Andrew Vachss - Flood

I said sure without the slightest idea of what he was talking about. Ricardo thinks questions like that add a lot of class to the joint. He put some silly-looking glass filled with dark liquid and a slice of lime in front of me. I didn’t touch it-I don’t drink. I put a twenty on the bar, Ricardo made it disappear and threw a bunch of bills back in the original spot. I let them ride and asked, “Seen Michelle?”

“Today?” A blank look on his face.

“Ricardo, you know me-what’s the problem?”

He let his eyes drift down to the money on the bar. Sure-if I was there as a friend, why would I have to bribe this guy just to find out where she was? Ricardo wasn’t as dumb as he acted. So I said, “For my drinks… and hers, right?”

He smiled. The man had about twice the normal allotment of teeth. “She’s in the dining room, sir.”

The dining room crack just meant she was around someplace, and that he would let her know I was here. I don’t know how they do that, and I never asked. But the system works-in less than five minutes Michelle swished through the door of the ladies room and took the stool next to me.

“Looking for company, handsome?”

“Actually,” I told her, “I’m looking for the Prophet.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“No, baby, I mean Prof, you know?”

“Oh, that Prof. He’ll be here. This place is on his regular rounds. But I guess you knew that.”

“Yeah. Look, I have to ask you something about your friend Margot.”

“Ask me what, honey?” said Michelle, her face calm but her eyes alert.

“Is she straight?”

“She’s a who-ah, sweetie, a pros-tit-tute.”

“That’s not what I mean, Michelle. She told me some things, and maybe she asked me to do some things. I don’t want to get it caught in a wringer.”

“One of my friends got it caught in a wringer. It cost a lot of money-she should have gone to Sweden. You know they don’t do the operations at Johns Hopkins anymore?”

“Yeah, I know. Do you know Margot’s pimp?”

“Dandy? Yes, I know the swine.”

“A swine because he’s running girls or-?”

“A swine, darling. A pain-freak-there’s a lot of them around nowadays. I don’t even think he’s a righteous pimp, you know? Like he marks the girls in the face-what kind of pimp does that?”

“What’s his weight?” I asked.

“Strictly fly, baby. He came from Boston where he was working some runaways. That’s his real thing, you know. He has some boys too. I heard he was even pimping when he was in the joint.”

“Why would he come down from Boston?”

“Baby, don’t you know the way it works? It’s harder to pimp in a small town. You have to be in good with the locals, and you can make enemies so easily. Here in the Rotten Apple there is room for everyone-you don’t have to be connected to work street girls, you don’t have to make payoffs, don’t even need a trick book. All you need is meat on the street, just some meat on the street. Maybe he had some trouble back in Boston-who knows?”

“You saying Margot is good people?”

“Honey, for a biological woman, she’s all right.”

“Okay,” I said, “now what about the message you gave her for me?”

Michelle leaned against me, put one hand on the back of my neck to bring me closer to her lips, and whispered, “I heard about a freak who did some kids, did them real bad. And when he got popped he dropped a pocketful of dimes, okay? I don’t know if he’s your man, but he sounds right. And one of the heavies he is supposed to have given up is this man who makes ugly movies. Burke, I won’t even say this man’s name-get it from someplace else.”

“Where?”

“Honey, I don’t know. I already said too much, even to you. This is the man you have to see if you want a snuff film, okay?” Michelle released her grip. “I love you, Burke,” and she leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. She swung off the stool and disappeared back into the club without another word.

I asked Ricardo for a roast beef sandwich and got some three-decker nonsense on toast with the crusts neatly trimmed off. I was eating and checking the paper when the Prof appeared in a floor-length raincoat and carrying an umbrella. The city was in for a long dry spell.

“It’s going to rain?” I asked the Prophet.

“It will rain,” he promised.

“What happened to seven-twenty-seven?”

“It was the wrong plane, my son. The number came seven-forty-seven. When you work with me, you have to think big.”

“So it was my fault?”

“God gives the word-mortals interpret the word of God. There is more than a single version of the Bible, and for good reason.”

“Do you think you might be persuaded to give the word to an individual here on earth?”

“This is always possible,” he said. “Are you going to finish that sandwich?”

“No,” I said, and shoved it across, signaling to Ricardo to give him whatever he wanted to drink. Ricardo appeared, looked questioningly at the Prophet, who asked, “Buttermilk?” smiling his sweet smile.

Ricardo served it up like he had a call for buttermilk every day. Maybe he did.

I turned to the Prof. “You know a halfass pimp named Dandy?”

The Prof handled the segue back to the prison yard without breaking stride. “I got the slant on the whole plant, Burke. He’s a new boy, green to the scene-talks a tough game but he hasn’t been with us long.”

“The word is he won’t be with us much longer if he doesn’t change his ways.”

“Talk to me,” said the Prof.

“Let me put it this way,” I said. “Sometimes you have to play the same hand you deal to other people.”

“What goes around, comes around-true enough. Who’s down on his case?”

“Among others, Max the Silent.”

“Max? Max the life-taking, widow-making, silent wind of death?”

“The same.”

“I got the message, Burke. The Prof will not be around when the shit comes down.”

“No, that’s not it, Prof. I want this fool to understand what he’s playing with, okay? I want to send him a message.”

“Which is…?”

“Clean up his act or take it on the road… alone.”

The Prof thought for a minute. “Leave his string behind, is that it?”

“As far as I know, he’s got no string-just one lady, and he’s working her too hard.”

“I got it. And I’ll give him the word. Can I tell him in public?”

“Why?”

“Look, Burke, I got to survive on these streets too. If I lay the message on him and he doesn’t listen, then Max moves on him, right?”

“Right.”

“So people connect me with Max-that’s a better insurance policy than Prudential.”

“Good enough. But he’s supposed to be a nasty bastard, Prof-he may not take the message too well.”

“If he wants to play, he’s got to pay,” said the Prof, and I put a pair of tens into his hand. He slid off the barstool, turned, and said: “What’s the word?”

“If there’s a reason, there’s a season?” I ventured.

“Yes, and if it’s truth, it can’t be treason,” he replied, and vanished into the daylight outside.

I left a ten on the bar for Ricardo and followed in the Prophet’s footsteps. At the rate this case was going I could end up on welfare-or veteran’s assistance, or disability, workman’s compensation, unemployment, or any of the other government paths to a regular income. I hoped not-it was a drag keeping track of all that paperwork.

I WALKED A few blocks through the sunlight, found a pay phone, and called Flood. Someone else answered. “Ms. Flood is instructing.” I hung up while she was saying something about leaving a message. Walked another few blocks to another phone and called Mama. I told her I’d be over and hung up on her too when she started going on about being careful with bad people. After walking crosstown all the way to the West Side I got into a cab and told the driver to cruise down West Street. I got off near the World Trade Center, bought a copy of that night’s Harness Lines, and took my time strolling back to the office.