Andrew Vachss - Strega

She sat in silence for a couple of minutes. I could feel her eyes on my face. She cleared her throat a couple of times, but nothing came out. As we pulled onto Centre Street near the courthouse parking lot, she reached across the seat and put her hand on my forearm. I turned to look at her. Her big eyes were even bigger, as if tears were only a second away. It was a good trick.

"All this for a lousy picture?" I asked her.

"Yes."

"It doesn't add up for me."

She pulled at my arm so I'd look at her. "I gave my word!" she said, each syllable spaced and heavy.

Now it made sense. The redhead's ego was on the line. So what? Better her ego than my body. I wheeled next to her BMW and waited for her to get out. But she wasn't ready to give up. She shifted her hips, pulled her long legs up underneath her so she was kneeling on the seat facing me.

"What can I do to make you change your mind?"

"I haven't made up my mind, okay? Write your phone number down and I'll call you when I know."

"How do I know you'll call?"

"You don't."

Her face darkened under the makeup. "You call me. I know what you did in the park. One phone call…"

She let it hang there as she shifted position again and got out. Before I could pull away she was standing in front of the Plymouth, looking through the windshield. Then she came around to my side of the car, leaned in, and whispered to me: "I am very serious about this."

I locked eyes with her, spoke quietly. "I'm serious too, lady. Threats make me nervous. I'm likely to do something stupid when I'm nervous."

She didn't bat an eye. "I'm used to getting what I want. I'm spoiled-more than you'll ever know. I pay for what I want. You just tell me the price."

"Not everything has a price."

"That's a cliché," she whispered, her face close to mine. She put her head inside the car, kissed me lightly on the cheek, and quickly moved away. I watched her snake-hip her way back to the BMW. She looked back once before she pulled away.

"So are you, bitch," I thought to myself. As it turned out, I was half right.

THAT WAS the end of it, I thought. The little princess wouldn't get what she wanted for once in her life and she'd get over it. And I had five hundred bucks. It wouldn't balance the scales, but it would do for today.

I parked behind Mama's apartment, opened the back door, and stepped inside. The door's never locked, but when you open it some kind of bell goes off in the kitchen. When I stepped through the doorway, the short, squat Chinese Mama calls a cook was smiling at me, a butcher knife in one hand. He was ready to chop something-when he saw it was me, he settled for a slab of beef on the counter. I didn't bother to say hello to him-he never answered.

The restaurant was about half filled. Mama was in her usual perch by the cash register near the front door. I caught her eye and made a motion like dialing a telephone. She bowed her head-all clear. I stepped back inside the kitchen, went down a corridor to my right, and found the pay phone.

My call went to another pay phone, the one in Julio's social club.

"Yeah?" barked the receptionist.

"Put Julio on, okay?"

"Who?"

"Julio, pal. You know the name. Tell him he's got a call."

"From who?"

"This is private business, okay? Just tell Julio. He don't want to talk to me, that's his business."

I heard a thunk at the other end, telling me the receiver was swinging against the wall in the club. Julio came on the line.

"Who's this?"

"It's me. You know my voice?"

"Yes," he said, clipped, but not cold.

"I need to talk with you."

"So?"

"Face to face."

"About?"

"About three o'clock tomorrow afternoon. At the Eastern District." Julio didn't answer, just hung up. Anybody listening to the conversation would think Eastern District meant the federal courthouse in Brooklyn. What it meant to Julio was the pier at the end of Jay Street, only a few blocks from the courthouse, but in another world. And tomorrow meant in one hour. If I wanted two hours, I would have told him the day after tomorrow. It was a good place to meet, open on all sides-Julio wouldn't be coming by himself.

I dialed another number, let it ring until it was picked up by my broker.

"What?" Maurice snapped into the receiver.

"Burke. Yonkers, tonight, in the seventh. Two yards to win on Flower Jewel."

"Flower Jewel, two on the nose in the seventh at Yonkers, that right?"

"Right."

"Bring the cash by closing time tomorrow."

"What if I win?"

"Come on," he sneered, "you've already had your quota for this year."

"I haven't hit one fucking race yet this year," I told him.

"I know," said Maurice, and hung up.

I went back inside the restaurant, took the booth at the rear, the one I always use. I wrote Julio's name on a napkin, folded it around the money for Maurice, and waited. Mama spotted me. She left her post and walked back to the booth. I stood up until she was seated.

"So, Burke. You have soup, okay?"

"Yes, Mama. But not too much-I've got work to do."

"Good thing, work. Max work with you?"

"Uh…not on this, I don't think. But take this money and give it to him, okay? Tell him to give it to Maurice tomorrow if he doesn't hear from me." I handed her the napkin wrapped around two hundreds and a twenty. Max would keep the twenty for himself if he made the delivery. And he'd go see Julio if I didn't come back.

Mama didn't make a move, but one of the so-called waiters came over, listened to her rapid-fire Cantonese, and vanished. He came back in a couple of minutes with a tureen of hot-and-sour soup. Mama served me first, like she always does.

"I may have a new case," I told her.

Mama lifted her eyebrows, the soup spoon poised near her mouth.

"I haven't decided yet," I said in answer to her unspoken question.

"Good case?" Mama wanted to know-meaning was I going to get paid.

"Sure. Good case, bad people."

"That woman who call you here last week?"

"Yes."

"You say you not call her back, right? When I tell you who"

"She found me, Mama."

"Oh. At your office?"

"No. She doesn't know about that place. But she looked all over and got lucky."

"That girl very angry."

"Angry? Why? At who?"

"I not know this. But very angry. You feel in her voice."

"She didn't seem angry to me."

"Angry," said Mama. "And dangerous."

"To me?" I asked her.

"Oh, yes," she said. She didn't say anything else while I finished my soup. When I got up to leave, Mama asked, "You take Max with you?"

"Not today."

"When you do work for this girl?"

"I don't know if I'm going to work for her yet."

"Yes, you know," said Mama, a little sadness in her voice. She bowed her head in dismissal and I went out the back to meet Julio.

IGRABBED the Brooklyn Bridge on the Manhattan side and drove across, staying in the right lane. I took the first off-ramp and kept bearing right until I hit the light under the overpass. To the right was the federal courthouse. It's a good spot to meet someone like Julio-nice and private, but too close to the federales for anyone to start shooting. I turned left onto Jay Street and kept rolling my way through the side streets until I was just past John Street, in the shadow of the Manhattan Bridge. I turned the Plymouth parallel to the water on the passenger side, dropped my window, and lit a smoke. The deserted slips hadn't seen a boat in years. I was about fifteen minutes early.

I only had a couple of drags on the cigarette when the white Caddy pulled up. It pulled up to the Plymouth, stopping only when it was nose to nose. The passenger door opened and Julio got out. I opened my door and started to walk away from the cars, my back to the Caddy. I heard one man's footsteps crunching on the gravel behind me. When I got to the railing, I turned so I could see both cars, looking past Julio to see if he was going to be stupid.