Safe House

“There have to be women there,” Crystal Beth said, standing to one side of the table, little hands on her big hips, face tightened against any argument.

“Look, this is—”

“You say ‘man’s work’ and I’m going to—”

“No, girl,” I said soothingly. “I wasn’t saying that. It’s just you don’t have any experience with—”

“With what, hijacking?” Michelle interrupted. “That isn’t the way to do it. You and the Prof, sure. I know you even got Max to go along sometimes on that crazy stuff you used to do, but if you think—”

“I am going too, little sister,” Clarence said in his dignified island voice, blue-black West Indian face set and resolute. “You are not to blame Burke for this. Yes, I would follow my father, wherever he walked. But I love that great animal too. She is not going to die,” he said softly, his hand caressing the 9mm semiauto that was as much a part of his wardrobe as the peacock clothing he draped over his lean body every day.

“That’s not the point. I don’t want—”

“Michelle, I am going,” the Mole said. Soft and gentle, like always. But not, like always, deferring to her. “Not Terry. You are right. He is my boy too, not only yours. And he is too young to risk . . . whatever there is.”

“Will you morons fucking listen to me?” Michelle yelled standing up so suddenly she knocked a bunch of glassware to the floor. She walked over and stood next to Crystal Beth.

“This isn’t about what you imbeciles think I’m trying to tell you. It is not a hijacking, even with all those . . . guns and things you have. It’s still a scam, right? And they are not going buy it unless you have a woman doing the talking, understand?”

“Girl’s telling it true,” the Prof said. “We don’t work it right, they ain’t gonna bite.”

The Mole nodded, slowly and reluctantly.

“Yeah,” I said, surrendering.

It was near 3 a.m. by the time we were ready to ride. Michelle and Crystal Beth were both dressed in military camo-fatigues, complete with combat boots. Max and I went for the generic look. Crystal Beth in the front seat right next to me, her left hand on my thigh, transmitting. Max and Michelle were in the back, Michelle yammering a nerve-edged blue streak, the mute Mongol warrior probably grateful he couldn’t hear. I had decided the Plymouth wasn’t much of a risk—I always keep the registration on me, and the car got a fresh coat of dull cream primer last night.

I waved across to where Clarence sat behind the wheel of what would pass for a Con Ed truck unless you looked too close. If you did, you’d be looking at the wrong end of the Prof’s double-barreled sawed-off. Somewhere in the back of the truck, the Mole was preparing his potions.

We caravaned along until we got to the pull-off spot on the FDR. I pointed to a white semi-stretch limo with blacked-out glass. “That’s yours,” I told Crystal Beth. “The rollers won’t look twice at a car like that this time of morning. It’ll look like someone’s coming home from clubbing. Besides, it’ll hold everyone.”

“I’m staying with you,” she said.

“No, you are not, girl,” I told her. “Max can’t drive worth a damn, and the Mole would crash it for sure. Clarence is the best wheelman we got, but we need him in the truck. We’re leaving the truck when we’re done, and everyone can’t fit in this car. You just park it where I told you to, and we’ll all meet up before we hit the place.”

“Burke, I—”

“Crystal Beth, I swear I will throw your fat ass out of this car right now, no more playing. Drive the limo or we’ll do this without you.”

She punched me hard on the right arm and got out. She walked over to the limo, opened it with the key I’d given her. I waited until I heard it start up, then I took off.

The Animal Shelter was freestanding—a long, low concrete building, T-shaped at the back end. I pointed out my window for Crystal Beth to pull over. She parked the big limo perfectly, left it with the nose aimed straight out. When she got into the front seat of the Plymouth, I said: “They’re going to take the truck around the back. Mole’ll stay with it. The Prof and Clarence will meet us out front. Then we do it. Ready?”

Everybody nodded. Nobody spoke.

I parked the Plymouth just around the corner, out of sight from the front door. We all got out. The Prof and Clarence slipped around the corner and linked up with us.

“How we getting in, Schoolboy?” the Prof asked. “Scam or slam?”

“Slam,” I told him, showing the handful of Semtex I was holding. “Me first. Stand back.”

I walked up to the door. Put my ear to it. Nothing but a few random, doleful barks—the Captured Dog Blues —no sound of human activity. I patted the Semtex all around the knob and the lock, then made a long seam tracer for the door’s edge. I jerked the string loose and ran back around the corner.

The second the door blew off the hinges, we all charged, faces covered with dark stocking masks, hands gloved. I was first in the door. The attendant was at his desk, face slack with shock. I showed him the pistol.

“Touch the phone and you’re dead,” I promised him.

Max slid past me, unslinging the huge set of bolt-cutters from over one massive shoulder. The Prof stepped into a corner, his scattergun weaving, a snake looking for a passing mouse. The lights flickered, then went out—the Mole saying he was on the job.

Crystal Beth stepped up, shoving me aside, shining a halogen flashlight in the attendant’s face.

“This is a message from the Wolfpack Cadre of the Canine Liberation Front,” she proclaimed in a perfect liberal-twit revolutionary’s voice. “You may no longer imprison our brothers and sisters without fear of consequences!”

“Look, I—” the attendant started to speak.

“Silence, lackey!” Crystal Beth snarled at him. “This is a jailbreak, not a debate.”

A soft explosion rocked the back of the building. Then another.

The attendant moved his lips like he was praying, but no sound came out.

I walked past him. Saw Max’s broad back bent over as he severed the heavy lock on the door to the cage area. Then we both popped the cages open, one by one. The dogs milled about uncertainly, until one spotted the gaping hole in the side of the building. He ran for it, and the others followed.

Pansy was there, her cage standing open. On her feet, daring Max to come closer.

“Pansy!” I called to her. “Come here, sweetheart!”

The big beast’s head shot up. She bounded over to me. “Good girl!” I told her, patting her huge head. Then I gave her the hand signal to heel and we merged with the river of dogs flowing to freedom.

As soon as she saw the car, she knew what to do. I popped the trunk and she jumped inside and curled up on the mat next to the padded fuel cell and looked up expectantly. I handed her a giant marrow bone, whispering “Speak!” at the same time. I closed the trunk lid, knowing the air holes I’d punched in it years ago would let her breathe just fine. And if anyone heard her pulverizing the bone, they’d just think the old Plymouth had a bad differential.

Even with us working the wrong side of the river, some citizen could have called the cops by then. We had to move fast. I stepped back inside the front door just as Michelle was taping up a cardboard stencil warning the world against the unlawful imprisonment of dogs. Clarence sprayed the blood-red paint with one hand, the other holding his pistol steady.

“Don’t think about the phones after we’re gone,” I told the attendant, just to get his attention. As he looked up, Max materialized behind him and did something to his neck. He wouldn’t be making any calls for hours.

“They all out?” I asked Clarence.

“All gone, mahn. Every one.”

“Scoop the Mole—he’s back there somewhere. Then get in the limo and fly. I’ll be right behind you.”

I tossed a smoke grenade into the back of the joint and dashed for the Plymouth.

I read all about it in the afternoon paper, Pansy stretched out next to me in Crystal Beth’s apartment. On the top floor of her safehouse.