 43rd and Ninth when Belle's baby voice poked through the mist in my brain.
'Honey . . .'
'What?'
'We've been driving around for two hours. Around and around. You haven't said a word to me - you mad at me for something?'
I took a breath, glanced at my watch; it was past eleven. I was just going to make one quick sweep of the city, see if I could spot the Prof. I replayed the path in my head: both sides of the river, Christopher Street to Sheridan Square, across Sixth Avenue to 8th Street, back downtown to Houston, across to First, through the Lower East Side to Tompkins Square Park, outside the pool-room on 14th up to Union Square, across to Eighth Avenue and up into Times Square, working river to river into midtown. And back again. Driving through the marketplace, somebody selling something every time the Plymouth rolled to a stop. Crack, smoke, gravity knives, cheap handguns, watches with Rolex faces and Taiwan guts, little boys, girls, women, men dressed like women. Cheap promises - high prices. Murphy Men selling the New York version of safe sex -the hotel- room key they sold you wouldn't open the door, and they wouldn't be standing on the same corner when you went back to ask for better directions. Islands of light where flesh waited to take your money - pools of darkness where wolf packs waited to take your life. And vultures to pick your bones.
Something else out there too. Something that would make the wolves step aside when it walked.
I looked over at Belle. She was facing out the windshield as though she didn't want to see my face, twisting her hands together in her lap. It hurt my heart to watch her - it wasn't her fault. 'You're a good, sweet girl,' I told her. 'It has nothing to do with you; I'm looking for my friend.'
'The little black guy?'
'Yeah.'
'I've been looking too,' she said, her voice serious. 'You think we should get out? Ask around?'
I patted her thigh. She was down for whatever it took - knew I had to do this. I couldn't explain how it worked to her. Asking around for the Prof could get him in deeper than he already was.
I drove back to the river, turned downtown until I saw a pay phone. Mama still had nothing for me. If the Prof had been swept up by the cops, he'd get a call out sooner or later. Nothing to do but wait.
I sat on the hood of the Plymouth, feeling the warmth of the engine through my clothes, watching the Jersey lights across the river. I felt compressed. Things were moving too fast - not like they were supposed to. Belle was inside my life without the preliminaries. We'd made some deals without talking them over - she'd been in my office, Michelle was showing her baby pictures and giving her makeup advice. I was going to help her hijack some hijackers. All too fast.
The Prof was lost somewhere in the freak pipeline under the city, and I couldn't go after him without spooking the shadows.
I got back into the car, started the engine.
'I'll take you home,' I said.
'Will you stay with me?'
'I have to leave a phone number. Where I can be reached tonight.'
'Why don't we go to your house?'
'There's no phone there,' I told her. She hadn't put it together that I live in my office.
She lit a smoke, watching me, her voice soft. Not pushing. 'What if I don't want my number given out?'
'It's okay. I'll drop you off. See you soon, all right?'
'No!' It sounded like she'd start crying in a minute. 'You can leave my phone number. I know it's important, Burke. I'm sorry, okay?'
'Yeah.'
'Can't we go to your house first?'
I looked a question at her.
'So you can pack a suitcase.'
I tried to smile at her, not knowing if I pulled it off. 'I can't stay with you, Belle. Not while this is going down.'
'But when it's over . . .'
'Let's see what happens.'
She moved close to me, gave me a quick kiss. 'Whatever happens,' she said.
I pointed the Plymouth out of the city.
47
It was past two when I called Mama from Belle's phone. I gave her the number where I'd be, told her I'd call when I went on the move again. She didn't tie up the phone lines telling me not to worry.
'Where's the nearest pay phone?' I asked Belle.
'About four blocks down. Outside the grocery store on the right.'
'I'll be back in a few minutes,' I told her.
'Honey, why don't you use this phone? If it's none of my business, I can step outside on the deck until you're finished.'
'It's you I'll be calling. Make sure your phone works, okay?'
She watched my face. 'Whatever you say.'
I found the pay phone, called Belle's number, listened to her answer, hung up.
The walk back didn't help - I could work it out in my head easy enough, but the answers were no good. The Prof was dead reliable. If he hadn't called in, he was in trouble, or he was dead. Either way, I had a debt.
Belle let me back in. I checked the phone; the cord was long enough to reach anyplace in the little cottage, even out onto the deck. I asked Belle for a fingernail file. Then I flipped the phone over, opened it up, checked the contact points, making sure the bell would work. I closed it back up, turned the dial on the underside to the loudest setting. I put the phone back on the end table near the couch, watched it.
Belle's voice came through the fog. 'You can do everything to phones but make them ring, huh?'
The room came back into focus. Her face was scrubbed clean, but the glow was gone. 'What is it, Belle? You look like you're afraid of me.
'I'm afraid of you shutting me out.'
'This isn't yours,' I told her, my voice flat.
Belle's hands went to her hips. Her little chin tilted up, eyes glistening. 'What kind of a woman do you think I am?' she demanded.
I shrugged, knowing it was cruel, locked into my own course.
She moved closer, taking up all the space between us. 'I said I was going to love you, Burke. You think I'd make you tell the truth and not do it myself?'
'No.'
'You think I told you the truth?'
'Yes.'
'You know what I want?'
'Sure.'
She bent down to where I was sitting, pulled the cigarette out of my mouth, pressed her nose against mine.
'Tell me what I want.'
I didn't move, didn't change expression. 'The back of the joint where you work - it's like a suitcase with a false bottom. Plenty of room back there. Armored car gets hit at the airport - the hijackers take off running. But they don't go far, right? They pull in the back of the joint, stash the getaway car, and walk into the club. When the cops come looking, they've been there for hours. An alibi and a hideout all in one. Easy to come back in a few weeks. Move the cash out.' I took the cigarette out of her hand, leaned back, took a deep drag. 'How do they get rid
