FRIDAY WAS A muggy, dirty morning on the Hudson River docks. A Jersey smog-fog was rolling in. It was break-time for the working whores-the truck-driver traffic finished for the morning, the first citizen-commuters not yet on the scene. Peddlers were setting up their stands on the hoods of their parked cars, free of the wolf-packs who were gone now-back to their dens, the roving bands dispersed with the coming of daylight.
The Plymouth was parked near the pier next to a standing pay phone. I was listening to Judy Henske on the tape, trying not to think about tomorrow. Flood was lying with her head in my lap. Pansy slept in the back, unconcerned.
I looked down at Flood’s lovely resting face. She was living well within herself now, at peace finally-another fucking club I couldn’t join.
The phone rang, I reached out the window to pick it up, and heard the Mole say, “Moving. Now,” and I knew it would take the mark only a few minutes to get on the scene.
Soon after, the black Lincoln Town Coupe pulled up and I saw the weak sunlight glance off the sheen of nylon and the flash of a red scarf as Margot exited Dandy’s pimpmobile. Time to go to work.
Flood knew her part. She bounced out of the Plymouth wearing some new white vinyl boots over dark stockings topped by a pair of white hotpants and a brilliant orange silk top. Her blonde hair was in pigtails on each side of her clean fresh face, a face marred by the Cobra’s fangs only a short time ago. She switched over to the highway, to all eyes a piece of juicy young stuff who had just gotten a lesson from her pimp and was now working off the debt.
Her big butt looked even more so in the white pants, and her skin looked too small for all the flesh underneath. Heels clicking on the pavement, her body swayed and bounced like it was moving slower than her feet. She reached into her little plastic clutch-bag and pulled out a big pair of dark glasses.
The timing had to be right-we had been watching Dandy and we knew he didn’t hang around long after he dumped Margot off every morning. But Flood was right on the money-her path crossed Margot’s and she walked just in front of the Lincoln’s hood like she was going back to work. I watched Margot keep on walking and disappear into the shadows-and Flood stop and whirl around, hands on hips. When the Lincoln crept slowly forward, I knew Dandy had taken the bait. It’s not every day a quart of vanilla ice cream falls into your lap. I couldn’t see much from where I was, but the Lincoln was standing in place, smoke still burbling from its exhaust.
Then Flood swivel-hipped her way around the front of the black car and climbed into the passenger’s seat. The Lincoln slithered away and the game was on.
I didn’t have much time. Flood would keep him talking for a bit, maybe ask him to buy her some coffee, but sooner or later Dandy would try to make her end up in his crib. I fingered the key to his lobby and the key to his apartment that I’d gotten from the Mole. Margot had supplied us with the plastic impressions from the kit I’d given her, so I was sure they’d work.
As the Plymouth pulled away Pansy momentarily stuck her head up, saw there was no work to do, and rolled over on the backseat. I only had to get to the West Twenties, a short run. The Plymouth swung into a lazy U-turn, split the shadows over the highway and picked up speed. I reached over and rolled down the passenger-side window. As I slowed for the turn onto the uptown road, a canvas bag came flying through the window, immediately followed by a moving shadow. Max. The fucking showoff-there was plenty of time for me to have stopped the car.
Pansy sat up, sniffed the air briefly, growled. Max put his hand into the backseat. Pansy sniffed again, licked his hand, and went back to sleep.
Dandy’s block-quiet and peaceful. I drove its full length until I saw the white Dodge parked where it should be, Michelle at the wheel. She spotted the Plymouth, kicked over her engine, and pulled out, leaving me an ideal escape space. I reversed into the spot, hit the protection systems, and we all climbed out. Pansy bounded out to me and I snapped on the short leash, handing it to Max. The Prof was working the front, picking through a week’s worth of trash in a curbside dumpster. When he saw Max and Pansy move toward the back where the Mole would be waiting to let them into the basement, he shouldered his collection bag and followed.
