Andrew Vachss - Hard Candy

His voice was calm, talking about the weather. "This was another time, it wouldn't matter. I got him in a box. I got nothing to do but wait. But I'm in a box too. I got to finish my work."

"And get paid?"

"They'll pay me. When my work is done, I'm all paid up."

"Julio, he still wants me to bring money to you. It'll be a trap, but…"

"No good. They wouldn't send the big guys. They try something, everybody gets blown up. We don't get to take them with us. Like when I was in the Army. The soldiers die, the generals find new soldiers."

"How come you didn't stay in the Army?"

"When I went in, I did it like doing time, right? Keep your mouth shut, stay out of trouble, wait till they open the gates. I didn't talk, so they figured I was stupid. I was a good shot too. So they make me a sniper. We had this platoon leader, some college kid. He talked to us like we were dogs. Nice dogs, dogs he liked and all. But stupid, you know? Especially the blacks. He made things simple for us. Every time we go out there, it's the fucking gooks keeping us from going home. To our families and all. One day, we're in a firefight. Charlie's winning- got too much juice for us. Time to split, come back another day. But this asshole, he wants us to hold our position. Wait for the choppers to spray the area. Or until they drop napalm on us. Four of our guys got wasted the last time they did that. It came to me. In a flash-second, didn't even think about it. We was supposed to kill gooks cause they was keeping us from going home, right? And now it was this lieutenant keeping us from going home. I put a few rounds into his chest. He goes down, I step up and yell, 'Retreat!' I'm the last one out. I got a Bronze Star for it. I had a good war record. So when they court-martialed me later they let me out with a dishonorable. No stockade time. I stuck up a liquor store the night I got back to the city. Everything went smooth, but the night clerk called the cops when I came back to the hotel. That's when I caught up with you again. In prison."

"What'd they court-martial you for?"

"I was in Japan. On R and R. In a bar. Some Marines got into a fight with some Navy guys. I was halfway out the door when one of them jumped me. I went down. Came back up, chopped the guy in the back of the head with this glass ashtray. He turned into a cripple behind it."

"An accident…"

"Didn't make no difference. I was glad to go. I'm not a soldier. Like the scams you run."

"You mean the mercenary thing?"

"Yeah. They talked to me once. Guys with British accents, only they ain't British. Fight communism, right? Sure. I don't fly nobody's flag."

"Does Julio know your face?"

"I don't have a face. I met him once. He gave me the go for this Mortay freak. But it was dark and he was scared- he couldn't pick me out of a lineup. It was like it is out here- you can't see much."

"He's part of this now."

"I know."

"No you don't. I made a trade. For the information I got. About the place in Sands Point. And the meeting on the bridge."

"You got to do Julio?"

"Yeah."

He went into himself I could feel the edges go soft, merging with the darkness as the center hardened. I lit another smoke, cupping the tip. Max watched. He could feel the changes in the air like a blind coroner doing an autopsy.

"That's the one thing I know. Really know," the monster said. "Murders. In some countries, the leaders get whacked all the time. You know why? 'Cause the people doing the killings, they're not professionals. They're willing to fucking die to get something done. Trade their life for another. Over here, we never get close , you know. Only lunatics do it that way. Remember that guy who shot Reagan? I was that close to him, I'd have so much lead in his body they'd need a crane to get him off the ground. You kill people for money, you have to live to spend it."

"So?"

"Julio's no problem for me- he's a problem for you. Even if this informant of yours didn't want Julio dropped, you know he's setting you up. So it don't make a difference- he's gotta go. And the don- he's no problem for you, right? He don't even know you exist. And he don't care. You ever think of just taking me out…? Max, he's close enough now. Maybe. You bring the don my head, you're off the hook."

"No. I never thought about it."

"You're a dancer, not a killer. You don't understand the way things work. Death makes it right. Wipes the slate clean."

"I wouldn't know." Thinking of Belle. Death hadn't made it all right. Not because the wrong man died- because the wrong man did the killing.

"I know a way to hit the don," Wesley said. "But I need three, four people to make it work. You got the people. You help me, I'll do Julio for you."

"It's just me and Max."

"He's in?"

"Yes."

"You got more people. More brothers ."

"I have to ask. They're my brothers, not my soldiers."

Wesley's voice dropped just a fraction. "Here's the way it goes down," he said. I listened to his toneless voice, thinking how easy he would have taken Mortay. How I should have jumped off the track.

It took a while. "Okay?" he asked.

"I'll be there. Max too. And I'll have the other stuff in place. I'll ask, like I said. Maybe I'll have the other people. If not…"

"It'll still go. Just won't be as safe."

I took a deep breath. "I'm going back in. To see Train. Speak with him. Just so you know."

"He's last. Before I finish up."

"Wesley, you remember a girl from the neighborhood? Little Candy? From when we were kids?"

"No."

Max led us back to the car in the darkness.

IN THE WAY back to the city, I called the junkyard. We stopped in, spoke to the Mole. He'd place the cars. I didn't ask him to do anything else.

It took us a couple of hours to find the Prof. He was working Penn Station, deep in talk with a couple of guys stretched out on sleeping mats made from cut-up cartons. A two-wheeled shopping cart stood between them, full of magazines, empty plastic bottles, a Cabbage Patch doll with only one arm on top. As we closed in on him, I recognized the two pups from the shoeshine stand.

They recognized me too. The bigger one snaked his hand into the cart.

"Chill it, fool," the Prof snapped at him. The pup listened to his teacher. The Prof walked over to us. We stood against the corner as I ran it down.

The little man thought it over. "There's always danger from a stranger."

I thought of what the Mole said about Wesley. "He's not us, Prof. But he's not them either."

"I'll drive. From the far side. Couple of hours. You don't show, I go." Dealing himself in. One piece left.

I rang Michelle's room. "Are you decent?" I asked her.

"No, but I'm dressed."

Max and I went up to her hotel room. She was wearing green Chinese pajamas, makeup in place, hair still up. Smoking one of her long black cigarettes.

She kissed Max on the cheek, reached over, squeezed my hand. "What is it?"

"Monday night, late. I need someone to drive me and Max. Wait for us. Couple of hours. We don't show up, take the car and split."

"What's the risk?"

"Not much. The car'lI be clean when you're sitting in it. We come back on the run, you can still fade."

"Somebody's paying?"

"Somebody."

"I'm in for a piece?"

"We're not stealing, Michelle. Flat rate. You call it."

"I'll have to take the whole night off. Say, two large."

"Okay."

"You're different now. Different again."

"What?"

"You don't feel like a gunfighter to me anymore. But you're not back to yourself. Something's still missing."

I knew what it was: I didn't feel afraid.

IT WAS getting light when I took Max back to the warehouse. I waited while he got my mail from upstairs. Same old stuff.