Safe House

“It’s the only way,” I told her. “Lothar won’t be able to snatch the kid—we’ll have him covered. But without that card, he’s not gonna play. And if he doesn’t, then Pryce . . .”

“You believe he’d do it?” Vyra asked me. “Bring everything down?”

“Yeah,” I told her. “I do.”

“I don’t trust him,” Crystal Beth said. “I’d never trust him. He doesn’t have to do this. He’s a pig. A filthy, lousy pig.”

Vyra stood up. Walked near the window, bending her left hand at the wrist so the afternoon sun would fire the big emerald-cut diamond on her hand. She admired it for a minute. Turned to Crystal Beth like I wasn’t in the room. “That’s the only way you get truffles, honey,” she said.

Crystal Beth walked over to where Vyra was standing. Put her hands on Vyra’s neck and pulled her close. Whispered something.

Vyra walked to the door, swinging her narrow hips hard. She slammed it behind her.

Crystal Beth left the window and plopped on the bed, face up. She patted the covers for me to lie down next to her. I did it. She tugged at the back of my head. “What?” I asked her.

“I want to tell you a story,” she said, guiding my head into her lap, twirling her hands in my hair. I closed my eyes. “When I was a little girl,” she said, “I was afraid of heights. Not great heights, like in a city. There wasn’t anything all that tall on the land we had. But we had a shed. For storing machinery. It was probably only ten feet off the ground, but I was afraid to go up there. On the roof, I mean. We were playing, and the ball got stuck up there. It happened all the time. We took turns going up there to get it. But when it was my turn, I wouldn’t go. I was afraid. . . .

“Nobody made me go. But I felt bad. On the farm, everybody had to take turns doing stuff. But climbing that shed, I could never take mine. I never told my parents. I was . . . ashamed, I guess. Anyway, one day, one of the other kids teased me about it. And my mother heard.

“So she made a jump pool. Like a swimming pool, but out of blankets. And mattresses. And some bearskins she had. It was huge. It took hours and hours to make it, everything piled so high and soft. Then she got a ladder. I went first. She was right behind me, arms wrapped around me so I couldn’t fall. Then we just sat up there. Everybody was watching. My mother told me we could sit up there as long as we liked. She told me stories. The kind I loved. About polar bears and sled dogs and seals and whales. And after a while, it was time to jump.

“We stood up and we held hands. My mother said we would be polar bears, jumping into the water from a little cliff. She was the mother bear and I was the cub. We did it, holding hands. Everybody cheered. It was so great. I was never afraid of heights after that.”

“Your mother knew how to do it,” I said.

“I thought that too. For a long time. Then my father told me the real story. My mother was afraid of heights herself. Where she was raised, it was all flat. Going up scared her. My father said she didn’t even like to go in elevators.”

“She had a lot of guts.”

“Enough to give me some. I know how to jump into things now,” she whispered.

Then she reached down and tugged at my hair, pulling me up to her.

“Got him,” the Prof’s voice barked over the cellular.

I cut the connection. Pryce was about four blocks away, rolling toward the meet in the same white Taurus he’d used at the airport. I’d told him the meet was coming a couple of days ago, told him to have a cell phone handy and to get me the number. I rang him an hour ago, asked him how long it would take to get to an address in East Harlem. He said to give him an hour. We had a spotter up there too. I rang in on his cellular as soon as the Taurus turned into the street I’d given him, told him about the change of plans. It was just a short hop over the Willis Avenue Bridge to the new address, twenty minutes ETA.

Finding an abandoned warehouse in the South Bronx is no great feat. Securing the premises was another matter, but we’d had people in place since noon the day before, thirty-four hours ago.

From my vantage point on the second floor, I could see the white Taurus pull up. Pryce was all-in now—he couldn’t know this wasn’t a hit, but he couldn’t get to the baby unless he ran the risk. One of the Cambodian trio stepped out from the shadows and walked toward the Taurus, right hand in his coat pocket. He motioned with his empty hand for the window to come down. It did. He walked right up to the driver’s side, leaned in and said something. Pryce and Lothar got out. The Cambodian slipped behind the wheel and the Taurus took off.

I looked over to where we’d rigged a pool of light, using a generator to drive a single hanging overhead fixture. The floor had been swept in a ten-foot circle. Two milk crates were the only furniture in the artificial island. One of the Cambodians came up the stairs first, nodding to me to indicate the speed-search had gone okay—no weapons. Then Pryce. Then Lothar. Then the third Cambodian. “That’s for you,” I said to Lothar, pointing at one of the milk crates.

“I thought you were gonna take us someplace to see my—”

“Just sit down,” I told him. “Be patient.”

Max the Silent came out of the darkness. With a baby in his arms.

“Gerhardt!” Lothar yelled, reaching out for the infant.

Max shifted his body, throwing his shoulder as a barrier.

“Sit down,” I told Lothar. “We’ll hand you the kid, okay?”

Lothar looked at Pryce. Getting the nod, he took his seat. I made a motion to Max. He closed the gap, handed the baby down. From his shoulder, Max unslung a blue cloth bag, placed it at Lothar’s feet. Lothar held the child at arm’s length, as if examining him for defects.

“He looks thin,” he said to no one in particular. “That cunt had better be . . .” He turned to face me. “Where is she, anyway?”

“That wasn’t the deal,” I told him. “You wanted to see the kid, there he is.”

“I thought—”

“Nobody gives a fuck what you thought,” I told him, hardening my voice. “That’s your kid, right?”

“Yeah,” he said resentfully. “But I thought—”

“It’s what you asked for,” Pryce said to him, like he was a pizza-delivery guy. You asked for anchovies, you got anchovies. You changed your mind, too bad.

“I want to be alone with him,” Lothar said. “I don’t like all these . . .” He left it blank, but I didn’t need a translator. “. . . standing around watching me.”

“It doesn’t matter what you want,” I told him, no-flexibility ice in my voice. “I had to make some promises in order to borrow the kid for a few hours. One of them was that you wouldn’t be alone with him. And I keep my promises.”

“A promise to a cunt don’t mean—”

“I drove for almost six hours to set this up, and I got a long ride to take him back,” I lied. A professional habit, planting barren seeds. “And I made a deal too. You’re not getting off that box. In that bag there’s a bottle with some formula, a clean diaper, everything you’ll need. And everybody’ll step back, okay?” I waved my hand and Max did just that. Lothar’s eyes swept the room, but the harsh overhead lighting kept him from seeing anyone. Even his wife, not thirty feet away, probably holding her breath.

I tugged gently at Pryce’s coat, drawing him back deeper into the dark. He came along without protest. We moved along until I found the stairs. Then I went up one flight, Pryce right behind.

We had the next floor lit too. One room, anyway. Another pair of milk crates with a plank across them made a little table. On that table, a bowl of tepid water, an aerosol can of shaving cream, a thick white hotel towel, and a disposable safety razor in plastic shrink-wrap. Plus a half-dozen maroon-and-white sealed packets marked CORTABALM on the sides.

“Your turn to deliver,” I told him.

“What’s the other stuff for?” he asked.

“You have to shave the ankle before you attach the cuff. Like you would before you’d tape it up to play