Blue Belle

It hit me as soon as I stepped out of the back staircase into the hallway. The electricity started at the base of my spine. It shot upward in little jolts, forming a T-bar at my neck, firing out to my shoulders. My hands trembled. I knew what it was - an old friend. Fear.

I opened the door. The office was pitch-dark. Pansy was standing at her post, wire-tight, eyes glowing. The hair on the back of her neck was standing straight up. I closed the door behind me, hit the light switch.

Belle was on the couch - on her knees, a butcher knife in her hand.

'What happened?' I asked her.

'Somebody rang the bell downstairs. It buzzed up here. Maybe twenty minutes ago. I didn't answer it. I killed all the lights, turned off the radio. Then those strobes, the ones above the door, they started flashing.'

'Somebody coming up the stairs.'

'That's what it was. Pansy, she ran right over to where she is, making these ugly low sounds. Like a gator eating a pig. I got scared.'

'Anybody try and get in?'

'No. They just pounded on the door. Real loud. I thought the dog would bark, but she just stayed where she was. Like she was waiting.'

'She was.'

'They rattled the doorknob - you know, just shaking it, like they were mad. There were at least two of them; I could hear the talking.'

'You hear what they said?'

'No. I was scared to move from here - I didn't want to get in the dog's way - she looked crazy. But one had like this Mexican accent.'

'How long'd they stay?'

'Just a minute, maybe - but it seemed longer. The strobes went off again. It's been quiet since then.'

'And you're still on the couch?' I asked, as I walked over to her, put my hands on her shoulders.

She looked up at me. 'Burke, I don't know much, but I know about men. You learn to tell. From little things. The guy talking - the Mexican - he was one of those nasty men you see in the club sometimes. The way they look at you - like screams would make them smile.'

'I know. You did the right thing.' I gave her a smile, my thumb under her chin. 'What were you going to do with that knife?'

'I didn't know what to do . . . but I could see the dog knew. Where she was standing, they'd walk in right past her. I figured they cbme toward me, and Pansy'd just blind-side them.'

'That's what she'd do all right. But she'd do the same thing if you hid in the back room.'

'I was going to give her a hand,' Belle said, her hands still shaking hut no tremble in her voice.

I cupped a breast. It overflowed my hand. 'There's a big heart under this big thing,' I said.

'It's yours.'

'Which?' I asked, squeezing her breast.

'Both. But only one's for playing with,' the big girl said, eyes locked on mine.

I kissed the bridge of her nose, between her eyes. She put her face against my chest. I held her for a minute, making up my mind.

I let go of Belle, threw the signal to Pansy to pull her away from her post. Opened the back door to let her out to the roof.

'Get ready to go,' I told Belle, opening drawers, filling my pockets.

86

In the garage, she watched quietly as I lifted the rubber floor mat, spun the wing nuts, and put the pistol inside the hollowed-out space near the transmission hump.

'You remember how to get to your place from here?'

'Sure. I couldn't tell you how to do it, but I can take the car there.'

I checked the back of the garage. The street was quiet. Belle backed the Plymouth out. I hit the switch and the door closed behind us.

The Plymouth tracked through the empty streets. Belle handled it like it was a baby carriage. I lit a cigarette, putting it together. Any fool could get into my building from the front - just press the hippies' bell in the middle of the night and they'd buzz you in. It wasn't a customer - they'd come in even when my bell hadn't been answered. Spanish accent. Pounding on the door, but they hadn't tried to break in. Lupe would have told them about my dog.

'Anybody with us?' I asked Belle, not looking around. 'No,' she said, her eyes flicking to the mirrors. 'Not since we pulled out.'

87

As soon as we walked in the door, I grabbed the phone.

Mama answered like it was noon.

'They called, right?'

'Yes. Man say playground, behind the Chelsea Projects. Midnight tomorrow.

'Spanish accent?'

'Yes. Nasty man. Whisper on phone, like those men who call women, you know?'

'Yeah, I know. You say anything to him?'

'Nothing to say. You want Max now?'

'No! Mama, this is a bad play. You keep him close, like we said.'

''If . . .'

'Mama, listen. Listen to me. If Max comes in now, it could be trouble for the baby, okay?'

She said something in Chinese. I didn't need a translator. 'Later, Mama,' I told her, hanging up.

Belle came over to the phone as I was lighting a smoke. 'Me too,' she said, holding my hand, guiding the match. She was wearing a white T-shirt that came halfway down to her thighs, the blue necklace around her neck.

'I'll be right back,' I told her, reaching for my car keys.

'Let me . . .'

'Stay here,' I told her.

She dropped to her knees, holding her hands out in front of her, bent at the wrists like dog's paws.

'Don't be so fucking smart,' I said. 'I'll be back in a couple of minutes - I need a pay phone.'

88

I threw in a quarter, listened to the woman say something in Spanish.

'Dr. Pablo Cintrone,' I said. Waited patiently for a long rap about how the doctor wasn't in at that hour of the night, but if it was an emergency . . .'

'Attention!' I barked into the receiver. 'Dr. Cintrone. Burke. Telefono cuatro. Ten o'clock tomorrow morning, por favor. Okay?'

The voice never changed tone. 'Burke. Telefono cuatro. Ten o'clock tomorrow morning.'

'Gracias.'

She hung up.

When a citizen's scared, he calls the cops. Where I live, you call a terrorist.