Blue Belle

'Under the overpass,' I said, pointing.

'Sit on the hood. Smoke one of your cigarettes. See you in ten minutes.'

He walked off with the woman.

98

Threee smokes later, a black Lincoln sedan pulled up. Dark windows, M.D. plates. The front door popped open and I stepped inside. The woman was driving. I glanced in the back seat. Pablo. And El Canonero.

'Vete,' Pablo said. The Lincoln moved off.

Pablo's voice came from the back seat. 'Turn around, compadre. My hermano needs to memorize your face.'

I turned full-face to the back. El Canonero was a short, stocky Hispanic, not as dark as Pablo. He had straight, coal-black hair. Pablo once told me Puerto Ricans were a mixture of all the world's races. Looking at the two men in the back seat, I could see the African in Pablo, the Incan in El Canonero. The shooter's face was featureless except for heavy cheekbones. But I'd seen his eyes before. On a tall, lanky man from West Virginia. Sniper's eyes - measuring distances.

The Lincoln worked its way downtown. We pulled to a stop across from the playground.

Kids were running everywhere. Little kids screaming, chasing each other, bigger kids in a stickball game. Teenagers against the lence, smoking dope, listening to a giant portable stereo. Pablo jerked his thumb. We got out, leaned against the car.

The gate to the park would be closed at midnight. Wire mesh - it wouldn't keep anybody out.

El Canonero's eyes swept the scene. He said something in Spanish to Pablo, who just nodded.

I saw the man against the wire mesh. A medium-sized white man with a baseball cap on his head. Watching the kids play. He was wearing a yellow sweater, the sleeves pushed up almost to his elbows. I focused in on him, lighting a smoke. He had a heavy rubber band around one wrist. He pulled at it again and again with his other hand, snapping it against the inside of his wrist. I nudged Pablo, pointing at the man with a tilt of my head.

'Aversive therapy,' I sneered.

His face went hard. 'They should've tied the rubber band around his throat.'

El Canonero grunted a question. Pablo explained it to him. I couldn't follow the words, but I knew what he was saying. They have programs where they try 'conditioning' on child molesters. The idea is to show them a lot of pictures of kids - then blast them with an electric jolt when the freaks get aroused. Nobody believes it works. When they discharge one of the freaks, they tell him to wear a rubber band around his wrist. When he feels himself getting excited over a kid, he's supposed to snap the band - reactivate his conditioning.

The shooter's eyes bored in on the man in the yellow sweater. 'Maricon!' he snarled. Pablo launched into another speech. A child molester isn't a homosexual; most gays hate them too. El Canonero listened, flat-faced. I heard my name. The shooter nodded. Then he held out his hand. I shook it. Pablo must have told him what I did.

Pablo leaned over to me. 'We're going around the back, take a look. You stay here with Elena.'

'I want to talk to the freak. Just take a minute.'

'Si.' He gestured for the woman to move close. 'Elena, that man over there, he is a molester of children. He is the wolf, stalking the baby chickens. My compadre wants to approach him, get a good look at his face, so el gusano will know he is known to us. Perhaps threaten him with violence, okay?'

She nodded. Pablo and El Canonero moved off.

'Do you speak any English?' I asked the woman.

'I teach English,' she said, nothing on her face.

'I didn't mean to offend you.'

'You could not offend me. Just say what you want me to do.'

I told her. I held out my hand. She took it, moving smoothly against me as we crossed the street.

Elena left me and moved off behind the freak; He stayed glued to the fence. I wrapped my hand around the roll of quarters in my pocket, moving my shoulder against the freak, slipping my left hand behind his back.

'Kids are cute, huh?'

He jumped like he'd been stabbed. 'What?'

I snatched a handful of his sweater, locking his belt from behind, shoving my face into his, my voice cell-block hard. 'When did they let you out, freak?'

'Hey! I didn't . . .'

I pushed him against the fence, my face jammed into his. 'Don't come back to this playground, scumbag. We've been watching you. We know you. We know what you do. You do it again, you're dog meat. Got it?'

The freak twisted his head away from me. I looked where he was looking. At Elena. Standing three feet from us in her blue jogging suit, hands buried in the pockets of the sweatshirt. She took out her left hand, pulled up the waistband. A little black pistol was in her other hand. The freak whipped his head back to me. I pulled him away from the fence, bringing my right hand around in a short hook to his gut. He made a gagging sound, dropped to the ground. I went down on one knee next to him. His face was against the pavement, vomiting.

'We know your face, freak,' I said quietly. 'Next time we see you, you're done.'

I stomped my heel hard into the side of his face; it made a squishy sound. Nobody gave us a look. When we climbed back inside the Lincoln, Pablo and El Canonero were already in the back seat. Elena took the wheel and we moved off.

The rifleman tapped my shoulder. I turned around. He nodded his head once, a sharp, precise movement.

The Lincoln dropped me off at my car. Pablo got out with me. He handed me a strip of cloth, Day-Glo orange.

'Tie this around your head when you walk into the playground tonight. Bring a couple of bottles of beer. Pull your car into the playground, put the bottles on the hood. You raise your hand, one of the beer bottles blows up. This Mortay, he'll know you're covered.'

'Thanks, Pablito. I owe you.'

'El Canonero said to tell you he'll be on the roof by eleven.

'Okay.'

'He said to ask you something . . . If it gets bad . . . if this guy won't be warned off . . . if he comes for you . . . you want El Canonero to drop him or just fade?'

'Drop him.'

'Bueno.'

99

I headed back downtown, stopped at Mama's. She took a long time to come to my booth. When she did, Immaculata was with her. They slid across from me. Mac didn't waste any time.

'Burke, is there trouble for Max?'

'I don't know. I'll know soon,' I told her, stabbing Mama with my eyes. She stared right back. I shouldn't have mentioned the baby.

'You'll tell me as soon as you know?'

'Will you give me a fucking chance to head it off first?'

She reached across the table, took my hand. 'I will. And I'll keep Max close for a few more days. Don't blame Mama. She told him you were working on something and he keeps pushing her. He thinks it's you who's in trouble. She needed my help.'

'No hard feelings,' I told her, remembering Michelle's words. 'Where's Max now?'

'He's home with Flower.' She got up to leave. Kissed me. 'Be careful,' is all she said.

Mama gave me about thirty pounds of Chinese food to take with me. I bowed to her as I left. Her eyes asked