I FOLLOWED Wesley's directions to an abandoned factory building off Meserole Street in Brooklyn, not far from the Queens border. Wesley got out, unbolted a heavy padlock. I drove the car inside. Pitch-dark. It even smelled empty.
Max reached into the trunk. Held the stuff up for Wesley to see. Wesley made a 'put it down right there' gesture. 'I won't be here tomorrow,' he said to me.
The freight elevator was a bombed-out void. Wesley walked in the darkness like he could see. We followed the sounds he made. Found my hand on an iron railing. Staircase. Wesley walking ahead. Three flights. The top floor was only half there. No glass in the windows. Light from somewhere came through them. Boxes piled up, some covered with a tarp. Cans of food against one wall. Rats made their scratching escape noises.
I lit a smoke. So did Max.
Wesley sat on one of the boxes.
'No doubt in your mind?' I asked him.
'I hit him. With those bullets, I hit him anyplace, his head's in pieces.'
'They'll go crazy looking for you.'
'Crazy…you ever have a suicide dream, Burke?'
'What's a suicide dream?'
'Where you dream of killing yourself. You ever dream of killing yourself?'
'I did once.'
'What happened?'
'I dreamed I was real depressed. Sad like there wasn't any reason to keep on. So I made a list. Of all the people I wanted to take with me. Figured I was gonna die anyway, I'd just start blasting everyone on the list. Sooner or later, one of them would get me. Save me the trouble.'
'Did it work?'
'No.' I felt crazy laughter bubble in me. 'I got through the whole list. Then I didn't want to die anymore.'
'My list is too long. Yours too?'
'Not anymore.'
'You all settled up?'
I thought about Train. Julio. 'Just about.'
'What'd you use on that Mortay?'
'Use?'
'To off him.'
It was like talking into a machine. But not a tape recorder. 'A.38 Special. And I dropped a grenade on his face after he went down.'
The machine's voice lightened. Wesley's laugh. 'A fucking.38? A pistol? Why didn't you just throw rocks at him?'
'I got it done.'
'He was supposed to be real good. Like Max here. You got him with a pistol, he must have been close.'
'He was.'
'Chump.'
'I know. Now. Now's too late.' For Belle.
'Anything I can do for you?'
'You mean…?'
'What I do. I'm almost done.'
'Just Julio. And Train.'
'So I was right. From the beginning. You were on his case.'
'No I wasn't. Things changed. I learned something.'
'Something about a kid?'
'Yeah.'
'That soft spot- it's like a bull's-eye on your back.'
'Nothing I can do.'
'It's not your problem, right? Not your kid.'
'I didn't want it like this. I wanted to be…something else.'
'What?'
I dragged deep on my smoke, looked into the monster's eyes. 'I wanted to be you,' I told him.
'No you don't. I'm not afraid. Of anything. It's not worth it.'
'Wesley, what do you know about Train? What made you think I was on his case?'
'The guy who hired me. I figured it had to be something like that. He knew your name.'
And then he said the man's name. Danielle's father. The man with the special basement on Long Island.
I threw my cigarette on the floor. Ground it out.
The monster knew. 'There are no good guys, Burke. You're a thief- go back to stealing.'
I didn't like the sound of my voice. 'Not just yet.'
He read my thoughts. 'He's on the house. Keep your list short. I'll meet him after Train's done. To get the rest of my money. I'll leave him where I meet him.'
I lit another smoke. 'I told Train I'd take care of you.'
'Good. They're easier when they're sleeping.'
'You need a ride anywhere?'
'No. I got a car stashed just down the street. I'll get rid of the stuff first, then I'm gone.'
Max bowed to Wesley. The monster moved his head in return. Stiffly, like he wasn't used to it.
I followed Max down the stairs.
128
THE ALL-NEWS station had nothing.about the killing on the way back to Manhattan, but it was all they were talking about by the time I got up in the morning. Ghost stories. The one I liked best had Colombians blasting the don from a speedboat passing under the bridge.
I DROVE OUT to the junkyard. Sat down with the Mole. Told him about a girl named Elvira. About selective breeding, supervised by slime.
I drove back to the city in a black Ford four-door sedan. Max followed in Morehouse's Datsun.
130
IN MY OFFICE, I went over the Ma Bell printout the ex-cop had gotten for me. One of Train's six numbers had no long-distance calls at all. Never used up its message units either. A dead line. For incoming.
It was one of the numbers stored in Candy's phone.
131