I opened the front door, saw a couple talking in the lobby, and lit a cigarette to wait them out. Finally I walked in, pushed Dandy’s buzzer, and used my lobby-key without waiting for a response. I knew where he lived-second floor, rear. The Mole’s key opened the lock.
I went through the place quickly. A small bedroom used as a giant closet for all Dandy’s threads, a larger bedroom with a round bed, built-in stereo, giant-screen Sony complete with Betamax. Huge collection of records and tapes. On the dresser, a vial of cocaine, a gold coke spoon with a diamond chip in the handle, half a dozen Krugerrands. Inside top drawer, a pearl-handled.32-caliber Colt Astra. The bottom of the closet revealed a bunch of shoeboxes full of Polaroid pictures. Some of Margot, some of women I didn’t recognize. Three pairs of leather handcuffs. A thick leather belt with holes punched all through it, no buckle.
No more time to search. I pocketed the Krugerrands and picked up Dandy’s green Princess phone. No dial tone. “Mole?” “Here.” “Let’s go,” I said, and hung up.
The door opened and Max walked in, holding Pansy’s leash. The Prof was with him. “Time’s short,” I said, and everybody went to work: Max opened his bag, started pulling out his gear. I took the phosphorescent paint and the thick brush, called Pansy over to me, and generously lathered her fangs with the stuff-I opened the container of pork fried rice I’d brought with me and left it on the floor so she wouldn’t notice the taste of the phosphorus. In the dim light of the apartment her teeth took on an unearthly, menacing glow. Pansy seemed to relish the thought, letting loose a few experimental growls that rumbled against the plaster walls until I told her to shut up and go lie down behind the plush purple velvet couch.
Max was exchanging his faded jeans and sweatshirt for a set of green silk robes. He checked himself in the full-length mirror in the second bedroom, nodded in satisfaction, and then took a hideously carved teak mask from his bag. The mask was hinged on each side of the jaw, an ugly thing with slits for eyes and a slash where the nose would fit-the eyes tipped with dark green paint and the rest just a shiny, smooth surface of dark wood. As Max fitted the mask to his face his ancestors smiled in approval from somewhere in the mountains of Tibet.
The Prof pulled off his ragpicker’s clothes. Underneath was a pristine white linen suit, the kind plantation owners used to favor years ago. He looked dazzling.
We worked together in silence, even Pansy. I got out the leather belt from Dandy’s drawer, showed it to Max. He took one end in each hand and gave it an experimental tug, nodded behind his mask to show me it would be okay, no problem.
I set up my instruments on the kitchen table. It wasn’t really clean enough for an operating room, but then again, I wasn’t going to be working on a human being. The syringe was full of liquid Valium, the fresh new hypodermic spike still in its plastic case. I screwed them together, squirted a bit of the Valium to make sure it was working. Next I checked the anesthetic nose plugs-and the gym sock full of fresh aquarium sand just in case we wanted to do the job quickly. The bedroom window opened easily onto an alley in the back of the apartment, just like Margot had told us. Finally I checked the three smoke canisters the Mole had left behind in the apartment, spaced equally around the bedroom. I worked rapidly in the thin rubber surgeon’s gloves-fingerprints weren’t going to be an issue in this case.
The phone rang once. Stopped. Rang again. They were on their way up. Pansy stayed where she was in response to my hand signal, the rest of us deployed like we had rehearsed.
A key turned in the lock, and Flood came walking through the door, Dandy right behind. A tall thin dude sporting a short afro, early to mid-forties. He was clean-shaven with a mouth full of good teeth. Flood strolled over to the purple couch and perched on the edge of the cushion. Pansy smelled Flood on the other side and gave out the tiniest of growls, inaudible unless you were listening for it. Flood stayed on the couch while Dandy paced the floor, rapping his rap. “Baby, if you choose in New York you choose for good. That’s the way it is. You working those tricks by yourself, you was
“You said you had some dynamite blow,” Flood piped up.
“Baby, I got the best coke, the best of everything. I don’t be like some of those halfass simps. I’m a
“Really?” said Flood in a voice full of wonder, her dreams coming true.
