Sacrifice

We watched, listened as the man put it all together. Watched as he painstakingly drilled holes through the center of two hard rubber balls, strung a loop of piano wire between them. Tested it by snapping it in his hands.

The man was getting dressed. Dark jacket, pair of gloves, a black watch cap on his head. When he pulled it down, it turned into a ski mask. 'Tonight, when it gets dark, I'm going to show this Dr. English a machine that works.'

The stage went dark. Somebody gasped in the audience. Then the applause started. Built to a peak. Stayed there.

The man came back out. The announcer took the mike, called his name. David Joe Wirth, A pretty girl at a front table stood up, waved a fist at him, her dark ponytail bouncing. He smiled. They left the front together.

I watched the crowd. Wondered how many of them shared the Secret.

47

Later, in Bonita's studio apartment on the fringe of the Village.

'My roommate will be back soon,' she whispered, sliding the tube skirt down over her hips.

Later, at her kitchen table. 'Did you get it?' she asked me.

'Get what?'

'The play. The one we saw tonight. I didn't, the first time he did it. See, the teacher at the school, he was molesting that little boy. And the boy's mother, she trusted him. That's why the machine didn't work…the one the janitor made for him…the monsters weren't all in his head like they thought.'

'Yeah, I got it.'

'Isn't it disgusting…what some people do?'

'Yeah.'

'I wonder where she is, Tawny. I thought she'd be home by now.'

'It's okay, I gotta take off myself.'

'She's going away next weekend. You could spend the night…'

'If I don't have to work, I'll call you.'

'You better,' sitting in my lap now, squirming.

'Bonita, I feel pretty stupid about this, but…'

'What?'

'Well, I wanted to buy you a present…just to show you how much I care and all. A charm for your bracelet…I saw one I really liked…a little gold heart…'

'Un-huh…'

'Yeah, but by the time I got to the store, tonight, it was closed. So, I was wondering…I don't mean to be crude or anything…you know the crazy hours I work…Could I give you the money, let you pick it up for yourself?…I mean…'

'Oh, you're so sweet, honey. I don't mind at all.'

I handed her five fifty-dollar bills, folded in half. She put them on the table without looking.

'You have to go right now?' she purred, squirming some more. Maybe she wasn't such a lousy actress.

48

I cut myself shaving the next morning. Took a plump leaf from the aloe plant on the windowsill, punctured it with my thumbnail, smeared it on, watching Pansy sneer at my clumsiness. Thinking of Blossom and her goddamned health advice.

Ate slowly. A rosette of michetta roll, hard crust, hollow inside. Only place you can get them in New York is this Milanese bakery in Brooklyn, on the Bushwick border. Real Italians. I'd been going there for years— never heard them say Mamma Mia once. I smeared cream cheese on each piece as I snapped it off. Drank my ice water, swallowed the beta carotene and vitamin C.

Blossom again.

If I ever went over her back fence one night, I wouldn't need cash. Or lies.

I snapped out of it, looked over to the couch. 'Want to go for a ride, girl?'

Pansy's tail thumped happily.

Saturday morning, bright and clear. We took the Willis Avenue Bridge to the Hutch, headed north. All the way to the wilds of Dutchess County, almost a two-hour drive.

Teenage girl hitching by the side of the road. I thought of a maggot who picked up a girl like that in California. Raped her, chopped her hands off so there wouldn't be fingerprints, and dumped her in a culvert. The little girl lived, somehow. The maggot's already been paroled— it's not like he robbed a bank or anything. I read he got arrested again in Florida. For shoplifting. The paper said he stole a hat, but he'd paid for another item he had in a bag. A box of diapers.

I knew I was close when I saw the clapboard shacks standing just off the dirt road. A trio of chopped-down Hogs sat outside one shack, ape-hanger handlebars sprouting like stalks from the chromed engines. One of those prefab metal sheds sat behind the shack. They'd be cranking up the heat inside, making meth, choking on the ether fumes. The bikers figured out the dope business a long time ago— the real problem is getting the stuff across the border, so they cook their own right here.