Flood

“Okay, now what’s the message from Michelle?”

“Wait. You’ll do something with Dandy?”

“For five thousand dollars. But I won’t kill him-and you’ll have to participate.”

“Why? How?”

“The why is so you don’t end up testifying against me and my people. The how I don’t know yet.”

“This is straight?”

“You tell me.”

Margot looked into my face like there was something she could learn. There wasn’t, but she was satisfied, I guess. She nodded okay.

“Now…”

“This is the message from Michelle, word for word. She said, ‘Tell Burke that the man who knows the Cobra made a movie star out of a corpse.’ That’s all.”

“That’s the whole thing-that’s all she said?”

“That’s it. She made me say it twenty times until I got it down perfect.”

“What’s she think I am, Sherlock-fucking-Holmes?”

“Burke, I don’t know. That’s what she said. Not like it was a riddle but like you’d understand.”

“Okay.” I told her I’d drop her off wherever she wanted.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve got to be off the streets for a few hours. I’ll tell Dandy I turned a freak trick for two bills. That’s what he wants anyway. He says that’s where the money is.”

“So?”

“So can I stay here and have you got the two bills?”

“You must be crazy. You go through all this to offer me five grand and you haven’t got two hundred?”

“I got it, Burke. I just don’t have it here. I couldn’t carry it around with me, could I?”

“I already laid out a yard for this place.”

“I’ll have your money tomorrow-meet you here at noon?”

I just looked at her, her eyes were still dead. But Michelle must have trusted her if she gave her that message to pass on. “Burke, if you do this, I swear you’ll never regret it.”

“I already regret it.”

“I got nothing here to give you, nothing except my body-and I’m sure you don’t want that.” And suddenly, damn her, her dead eyes got wet and she started to cry.

And so Burke the great scam artist, the never-suckered city poacher, sat on a couch and held a crying whore for almost three hours and then gave her two hundred dollars and drove her back to the streets. Before I went into that room, Dandy was a maggot. Now he was a maggot who owed me money.

26

AFTER I DROPPED off Margot I kept thinking about how her eyes didn’t look dead anymore. Maybe they were alive with hope, maybe with the joy of ripping off another sucker. There was only one sure way to find out, and that meant I had to find the Prof and Michelle both. There was only one place in the whole city where I might hit that exacta, a midtown joint called The Very Idea. So I stashed the Plymouth back at the office, walked a few blocks, and caught a cab uptown.

The Very Idea isn’t exactly closed to the public, but it’s not the kind of place where a citizen would stay very long. It’s supposed to be just for transsexuals and their friends-no transvestites, drag queens, fag hags, or hustlers-and most especially no tourists. It’s over near First Avenue, just a snort away from some of the heaviest singles bars. I heard that the folks in The Very Idea used to get together and practice their routines on each other before they tried them out on the citizens. They’re all supposed to do this while they get the hormone injections- Michelle told me you have to cross-dress for a year, stay in therapy, and get a clean bill of psychiatric health before they let you have the sex-change surgery. But the citizens are too easy to fool, and it’s not a good test. The club was the idea of a few of them, a private subscription deal. They didn’t expect to make money, just to have a place to hang out in peace. But somehow the joint caught on and now it does a good business. It’s not frantic like a gay bar, and I can see why folks like to just drop in to spend a few bucks and enjoy the quiet. But, like I said, most people aren’t welcome there.

I had the cab let me off a few blocks away, walked over to the river, and doubled back to the club. There was a middle-sized lunch crowd already in place and it looked more like Schrafft’s than a gay bar. Well, like Michelle said, it wasn’t a gay bar.

I didn’t see Michelle so I headed for the long counter. As usual, Ricardo was in place. He serves as sort of a maitre d’ and bartender at the same time, selected more for his courtly manners than anything else, I suppose. I know for damn sure they don’t need a bouncer in that joint. One time some jerkoff sailors found their way inside and started some trouble with Ricardo. He didn’t participate personally-just watched while his customers made short work of the sailors. I don’t know if the Shore Patrol declared the place off-limits after that or what, but I do know the sailors’ threats to return and demolish the place never came to anything. “Ah, Mr. Burke,” Ricardo greeted me, “a pleasure to see you again, sir. Will you have the usual?”

I said sure without the slightest idea of what he was talking about. Ricardo thinks questions like that add a lot of class to the joint. He put some silly-looking glass filled with dark liquid and a slice of lime in front of me. I didn’t touch it-I don’t drink. I put a twenty on the bar, Ricardo made it disappear and threw a bunch of bills back in the original spot. I let them ride and asked, “Seen Michelle?”

“Today?” A blank look on his face.

“Ricardo, you know me-what’s the problem?”

He let his eyes drift down to the money on the bar. Sure-if I was there as a friend, why would I have to bribe this guy just to find out where she was? Ricardo wasn’t as dumb as he acted. So I said, “For my drinks… and hers, right?”

He smiled. The man had about twice the normal allotment of teeth. “She’s in the dining room, sir.”

The dining room crack just meant she was around someplace, and that he would let her know I was here. I don’t know how they do that, and I never asked. But the system works-in less than five minutes Michelle swished through the door of the ladies room and took the stool next to me.

“Looking for company, handsome?”

“Actually,” I told her, “I’m looking for the Prophet.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“No, baby, I mean Prof, you know?”

“Oh, that Prof. He’ll be here. This place is on his regular rounds. But I guess you knew that.”

“Yeah. Look, I have to ask you something about your friend Margot.”

“Ask me what, honey?” said Michelle, her face calm but her eyes alert.

“Is she straight?”

“She’s a who-ah, sweetie, a pros-tit-tute.”

“That’s not what I mean, Michelle. She told me some things, and maybe she asked me to do some things. I don’t want to get it caught in a wringer.”

“One of my friends got it caught in a wringer. It cost a lot of money-she should have gone to Sweden. You know they don’t do the operations at Johns Hopkins anymore?”

“Yeah, I know. Do you know Margot’s pimp?”

“Dandy? Yes, I know the swine.”

“A swine because he’s running girls or-?”

“A swine, darling. A pain-freak-there’s a lot of them around nowadays. I don’t even think he’s a righteous pimp, you know? Like he marks the girls in the face-what kind of pimp does that?”

“What’s his weight?” I asked.

“Strictly fly, baby. He came from Boston where he was working some runaways. That’s his real thing, you know. He has some boys too. I heard he was even pimping when he was in the joint.”