Mask Market

“I understand,” she said. “And it is fair.”

“That’s not what we sell in our store, and you know it,” Pepper said, her voice a hard, tight ball of Freon.

“It’s information. And you deal in—”

“It’s information we can’t get.”

“Yeah, you—”

“We can’t get it,” Pepper said, as clear as spring water, and as cold. “Only she could do that. And you were already told—”

“I’m not coming sideways, Pepper. There’s only one thing I want,” I lied.

“Yes, one thing: You want her to take a risk. Worse, you want her to ask someone else to take a risk. More than one, actually. What you want, it’s complicated.”

“I know.”

“We came all the way down here,” she said, looking around at the restaurant, “because you said you had something very important. Too important to say on the phone.”

“And it was, right?”

“Important? I don’t have any idea. Important to you, maybe.”

“It’s…Look, Pepper, here it is. I told you what I want. What I want to buy, remember? I’m not asking to meet with Wolfe. I got that message, all right? I just want your crew to do what you do. Not for me, for—”

“Money.”

“Not for that, either. This is something…this is something you’d want to do.”

“Yes?” Skeptical-suspicious.

“I can’t tell you any more than I already have,” I said, knowing I’d already blown it. But I’d had to try.

Pepper exchanged a look with Mick. I couldn’t see a muscle move in his face, but she nodded like she’d just finished reading a long letter. Mick got up from the booth and walked out the front door. Max waited a few heartbeats, then moved out in the same direction.

Pepper stepped out of the booth, took out her cell phone, and deliberately turned her back to me as she walked off.

In a minute, she was back. “You have the best food in the whole city,” she sang out, as Mama passed by on her way to the kitchen.

Mama held one finger to her lips, but she was smiling.

One of the payphones rang.

Mama came back over to my booth.

“Police girl,” she said.

“I thought we had an understanding.” Wolfe’s voice, through the receiver.

“We do,” I said. “But this, what I need, you’re the only one who can get it for me.”

“Even if that was true, why should I?”

“I’m back to…what I was when you met me.”

“When I met you, you were a lot of things.”

“You know what I mean.”

She was quiet for a few seconds. Then: “Yes, I know what you mean. What I don’t know is whether you mean it.”

“I swear I do.”

“On what?”

I stayed silent, waiting.

“What does a man like you swear on, Burke?”

I’d never said it before. Not out loud. And, probably, if I’d thought about it, I wouldn’t have said it then. I was just reaching for one true thing, and…

“I swear on my love,” I told the woman who had always known.

“Won’t you have another slice, sugar?”

“Slice?” I said, looking at the gaping empty wedge in the French-silk chocolate pie sitting on the kitchen table. “That was a slab, girl. Three normal pieces, easy.”

“Didn’t you like it?”

“It was the best pie I ever had,” I told her, holding up my palm in a “the truth, the whole truth” gesture. “I’m just not used to eating so much.”

“Oh, I can see that. You’re way too skinny, Lew. You’re not one of those men who think skinny means high- class, are you?”

“Come here, brat.”

“Men are so lucky,” she said, an hour later. “Fashions don’t change for you. A big deal is when ties get narrower, or lapels get wider—stuff like that. For us, you can go from being just right to all wrong in a month.”

“I don’t see what that mat—”

“Do you like these jeans on me?” she said, turning her back and looking over her left shoulder.

“Who wouldn’t?”

“Uh-huh. Except nobody hardly even makes jeans like this anymore.”

“They’re just regular—”

“They are not. These are old-fashioned. See how high the waist is? The new ones, they ride so low on your hips they almost make your butt disappear.”

“There’s no chance—”

“Don’t you even say it!” she said, her voice caught between threat and giggle. “The point is, I’m not built for the new ones. Everything they make now is for those girls with Paris Hilton bodies.”

I made a sound of disgust.

“What? You don’t think she’s cute?”

“I think she looks like a really effeminate man. And when she opens that lizard-slit of a mouth, she makes Anna Nicole sound like Madame Curie. I wouldn’t just kick her out of bed; I’d burn the sheets.”

“Oh, you’re so mean.”

“You asked me.”

She came over to where I was sitting, turned, and dropped into my lap. “How about we go for another ride in that car of yours, big boy?” she giggled. “I’m all dressed for it.”

“People around here don’t do this,” Loyal said, her shoulder just brushing mine. “Go for drives, I mean. They get in their cars to be going someplace, not just to be going.”

“We’re going someplace,” I said.

“Where, Lew?”

“I don’t mean tonight. I just meant, you and me, we’re going someplace, aren’t we?”

“You’re the driver,” she purred.

“Where do you get all that music of yours?”

“The CDs? A friend of mine mixes them for me.”

“‘Mix’ is the truth,” Loyal said. “I never heard such a…collection of different songs before.”

“You like any of them?” I asked her. Between the Midtown Tunnel and the Suffolk County line, the Plymouth’s speakers had gushed out a real medley: Little Walter’s “Blue and Lonesome,” Jack Scott moaning “What in the World’s Come Over You?,” Dale and Grace begging you to “Stop and Think It Over,” Chuck Willis pleading “Don’t Deceive Me,” Sonny Boy’s “Cross My Heart,” even a rare cut of Glenda Dean Rockits, “Make Life Real,” sounding like Kathy Young backed by Santo and Johnny.

“That ‘Talk of the School’ one was so sad. Kids can be so mean, especially in high school.”

“You know who that was, singing?”

“No. But I’m sure I never heard him before.”

“But you did, girl. That was Sonny James.”