near killed myself to get this light, I'm not gonna be backsliding.'
I lit a smoke, went back into the office room. Pansy didn't want to go out.
Belle came back inside, toweling herself off. 'Pansy was watching me work out for a while - I guess she got bored.'
'She heard the door.'
'Oh.' She slapped the outside of a thigh. 'Only way I can get these any smaller is plastic surgery.'
'They're peffect just the way they are.
She moved next to me. 'I'm glad you said that.'
'Because you weren't getting plastic surgery no matter what, right?'
'No, because I would if you wanted.'
I gave her a kiss. 'Help me off with this,' I said, taking the pin from my jacket pocket. Belle slowly peeled back the bandage, working her way to the Velcro tab. 'When I pull the tab, you wrap your hand around mine while I slip in the pin; my hand may be cramped.'
Her forehead furrowed in concentration - her hands were steady. I popped the tab, squeezing the lever as hard as I could. My hand felt dead. Belle wrapped both of her hands around mine. Her knuckles were white. I slipped in the pin. 'Let go,' I said.
Her face was sweaty. 'I can't.'
'Come on, Belle. It's okay. Come on.
I watched her hands unlock slowly. Suddenly she pulled them away, closing her eyes. I grabbed the grenade in my right hand, slipped it into the desk drawer. My left hand was a claw.
'Go in the bathroom. Get me the little jar of Tiger Balm, okay?'
She opened her eyes. Went off without a word. Came back with the jar of red ointment. 'Rub it into my hand. All over, hard as you can.'
She worked my hand like she was rubbing oil into leather. I couldn't feel a thing. 'Does it burn?' she asked.
'It'll get warm, that's all. Once you're done, I need to wrap it.'
I sat on the couch. Belle came back with a towel. Sat down next to me on my left side, squirmed against me so my right arm was around her. She twisted sideways, took my left hand, and put it between her breasts. She pressed them together. 'Pull the blanket over me,' she said. I did it. In a few minutes, I could feel the heat. I wiggled my fingers, working the cramps out. 'That stuff won't burn you,' I promised. 'Don't care if it does,' she said, making sweet little sounds in her throat.
'How many beers did you give Pansy?'
'Just three.'
'Damn! That's the most she's ever had. No wonder she looks glazed.'
'I wanted her to like me.'
'You can't buy stuff like that.'
'I wasn't
'Okay.'
'You sleepy?'
'A little bit.'
'Go to sleep, baby,' she said.
I closed my eyes, my hand between her breasts, warm.
131
Pansy's growl woke me up, her snout inches from my face. It wasn't an emergency; she just wanted to use her roof.
'All that beer, huh?' I asked her, disentangling myself from Belle.
When I came back inside, Belle was on the couch, the blanket pulled up to her chin.
'Where're we going to sleep?'
'You sleep right there. Go ahead, I got work to do.'
'You going out?'
'No. I got to put things together,' I said, working my left hand. It was fine. I stacked the news clips in a pile, started to sort through what I had so far. The street maps were still on the wall where Belle had tacked them. I started working. The Mole was going into the basement in Sin City - it had to he the last piece.
Pansy came downstairs, strolled to a corner, and closed her eyes. Belle threw off the blanket, came to where I was working at the desk.
'I want to help.'
'You want to help, put some clothes on.'
'Why?'
'Because you're distracting me. And because I told you to.'
She leaned over the desk, her breasts against my face. 'Do they smell like that Tiger stuff?'
'No,'
'Take a deep breath,' she said, pushing the back of my head to her.
'They smell like you.'
'Still want me to put my clothes on?'
'Yeah.'
She threw me a pout, switched her hips hard walking away. I heard the shower go on, went back to work.
I covered a yellow legal pad with scrawls, but the list was in my head. Ghost Van. Baby hookers. Mortay. Ramon. The dead man El Canonero left in the Chelsea playground. Pain-for-gain. Ghost Van won't eat dark meat. Chilly menace like fog, working close to the ground. The peep-show token. Sin City. Church where they worship the ice god. Basement duel. And Sally Lou.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. Belle, a yellow sweatshirt covering her to her thighs. 'You said I could help.'
'Sit down,' I said, patting the desk. 'Listen to me play it out.'
She planted herself on the desk, hands in her lap. Watchful.
'This all started with the Ghost Van, remember? Comes off the river, shoots some little girls. Marques doesn't care why; he just wants it off the streets. So he reaches out for me. I start looking around, and this Mortay shows up. Puts the Prof in the hospital. So he's linked to the van some kind of way.'
She lit a cigarette, nodding to show me she was following along.
'Except that he's not just a bodyguard - he's a freak. Hitting dojos, challenging the leaders. We know he fought a duel with some Japanese
'No. You have to mix with the customers.'
'Okay. The Ghost Van, it only hits young girls. And only white girls. The night I went out to meet Mortay, when I came back so scared? A guy got killed. The cops pulled his prints. One of them matched one they got from the switch-car for the Ghost Van. So this Mortay, he's not just linked, he's connected too.'
I lit a smoke for myself. It was good to use two hands. Belle was listening so hard her shoulders shook.
'Mortay's stooge, this Ramon guy. With the diamond in his ear. He's a pain-junkie. Likes to hurt women, gets off on it. He's the gunman - Mortay only uses his hands. And now I find out that Sin City's owned by this mob guy. Sally Lou. He's a sleaze-dealer. Hardcore stuff. Kiddie porn, snuff - you want it, he makes it.'
'You think this Mortay works for the mob?'
'No. I looked in his eyes. He don't work for anyone. But that doesn't mean he wouldn't
'Why would he . . . ?'
'I'm not sure. But it all adds up. Look at the maps. The Ghost Van has to have a place to land. Someplace close by where it hunts. Times Square. Sin City - the basement's big enough for hundreds of people to watch a duel. That's where it's got to be.'
