Andrew Vachss - Hard Candy

I had a picture of Elvira. Pretty little brunette in a school uniform. Looked about thirteen. Smiling a school-picture smile.

It made me think of something. Something that wouldn't come to the surface.

I TOLD MAX about the deal. Sitting in my booth in the back of Mama's restaurant, I drew a picture of the house. Max kept tapping the paper, not satisfied until I drew in every detail I could remember. He curled his fingers into a tube, held it to one eye, flicked a finger across the opening at the end. I shook my head- I didn't need photographs of the place. When I was finished, I handed the drawing to Max. He lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, let the smoke bubble slowly out his nose as he concentrated.

He ground out his cigarette. Reached down, gestured like he was pulling a plant out by the roots. I shook my head again. We weren't going to snatch the kid. I took him through the whole bit again. And again. Finally he nodded.

THE NEXT morning we parked a couple of blocks from the building. Walked the rest of the way. Calm and quiet. I knocked on the steel door. Waited. Max stood next to me, just off my shoulder, centered inside himself, ready.

A young guy just past his teens opened the door. Wearing a blinding white karate gi, black belt loosely tied at his waist, black headband.

"Can I help you?"

"I want to talk to Train.

"Your name?"

"Burke."

"Wait here, please." He closed the door gently. No sound reached us from inside.

It wasn't a long wait. "Please come with me," he said.

The door opened into a long, narrow room. Kitchen sounds to one side. Young people moving around, serene looks, quiet smiles. "This way," he said, turning toward a staircase.

We followed him to the second floor. Sounds of a postage meter, telephones chiming. More people moving around. Nobody gave us a glance.

Another flight. Quiet. All the doors closed. The guy in the karate outfit never looked back.

He opened a door at the top of the last flight. Stood aside, sweeping a hand to show us in. A room the size of a basketball court. Wide-board pine floor, scrubbed so hard it was almost white. The walls were eggshell, the single row of windows blocked by thin aluminum blinds, slanted to make horizontal bars across the floor. The skylight threw an oblong slash of bright light into the center. A teardrop-shaped blob of concrete was placed at the center of the light. The guide led us to it. The center was hollowed out, red and white pillows arranged in the core to form a chair.

"Please wait," he said. He walked across the room, tapped on a door at the far end, came back, and stood next to us. A rainbow formed an arc over the concrete chair. I flicked my eyes to the skylight, catching a glimpse of a long arc-shaped prism suspended by a thread from the ceiling.

The far door opened. A man came through at the head of a wedge, three men on each side of him. Medium height, dark hair. Barefoot, loose faded cotton pants. He was bare-chested under a flowing white silk robe.

"I am Train," he said to me, ignoring Max.

"Burke."

"Get chairs for our guests," he said to nobody in particular. He sat down, one man on each side of his chair. The other four came back carrying one of the concrete blobs between them. I saw where hand-holds had been cut into the sides. They put the chair down. Went back and returned with another. Nobody spoke. The four men came back, each carrying two black pillows. They arranged the pillows in the hollow of the chairs. I took the chair closest to the windows. Max swept the room with his eyes, sat down next to me. One of the men put a metal bowl between our chairs. The four chair-carriers walked out. Train spoke to me from between his two remaining guards- their eyes tracked me. Nothing serene in them.

"You wanted to speak with me?" His voice was mellow-calm, almost polite.

I reached into my coat, watching his eyes. They stayed calm. I took out a smoke, fired it up, dropped the match into the metal bowl.

"You have a girl here. Elvira. Her mother wants her back."

"Is that your message?"

"Half of it. I'm here to take her."

"Just like that?"

I shrugged.

"Do you want to know why she's here?"

"No."

"Or how she got to us?"

"No."

He closed his eyes. Held his hands to his temples like he was waiting for a message.

"Are you a private detective?"

"No."

"What if she wants to stay?"

"She's underage. It's not her choice."

"Everyone makes choices."

"Everyone tries."

He put his fingers to his temples again. "Can we discuss this?"

"What's to discuss?"

"I'm interested in people. Why they do things. It helps me do my work."

I dragged on my cigarette.

"Are you interested in a proposition?"

"Enough to listen to it."

He leaned slightly forward. "I'm interested in you. Why you would do something like this. An hour or so of conversation. Just you and I. We'll talk. You'll answer my questions. And I'll answer yours, if you want. A dialogue. I will have to prepare the girl. You'll come back tomorrow. She'll leave with you. Fair enough?"

My face stayed flat. "Even if you don't like the answers I give you?"

"Yes."

I made a sign to Max. He flowed to his feet, approached the man sitting across from us. Train didn't move. The guards stepped in front of him. Max kept coming. I couldn't hear what Train said, but the guards parted when Max closed in. He took one of Train's hands in his, turned it over, examining it. Stepped back, nodded to me.

Train's eyes flickered in the artificial rainbow. "What was that about?"

"My brother is leaving now. I'll talk to you. Like you said. I'll come back tomorrow. For the girl. Like you said."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Yeah it does. You keep your word, there's no problem. You don't, my brother comes back to see you. He'll know you when he does."

Train shrugged. Max stepped away from him. Stood behind his own chair. Thrust his fingers into the handholds and lifted the concrete blob off the ground. The only sound in the room was the whistle of air through the Mongol warrior's flat nose.

That wasn't like Max. Muscle-flexing. Maybe none of us would be ourselves again.

He gently lowered the chair to the floor. Bowed to Train. Walked to the door we used to enter the room. The guy in the white karate outfit stepped in his way, looking to Train for a sign. By the time Train shook his head, the guy was on the floor, face a black shade of red, holding his ribs gently so they wouldn't cut into his lungs. And Max was on the other side of the door.

I lit another cigarette. "Let's have that dialogue," I said to Train.

THE TWO guards helped the guy in the white outfit to his feet. Went out the same door, leaving us alone. Train put his hands to his temples again.

Silence.

"What do you call yourself?" he finally asked.

"Burke."

"Not who, what. You say you're not a private investigator…you're not a lawyer, not a doctor…all of us are something. You're…"

"Waiting."

His eyes stayed calm. "A dialogue. As we agreed."

I nodded my head forward, acknowledging. "I'm just a man. I guess you could call me a contractor."

"Could you explain?"

"I make contracts with people. I promise to do something for them, they promise to do something for me."

"Pay you money?"

"Sometimes."

"And other times?"

"It depends. I need certain things. Just like you or anybody else. I do my work to get those things. It's not always money."

"Are you for hire, then?"

"Only by people who know me. Or know my people."

"This girl you want…her mother hired you?"

"Yes."