Andrew Vachss - Hard Candy

"You know a guy named Train? Over in Brooklyn."

He sipped his coffee, buried inside a winter overcoat that tented around his shoulders, running it through his memory bank. "It doesn't scan, man."

"He's got some kind of thing going. Like a cult, only…I don't know. Woman asked me to bring her kid home from there."

"Runaway?"

"I don't think so. The deal was, I just ask him, okay?"

"Ask him hard?"

"No. And just once.

"If it's like you say, what's the play?"

"He asked me the questions."

"Show me a piece."

"Mostly about his security system…did I think it was good enough."

"For what?"

"To protect him, I guess. I thought he was trying to hire a body-guard at first, but he never really asked."

"He want a favor? Don't he know you only play for pay?"

I lit a cigarette. Told the little man about the lie detector Train used, the karate-man he had at the door, the layout of the house.

I wasn't watching his face but I could feel him nod. The words came out of the side of his mouth. "I ain't read the book, but I'll take a look."

I left him at his post.

I CALLED CANDY from a pay phone in the station.

"He said okay."

"You have my girl?"

"Tomorrow night. I'll bring her to you."

"See? I told you…"

I hung up.

A DOLL-FACED young girl was working the exit ramp to the subway at Forty-second Street. Soft brown hair in pigtails down the sides of her face, body buried in a quilted baby-blue jacket.

"Mister? Can you help me? I'm trying to get together enough money to go home."

"Where's home?"

"In Syosset- on Long Island."

"That's where I'm going. Come on, I'll give you a ride." She bit her lower lip. "Twenty bucks."

"What?"

"Twenty bucks. And you can ride me wherever you want, okay?" Before I lost Belle, I would have taken her with me. Called McGowan.

I walked out into the street.

THE NEXT DAY it was dark enough by seven, but we gave the night a couple of hours to settle in. I went to Train's place alone. A different guy let me in. I followed him upstairs. Took my seat. Waited.

The door opened and they all walked in. Train was with them. The woman who said I had told the truth came in last, leading a girl by the hand. A short, slender little girl wearing faded jeans with a rip above one knee. A pale green T-shirt with "Zzzzap!" across the chest, plastic strap of an airline bag across one shoulder, denim jacket in one hand.

"Do you know this man?" Train asked the girl. She shook her head no.

The lie detector opened her robe. She was naked beneath it. Took the girl inside, hugging her close, looked over her shoulder at Train. Nodded.

"This is who you asked for," Train said to me.

"If you say so."

"You don't know her?"

"No."

"But you've seen a photograph… had her described to you?"

"Sure."

"And?"

"I can't tell." The girl's yellow cat's eyes watched me.

"Do you want to ask her any questions?"

"No." I lit a cigarette. "If she's not the right girl, I'll bring her back."

His lower lip twisted. Hands went to his temples. The lie detector opened her robe. The girl walked over. Stood in front of me. "Let's go," she said, slipping one arm into her jacket.

I stood up. Nobody moved. She followed me to the door. The new guard stepped aside. We walked down the stairs by ourselves. Opened the front door and stepped outside. She didn't look back.

SHE WALKED beside me to the Plymouth. I unlocked the passenger door for her. As she swung her hips into the front seat I slipped the airline bag off her shoulder. She didn't react. I closed the door behind her, walked around behind the car, unzipping the bag, rooting through it with my hand. Nothing in there that could hurt you unless you swallowed it.

I climbed inside, handed her the bag. She put it on the floor, groped inside, came out with a cigarette.

"Can I have a light?" Her voice was soft, like she was asking me for something else.

I fired a wooden match, held it out to her. She wrapped both hands around mine, lit the smoke, eyes on me. "Your hand feels strong."

I wheeled the car down Flatbush Avenue, heading for the Manhattan Bridge. Turned right on the Bowery, heading uptown.

"My mother sent you?"

"That's right, Elvira."

"Nobody calls me that."

"What do they call you?"

"Juice," she said, flashing a smile. "You think that's dumb?"

"Kids have funny names."

"I'm not a kid."

"Fifteen, your mother said."

"My mother is a liar. She always lies."

I shrugged.

"What if I don't want to go back?"

"Talk to her about it."

"I'm talking to you."

"You're talking to yourself."

I pulled up at a red light on First Avenue. She snapped her lighted cigarette at me and ripped at the door handle, shoving her shoulder against the passenger door. It didn't budge. I picked her cigarette off the seat, tossed it out my window. She pushed her back against the car door, watching me, breathing hard through her mouth.

"You think you're smart- you're not so smart."

"Just relax."

"Will you talk to me?"

"About what?"

"Just talk to me. I'm not a package. Not something you just deliver."

"Yeah you are."

"Look, you can keep me in this car, okay? But you have to bring me in the house too."

"I can do that."

"Oh yes. You're a hard man. Momma only likes hard men."

"It's just a job."

Streets passed. Her breathing got calm again. "Can I have another smoke?"

"Sure." I handed her the little box of wooden matches.

"You don't trust me?"

"Why would I?"

"Because I'm not like my mother. I never lie. Never, ever. If I tell you I'll do something, I'll do it."

"And so you're telling me what?"

She drew on the smoke. "I'm telling you I want to talk to you. Just for a couple of minutes. Pull the car over…anyplace you want…just talk to me. Then when we get to my mother's, I'll walk in with you just like I was supposed to. No trouble, no screaming, nothing. Okay?"

I made a right turn on Twenty-third, found an empty slot facing the river under the East Side Drive. An abandoned car, stripped to its shell, was on my right, empty space on the left. I slid down my window, killed the ignition. Lit a smoke. "Let's talk," I said to the girl.

Her smile flashed again, knocking the pout off her face. "What's your name?"

"Burke."

"Are you my mother's man?"

"No."

She shrugged out of the denim jacket, arching her back so her breasts poked at the T-shirt. "Is this what you do?"

"What?"

"Deliver packages."

"Sometimes."

"You like it?"

"It's work."

"But do you like it?"

"If I liked it, people wouldn't have to pay me to do it."

"Sometimes you get paid for what you like to do. Like a whore who loves to fuck."

I shrugged. I had never met one.

She took a drag on her cigarette. Handed it to me. I tossed it out my window.

"It's real dark here."

"You're all done talking, we can leave."

"You want me to shut up?"

"It doesn't matter. We have a deal, right? We talk, then I take you home."

"You mean you take me to my mother's."

"Whatever."

"If you wanted me to shut up, you know the best way to do it?"

"No."

"You put something in my mouth. You want to put something in my mouth?" Her voice was bad-little-girl teasing. She knew how to do it.

"No."

"Yes you do. I can feel it." Her hand snaked toward my lap in the darkness.

I grabbed her wrist.

"All done talking?"

"What's the matter, Mr. Burke? You never went back to your girlfriend with lipstick on your cock before?"