Sacrifice

75

Clarence opened the back door of his Rover. I gave the signal and Pansy clambered inside. Clarence threw a smooth U-turn on CPW, heading back downtown.

'Where shall I drop you, mahn?'

'How come you were around today, Clarence?'

He shrugged his slim shoulders, face expressionless. 'I'm just a soldier, mahn.'

'Then take me to the general,' I told him.

76

Clarence turned east on Fifty-seventh, working his way to the FDR, then south to the Brooklyn Bridge.

'That's some dog you got, mahn. Never saw something so big move so fast.'

'She's the best,' I said, reaching back to pat my pal.

'Pretty woman you got there too, mahn.'

'Pretty woman?'

'Yes, mahn. In the park. Pretty woman. Nice big butt on her. Never trust a woman with one of those little-boy butts, it's a sure sign.'

'Who told you that?'

'Everybody knows, mahn. Big butt, big heart.'

I thought of my Blue Belle, gone now. The fire-scar on Flood's rump. Blossom walking away. Maybe it was true.

I rolled down my window, lit a smoke. 'You saw the woman in the park?'

'Yes, mahn. Like I said. Good age on her too. Not like some of those flighty young girls. Just right for an old man like you.'

'Yeah. You were there a long time, huh?'

'All the time, mahn. Ever since you call Jacques.'

'How'd you pick me up?'

'Easy enough, mahn. Your car, the places you go, all like that.'

'Where else?'

'The shelter-place. The one for kids. The restaurant. I'm a shadow, mahn. Thin and dark. Nobody sees.'

'I appreciate what you did, Clarence.'

'You have been our friend, mahn. Jacques said.'

'Here's some friendly advice for you, Clarence. Don't go into that restaurant.'

'I know, mahn.'

'Who told you…Jacques?'

'Everybody knows, mahn.'

77

Jacques was at his table in the basement. He didn't blink at Pansy. Pansy didn't blink back.

Clarence handed him the pistol I'd taken from the man in the park. Jacques released the clip, pulling it from the butt, worked the slide.

'Empty, mahn. Nothing in the chamber. Safety was on too.'

I nodded. The gunman was what he said he was— not a shooter.

Jacques turned the gun over in his hands, put one polished thumbnail inside the chamber, sighted down the barrel. 'Hasn't been cleaned in a year, mahn. A piece of junk. Iron Curtain stuff, not even military.' Jacques's fine- boned nose curled into a faint sneer. 'Whoever had this, mahn, he was not a professional.'

'There was another one,' Clarence told him.

Jacques raised his eyebrows, waiting for the rest.

'He had no gun, nothing. And he never saw me coming,' Clarence said, a leather-covered sap in his hand, showing Jacques what had happened to the watcher.

'You talked to the man with the gun?'

'He said he just wanted to take me someplace. To see someone named Thana. Queen Thana.'

Jacques's eyes didn't change but his cheeks went hollow.

'You know her?' I asked.

'Everybody knows of her, mahn. I have not met her. And I do not want to. Obeah. Very powerful obeah. A voodoo priestess. Her followers are all from the Islands. People say she can make a man do what she wants. That she can kill you with a thought. Reach across the sea, back across time.'

'She's in business?'

'Not our business, mahn. Not for money. But she is no love goddess, that one. A warrior priestess. They say