Andrew Vachss - Mask Market

Not many men get a second chance with a woman like Wolfe. I was probably the only man alive who could have blown them both.

“This isn’t about her,” I said. “It’s not about me, either. I need a package, that’s all.”

“Say where and when.”

“The cafeteria? Tonight? Anytime after eight?”

“Bring it all with you,” she said, and disconnected.

S he came in the front door, beamed a “Hi!” to Mama, and breezed over to my booth. Mick was a couple of paces behind her, like he always is. He clasped his hands, bowed to Mama, who returned the gesture of respect.

Mick’s a big man, broad-shouldered, with a natural athlete’s build. His face would be matinee-idol material if it ever had an expression. Pepper once told the Prof that Mick had gone to one of those colleges where the football coach makes more than the whole science department, but he got disgusted with it and left. Made me curious enough to do a little research. Apparently, fracturing the coach’s jaw was enough to get your scholarship canceled.

Mick glided behind Pepper so he was standing beside her as Max and I got to our feet. Mick bowed to Max as he had to Mama, caught the return, then gave me mine. Pepper was still smiling…at Max. We all sat down.

“Oh, could I have some of that special dish we had last time, please?” Pepper said, as Mama came to our table.

“Sure, okay,” Mama said, and disappeared into the back.

“I love fortune cookies,” Pepper said, turning around agilely and swiping a small metal bowl from the table behind her.

“You don’t want those,” I told her.

“Why not?”

“They’re for tourists, Pepper.”

“So?”

“So Mama doesn’t like tourists.”

“Oh, stop!”

I exchanged a look with Mick. He made a “What do you want me to do?” gesture with his eyebrows that might have been one of Max’s.

Pepper delicately cracked one of the cookies open. “Oh, ugh!” she said, tossing the tiny scrap of paper onto the table.

Max picked it up, twisted his lips, and handed it to me. Life is the road to death. All you choose is your speed.

“Told you,” I said.

“Are they all like that?” Pepper asked, curious despite herself.

“Pretty much,” I assured her. One of Mama’s proudest boasts was that no tourist visited twice.

“But the food here is wonderful !”

“That’s not customer food,” I said. “It’s just for…people Mama knows.”

“Then why does she even—?” Pepper started to say, before a look from Mick cut her off.

A waiter came out with a huge, shallow bowl of…whatever it was that Pepper had eaten the last time she’d been there, I guessed.

We ate in silence. Mick was a kung-fu man, and it looked like he was questioning Max about some sort of praying-mantis technique. Or maybe he was just practicing his nonverbal conversation skills. Pepper watched, fascinated. One of the prettiest things about her is how interested she always is in things. I wish she liked me.

The waiter took away our dishes. Max lit a cigarette. Pepper frowned. I reached over and took one for myself. Mick shook his head sadly at my immaturity.

“I’ve got a name,” I said to Pepper. “Two names, really. We don’t know if either one’s legit. One address, but it’s real old.”

“What else?”

“White male. Between five eight and five ten, slim build. Brown eyes, brown hair. Looks to be somewhere in his fifties.”

“You think he’s on paper somewhere?”

“No. Far as I know, he’s never taken a fall.”

“And you want what exactly?”

“I want to know where he lives. If he’s still at the same place, that would be good enough. If not…”

“You’ve seen him personally, or are you just working off that vague description?”

“I know him.”

“So you want a picture? Of him at the address?”

“Yeah. That’d do it.”

“All right,” she said, all business. “You know we can’t give you a price until we know how long it’s going to—”

“I know,” I said, grinding out my cigarette. “Be careful, Pepper. This guy’s no citizen.”

“How could I have guessed?” she said, smiling. At Max.

“W ant to go someplace with me?” I asked Loyal, later that night.

“Someplace nice?”

“Afterwards.”

“Do I get to dress up?”

“You’re always dressed up.”

“Yeah?” she said, deep in her throat.

“T his isn’t so much fun,” she said later, doing it in baby talk to take the sting out.

“I thought you loved acting.”

“Well, I do. But this isn’t…I mean, all we’re doing is driving around.”

“ Why are we driving around?”

“We’re tired of paying a fortune to rent in Manhattan, and co-op prices are just ridiculous. We heard this neighborhood has real value in it,” she said, in the bored tone a schoolgirl uses to tell you, yes, she did do her homework.

“That’s good!”

“It’s only good if someone asks us,” she said, pouting. “And who’s going to ask us anything if we just keep driving around?”

“I was thinking a cop.”

“A cop? You mean…Oh my God ! Are we, what do you call it, casing someplace to rob? Is that what you really—?”

“I don’t do things like that,” I said, my tone indicating that a criminal of my stature didn’t do manual labor. “We’re just…scouting, okay? You know what eminent domain is, little girl?”

“Yes!” she said, suddenly interested. “I once had a…friend who was a lawyer. A real-estate lawyer, in fact. He told me all about how it works.”

“Good. See all these houses?” I said, turning my head from side to side to indicate I was talking about the whole area. “They’ve gone up in price like a rocket, the past couple of years. Nobody knows where the top floor is. Everyone here thinks they’re sitting on a gold mine, okay?”

“Okay….” she said, interested despite her pose.

“What if the rumor got started that the city was going to cut a big swath right through this area, to sell to some private developer? The Supreme Court says they can do that now.”

“The government never pays fair market value,” she said, firmly.

“Right. And…?”

“And people would want to sell before the word got out so that…Oh!”

“Yeah.”

“That’s the kind of thing you do?”

“One of them.”

“I hate these seat belts,” she said, crossing her legs and taking a deep breath. “They make me feel all…restrained, you know?”

“I eyeballed the house,” I said. “Nice size, solid, set close to the sidewalk.”

“Look like anyone was home?” the Prof asked.

“Couple of lights on, behind curtains. And one out front, but that was more for decoration.”

“My man got burglar bars?”

“In that neighborhood? They’d probably run him out of town for messing up the decor.”

“Might be going electronic.”

“Sure.”

“Could you see the yard?”

“In front, there isn’t much of anything at all. I got some old City Planning maps of the neighborhood. Near as I could tell, if those houses have back yards, they’re postage stamps.”

“He could still have a hound on the grounds.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been thieving since way before you was born, Schoolboy.

Any crib can be cracked. But that one’s in a bad neighborhood for B-and-E. If Charlie’s holed up there, it’s a mortal lock that he’s got the place wired.”

“I’m not thinking about going in, Prof.”