Blue Belle

Belle was behind me, her hands on my shoulders. I told her the number Mama gave me for Marques.

'That the same one you have?'

She went into the back room, came out with her purse, fumbled around. Pulled out a little red leather book, thumbed through the pages. She looked up. 'No.'

I punched the number into the phone. A woman's voice came on the line.

'Mr. Dupree's office,' she said, a coked-up giggle in her voice.

'Get Marques,' I told her.

The pimp took the phone. 'Yes?' Like an executive.

'You called me a couple of hours ago?'

'Who's this?'

'You called at the Chinese Embassy, okay?'

'Oh, yeah. I get you. Look, man, I got some dynamite stuff. This guy who hangs with him, he . . .'

'Hold up,' I barked, listening hard. The phone didn't sound right. 'Where you calling from?'

'From my ride, man. You ever see one of them car phones?'

'Yeah. It's a radio phone. It's not just me you're talking to now, get it?'

'It's cool.'

'It's not cool. Give me a number to call you at.'

'No way, Jose'. I got business out here, won't be back to the crib for hours. Give me your number, I'll ring you in an hour.'

I pulled a looseleaf book from the desk drawer. 'East Side or West Side?'

'What?'

'Where you going to be in an hour? In your car. Where?'

'Oh. East Side, man.'

I ran my finger down the list of numbers. 'Make it nine o'clock, okay? Rush hour, nobody's paying attention. There's a pay phone in the gas station at Ninety-fourth and Second. Go there, fill up your ride, I'll ring you there.'

'You'll call me? On a pay phone?'

'Yeah, don't worry about it. We set?'

'They got super-premium gas in that station, man?' I hung up the phone.

112

Pansy put her two front paws on the desk, making her noises. I scratched behind her ears. 'Not now, girl.' She licked my face. I'd have to use disinfectant for an after-shave.

One more call. The Mole. I heard the phone picked up.

'It's me. I need another car. Can I make the switch in a couple of hours, leave mine there?'

'Okay.'

I pulled my first-aid kit out of the bottom drawer. 'Belle, come over here.'

She came over. Quiet and watchful. 'I have to meet some people. Can you take a cab over to the hospital? See the Prof? Just stay there until I call - three, four hours?'

'Why can't I go with you?'

'There's a thin line between a brat and a bitch,' I said, holding an aluminum splint against my forearm, measuring. 'A little girl can't be a bitch, an old woman can't be a brat.'

I pulled a three-inch-wide roll of elastic bandage from the kit, put it aside. Started cutting pieces off a roll of Velcro, working fast. 'Woman your age, she can be either one. Or both. Big as you are, you can still act like a little brat sometimes. You want something, you put your hands on your hips. Pout, stamp your feet. It's cute, okay? Makes me want to give that big rump of yours a slap.'

She smiled her smile.

'But when you try and go back on a deal, you're over the line. Makes me want to dump you someplace. Not come back.'

Her face went hard. 'You better . . .'

'Shut up, Belle. We made a deal, right? You're in this, but you . . . Do. What. I. Tell. You. That's what you said - that's what you do.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be sorry. I don't have time for sorry.'

'Honey . . .'

'Get me one of the grenades.'

'These?' she asked, holding one of the metal baseballs like it was an orange.

'Yeah.'

She handed it to me. I put it down on the desk, rolled up my sleeve, fitted the aluminum splint into place. 'Hold this,' I told her, wrapping the tape around until I had a thick pad. I put the grenade in my hand, wrapped my fist around the blue lever. Pulled the pin.

'Burke.'

'Yeah. That's right. I let go of this thing, everything blows up.'

I wound the Velcro strips around my fist, leaving a loose tab at the end. It looked like I broke my hand punching a wall and drew a ham-fisted intern when they brought me to the emergency ward. I swung my hand back and forth, testing the tape. I relaxed my fist. The lever stayed tight.

I got to my feet. 'Help me on with my jacket,' I said to Belle. She took the surgical scissors, slit the left sleeve neatly. I slipped my arm through.

'Honey, why . . . ?'

'It's safe. Unless I pull this tab,' I said, showing her how the Velcro worked to seal the lever. I put the pin in my pocket, handed her a spare. 'Tape this to the inside of your wrist - we might need it in a hurry.'

'I don't . . .'

I put my arm around her waist, pulling her close to me. 'You go to the hospital, like I said. I'm out in the street, I could run into this freak. I'm trying to put it together. Like I promised you last night. But if he comes for me before I'm ready . . .'

'It's crazy! If that thing comes loose . . .'

'Everything's already come loose,' I said, holding her. Making her see it in my face.

113

In the garage, I said goodbye. 'I'm going out first. You wait a few minutes, then you slip out. Take a cab to the hospital. Wait for my call there. You won't see this car again until it's over.'

She kissed me hard. 'You be careful.'

'That's what I do best.'

She kissed me again, her hand rubbing my crotch. 'Second-best,' she whispered.

I backed out into the street, watching the garage door close through the windshield. I couldn't see Belle in the shadows.

114

I parked the Plymouth near the Vista Hotel and walked to where I said I'd meet McGowan. The grenade felt heavy swinging at the end of my arm - I'd have to rig up some kind of sling when I got the chance.

I found the bench, sat down. I one-handed a wooden match out of the little box, braced it between my taped-up hand and my knee, fired it up.

McGowan's car swung in. He popped out the passenger side, walking toward me fast. I heard tires on the