'Okay.'
'Don't give me that 'okay' bullshit. You don't get it, we'll sit right here until you do.'
'I get it.'
'Then explain it to me.'
She started to cry, her face in her hands. 'I
'Come over here,' I told her. 'Come on.'
She unbuckled her seat belt, slid over against me, still crying. 'I'm sorry . . .'
'Shut up. Just be quiet and listen, okay?'
'Okay,' she gulped.
'Telling you about dogs and puppies wasn't the way to do it. You think blood will out, don't you?'
She nodded. 'Yes.' Still crying.
'You know about Dobermans . . . how they're supposed to turn on their owners?'
'Yes, I heard that.'
'It's a lie, Belle. People get Dobermans, they're afraid of them. They've all heard the stories. So they beat the hell out of them when they're still puppies. Show them who's boss, right? One day, the dog gets his full growth, the owner goes to hit him, the dog says, 'Uh uh. Not today, pal,' and he rips the guy up. So this fool, this creep who's been beating up on his own dog, mistreating him all this time, he says, 'Well, the son of a bitch turned on me.''
Belle giggled. 'He sowed his own crop.'
'Sure did. There's nothing genetic about Dobermans' turning on their masters. What's genetic about them is that they don't take a whole lot of shit once they get their growth. That's the truth.'
'I thought . . .'
'We're people, Belle. Not alligators. I know people so cold, so evil, you meet them, you'd swear they came out of their mothers' wombs like that. But that's not the way it is. All the human monsters have to be made - they can't be born that way. You can't be born bad, no matter what the fucking government thinks.'
'But if he . . .'
I cut her off sharp - I knew who 'he' was. 'It was his choice, Belle. No matter how he was raised, no matter what was done to him. There's no law says he has to repeat the pattern. He's not off the hook. I came up with guys raised by monsters. Did time with them when I was a kid. They still had choices.'
I lit a cigarette. 'Hard choices. The only kind people like us get. But choices still . . . You understand?'
'I do. I swear I do this time.' She nestled against me. 'I knew you were going to rescue me.'
She kissed me full on the mouth, stabbing me with her tongue. I pulled back from her, watching the lights dance in her dark eyes. 'The man we're going to see, millions of his people died because some slimy little psychopath decided their blood was bad. The psychopath, he's in the ground. The maggots are eating his body, and if there's a god, his soul is burning. And there's a country called Israel where there used to be only desert.'
I squeezed her gently. 'Okay?'
She let the whole smile go this time. 'Okay.'
102
I showed Belle where to pull in. 'Flash the high beams three times, then shut the lights off.'
'Something's coming,' she said, peering into the darkness.
'Dogs,' I told her. 'Just be quiet.'
They came in a pack. Simba didn't wait to make his entrance like he usually does. There was a tawny flash and a light thump as he landed on the hood of the Plymouth, baring his fangs as he looked through the windshield. Belle looked back at him. 'Is that a wolf?'
'City wolf,' I told her. 'And that's his pack' - pointing to the river of beasts flowing around the car.
'What d'we do?'
'Wait.'
The kid came through the crowd, bumping dogs out of his way like the Mole does. He called to Simba. The dog jumped off the hood, followed the kid around to the driver's side. 'Switch places with me,' I told Belle. I hit the switch. The window came down. Simba's lupine face popped into the opening.
'Simba-witz!' I greeted him.
Simba sniffed, poking his nose past me to look at Belle. A low growl came out of his throat. The pack went quiet. 'It's okay, Terry,' I told the boy. 'This is Belle - she's with me.'
The kid was wearing a dirty jumpsuit, a tool belt around his waist. A regular mini-Mole. Michelle would be thrilled.
'I'll open the gate,' he said.
I drove the Plymouth a few feet into the yard, watching the gates close behind us. 'I'm going to get out now,' I told Belle. 'I'll come around and let you out. The dogs will be with us, but they're okay. Don't be scared.'
'Too late for that,' she muttered.
When I let her out, she stepped to the ground. The dogs moved in close. 'Should I pat them?' she asked.
Terry laughed. 'Follow me,' he said.
I took Belle's hand as we moved through the junkyard. Simba flashed ahead of us in a Z pattern, working the ground. The dogs came close, barking at each other, not paying much attention to us.
The Mole was sitting on a cut-down oil drum a few feet from his underground bunker. He got up when he saw us coming, pulling a slab of something white from his overalls. He threw it in a loping motion, like it was a grenade. The dogs chased off.
Before I could open my mouth, Terry took over. 'Mole, this is Belle. Belle is Burke's friend. She came with him. I'm Terry,' he said, holding out his hand. Belle shook it, gravely.
The Mole didn't offer to shake hands, pointing at more of the cut-down oil drums like they were deck chairs on his yacht.
'I should stay?' Terry asked.
The Mole looked at me. I nodded. The kid reached in his tool belt, pulled out a cigarette, lit it with a wooden match. He gets something from everyone in his family.
'Mole, I brought Belle here because she may need a place to run to. Soon. She's our people. She's mine, okay?'
'Okay.'
'I wanted you to get a look at her. She has to come back in a hurry, you'll know her.'
He nodded.
'Can Terry take her around - show her the other ways in?'
He nodded at the boy. Terry came over to Belle, holding out his hand. 'Come on,' he said. She went meekly as a child, towering over the kid.
I moved my oil-drum seat closer to the Mole. 'I'm working on something. The Ghost Van. The Prof was nosing around. Guy named Mortay caught him. Broke both his legs. Told him to stay away.'
The Mole nodded, waiting.
'I don't know if this Mortay is fronting off the van or he's got his own list. He told the Prof he wanted Max. In a duel. He's been moving on other
The Mole watched me as if I was one of his experiments. Waiting for something to happen.
'I'm meeting him. Tonight. Midnight. I've got backup. I'll call you when I get back. You don't hear from me, you call Davidson. The lawyer. You know him, right?'
'Yes.'
'If I don't call you, I'll probably be locked up. Tell Davidson I'm good for the cash. Tell him to call Mama if he needs bail money.'
'Okay.'
'Thanks, Mole.'
'There's more?' he asked. I couldn't see his eyes through the Coke-bottle lenses.
