Down in the Zero

'For you,' she said. 'Money man.'

With Mama, it's all in the inflection— she meant a man who came from money, not a man with cash.

'Tell him I'm not here,' I said, not looking up.

'You not going to work?' Mama asked. 'Not make money?' Her tone was confirmation of my madness.

'I got enough.'

'Don't be crazy, Burke.'

I could see this wasn't going to end. So I did what I'd been doing…just moved with it. I got up, went to the pay phone.

'What?'

'Mr. Burke?' A young, thin voice, tremolo with something worse than nervousness.

'What?'

'I have to talk to you.'

'Talk.'

'Not on the phone. Please. I…I think I'm next.'

'Next for what?'

'I can't… my mother said to call you. If I ever got in trouble, big trouble. She said to call you.

'Tell your mother she made a mistake, kid.'

'I…can't. She's not here.'

'Where is she?' Dead? Which one of them is gone, now?

'In Europe. Switzerland. In the clinic. She goes every year. There's no phones there, nothing.'

'Look, kid, I…'

'Please! My mother said…

'Who's your mother?'

'Lorna. Lorna Cambridge.'

'I don't know her.'

'She said to tell you it's Cherry. Cherry from Earls Court. She said you'd remember.'

I did.

I did, and I owed her. I guess I had that much left. I answered on auto–pilot.

'I'll talk to you, kid. Talk, you understand?'

'Yes. Sure! Just tell me…'

'You know Grand Central?'

'Grand Central Station?'

'Yeah.'

'Sure, I can— '

'Be there tomorrow morning. Before ten. Stand under the clock. You know the clock?'

'Yes, I— '

'Just wait there. Someone'll come up to you, ask you your mother's name. Just go with them, understand?'

'Yes. Sure, I'll…'

I hung up on him. Went back inside. Told Mama to find the Prof, have him sheep–dog the kid in from the station tomorrow.

I drove Michelle to the junkyard. She goes there on her own all the time— I'm just easier than a cab. We slipped through the city, over the bridge to the South Bronx, the Plymouth finding its own way to Hunts Point. Terry opened the gates, shooing the dogs aside. He walked around to my side of the car— I started to slide over so he could drive the rest of the way when Michelle barked 'Hey!' at him through her window.

The kid stopped dead in his tracks. Walked around to the passenger side, said 'Hi, Mom,' gave her a kiss. She tried to look fiercely at him, reminding him of his manners, but it was no go— love beamed out of her eyes, bathing the kid in its glow.

Terry got behind the wheel. He didn't adjust the seat, just worked the pedals with the tips of his toes. He piloted the big car expertly, not showing off anymore like he used to, just a man doing a job.

After the car was hidden, we switched to an old Jeep they keep there as a shuttle— Michelle ripped the Mole one hell of a speech last time about having to walk through the junkyard in her spike heels.

The Mole was sitting on the cut–down oil drum he uses for a chair, looking into the middle distance where he spends most of his time. A tawny shadow flitted at the edge of my vision— Simba, boss of the wild dog pack. The beast came closer, sat on his haunches, tongue lolling, watching with more interest than the Mole showed.

Terry went into the bunker and came out with a chair for Michelle. A real one, black leather, sparkling clean.