'Fair enough,' I told him. 'I got a couple more, make it a flat yard, okay?'
He nodded. I handed him two more twenties.
'Miss Kraus,' he said.
'Just her?'
'Yeah, she lives alone, man. Suzanne Kraus. She does something in advertising, I think.'
'Yeah. She a good tipper?'
'Not as good as you, man.
The redhead came back twice more in the next five days. There's a nice bench across the street on CP West— you can sit there for hours, your back to the park, taking the sun. Nobody pays much attention.
I met the brunette in a Village tearoom on a Friday afternoon. Her eyes were a blissful blue this time. I went over every place the redhead had been in the past few days. When I got to the CP West address, her mouth went into a flat line.
'Suzanne,' is all she said.
'Twenty–seven–G.'
'Yes, I know.'
I sat there, waiting. Finally, she leaned over, dropped her voice. 'I need something else done,' she said.
'I don't do that kind of work,' I told her.
What happened?' Michelle asked me that night.
'She wanted me to take the redhead out,' I told her.
'Burke, you didn't…?
'No.'
'I'm getting a place, honey. I've got to go back to work. On the phones.'
I didn't say anything. Got up and walked outside to the rusty old fire escape. Climbed to the roof. Pansy used to dump her loads up there every day, but she'd been gone for a while and the hard chemical rains had done the job— the smell was almost gone. I leaned over the railing, looking down.
'What is it, Burke? You've been up here for hours.' Michelle… I hadn't heard her come up behind me.
'Nothing.'
'What nothing?'
'
'What's this 'zero,' honey? You said it before…I don't get it.'
'Nothing. Zero is nothing. That's what's down there. Nothing. After you're done. Nothing. It's not good— it's not bad. Just…zero, see? Maybe there's people there, I don't know.'
'Who knows? Who knows those things? What do you care? It's not for you.'
'You ever think about dying?' I asked her.
Moonlight bounced on her cheekbones, never touching her big, dark eyes. 'I have,' she whispered.
'Me too. I thought about it a lot. I always thought, I had a fatal disease or something, knew it was gonna do me soon, I was gonna take a whole lot of motherfuckers along for the ride, you know? There's places I could go. Like Wesley. Walk into the room strapped to a
satchel of dynamite. Let 'em see what was gonna happen first.'
'Wesley was crazy.'
'What am I, Michelle? Dead already, I think. I don't even have that dream anymore. Like it's too much trouble. I could just go into the Zero, be done with it.'
'Nobody's there, baby. Nobody's waiting.'
How could she know? The last time I went hunting, I killed that kid. But I'd never made a promise to him before he died. I never knew his name. There was nothing to do.
I flipped my cigarette over the railing. Watched the little red dot spiral into the Zero.
What I really miss is fear. It used to be my friend, fear. Been with me ever since I could remember. It kept me smart, kept me safe. I worked the angles on the edges of the corners. Lived on the perimeter, striking from cover, sneaking back over the border. A guerrilla without an army. A wolf without a pack. Tried to take my piece out of the middle. Walked the underbelly without a flashlight, fear coming off me like sonar, keeping me from stepping on the third rail.
I was always scared. They taught me that. I think maybe it was the first thing anybody taught me.
I used to feel the electricity in me. Fear–jolts. Zip–zapping around inside me, jumping the synapses, making the connections.
Keeping me safe.
When I looked at that house of beasts in the Bronx, when I started my walk, the fear wasn't with me.
It hasn't been there since.
