sure like to see how that tattoo turned out,' I said.
I met Blankenship in the parking lot of Yonkers Raceway, the spot behind the paddock where the overhead fixtures cast more shadow than light.
'It wasn't the doctor,' I said. 'Like I told you before. Nobody at the hospital. Nobody who legitimately works there, anyway.'
'Who?' is all he said.
I told him about Charm. Not the whole thing, just enough. 'She's taken off,' I told him. 'I got word she's heading for Switzerland. We're looking. Sooner or later, she'll turn up.'
'I'll get a passport,' he said.
I thought it was over then. That shot I'd given Charm when she was posed over the barrel, it was a dummy. As useless as the phony antidote she'd just bought. Her fangs were pulled.
I was done.
And the Zero wasn't pulling.
I had time after that. But it didn't feel like the kind of time a judge gives you anymore.
I used the time. Thought about that bromeliad I'd seen in Fancy's greenhouse— the one without roots. Plants die in pots, but they never die in gardens. Not really die. They return to the ground, to nourish their brothers and sisters coming up.
The cash all went to a laundry I know. For thirty percent off the top, we got back clean money— some mob– run movie house was going to do boffo box office in the next few weeks. I split the take with my family, equal shares. 'Slick as ice, but twice as nice,' the Prof praised me. 'And you did it without the gun, son.'
Clarence said he was going to buy some ground. On the Island. So he could always go home.
Michelle counted the cash in her perfectly manicured hands. Told me about a new place she'd found. In Colorado. Where they'd take her the rest of the way back to herself.
The Mole grunted.
Mama's face lit up, her faith in the world's balance restored.
Max didn't say anything.
Me, I went across the barrier. In my mind. Talked to Belle. To the boy who died in that house of terror.
I'd always have the pain. I made it for myself, like Fancy's tattoo. And I'd carry it around the same way.
I'd always feel sad. But I felt something else too.
Forgiven.
I had me back.
Belinda was still writing. Maybe I'd answer her someday, find out what the game was.
Or maybe I'd go find my Blossom.
I remember the day. It was in September, crisp, with the winter hawk's promise far in the distance. I sat in the back booth of Mama's restaurant, checking the mail her driver brought over from the warehouse. The envelope had no return address. Inside, a clip from a newspaper.
TWIN SISTERS TRAGEDY! the headline said. Twin sisters were vacationing together in Maine, near the coast. They went rock climbing. One of them jumped or fell from a high cliff. Dead on impact. Her sister was inconsolable. Told the cops Charm had been depressed. They'd gone climbing to get away from all the pressures of business. Just the two of them.
I put the newsclip in an envelope. Mailed it to Blankenship— flowers for Diandra's grave.
I wondered if Charm saw the Zero on the way down. And if she blinked.
