Andrew Vachss - Down Here

“I don’t care—”

“Right. Know you don’t. Know you won’t. Only thing is, you know how people get when you scare them deep enough. They’ll tell you anything you want to hear.”

“Meaning, you don’t think Nate’s actually going to write the bond?”

“He’s either going to write it, or he’s going to run, son. Get down, go to ground, not be around. Not until this one’s all done.”

“If he—”

“Yo! Ice up, youngblood! What’s wrong with you? The little midget pulls a burn, he gets to learn. But that’s down the line, another time. What we’re here for is to get your girl the door. Say I’m on time with all that rhyme.”

“You’re right, Prof,” I assured him.

Ididn’t want to take a chance on calling Davidson at his home. I had the number, but it was almost five in the morning by then, and I didn’t want to spook his kids—that kind of move could cost me some ground. Figured he wouldn’t have his cell turned on, either, so I called his office number and spoke into the tape.

“Go spring her; it’s covered. Surety is Korlok Bonding Company, in the Bronx.” I gave him the rest of the particulars, including the phone number and who to ask for.

“What’s next, mahn?” Clarence asked as I got back into the Plymouth.

“We have to wait a few hours,” I told him, signing the same message to Max. “Make sure Wolfe gets bailed, first. I have to find out some stuff. Figure, another twenty-four hours, we know exactly what we have to do. I’ll leave word at—”

Max tapped my chest. Shook his head “no” at me. Made the sign of a man eating with chopsticks.

“All right,” I told them all. “Mama’s at five this afternoon. Tell Michelle, too, okay?”

“ She came back, boss,” Gateman greeted me as I walked in the door of the flophouse.

“How long ago?”

“Around midnight. Had the Rottweiler with her again, too. Plus a guy. He’s been up before, last year. I remember him. Big guy. Looks like a farm boy, but he’s no Hoosier, I could tell.”

Mick, I thought. Good. If he was with Pepper, he wasn’t prowling the city, looking for someone to hurt.

“What did you tell them?”

“Boss, I told them you wasn’t in. The girl, she gave me two choices. I mean, she didn’t say the choices, but that’s what they was. I could either let them go on up and wait for you, or I could shoot them all.”

I nodded my head, telling Gateman he’d done the right thing. “Which one would you have gone for first?” I asked him.

“Got to be the Rottie,” Gateman said, professionally. “I could have cleared leather before any of them could move. That usually stuns them for a second, gives you some options. And they weren’t standing that close. But that only works with people, not dogs. And that fucking Rottie was ready, if you get my drift.”

Bruiser was ready. I heard his warning snarl as I came up the last flight of stairs.

“It’s me,” I said.

The beast didn’t recognize my voice. Or, more likely, he did. I heard Pepper say, “Bruiser, down!”

She was sitting on the futon, Bruiser at her feet. Mick was standing off to one side, so he could see if there was anyone coming up behind me.

“We didn’t want to risk a cell call,” Pepper said. “And we only have—”

“I already got the bail secured,” I cut her off. “She’ll be out later on today.”

“That’s great!” Pepper said, clapping her hands. The Rottweiler jumped to his feet. “No!” she said, jerking the dog’s short lead. “It’s all right, Bruiser.”

“You’re sure ?” Mick asked me, his voice thick with threat.

“I’m not walking in there with a half-mil in cash,” I said. “It’ll be a bondsman. I went to see him myself. Just got back. And I don’t think there’s much doubt.”

Mick made a noise in his throat. Bruiser looked up at him like a kindred spirit.

“Listen, listen!” Pepper said, excitedly. “This is what I couldn’t say on the phone. There’s a detective, Sands. He was working Special Victims when Wolfe was head of City-Wide. Do you know him?”

“Never heard his name,” I said, truthfully.

“He called us. At the office number. He wants someone to meet him. At seven in the morning. This morning. A bar called the Four-Leaf. Do you know it?”

“If he means the one around here, I know where it is,” I said. And I did. If you went westbound on Chambers Street, past the little park and all the way across the West Side Highway, you could find it, tucked into a corner, right near the river. “But I’ve never been there.”

“He says he has some things for us. Things that could help Wolfe.”

“Probably working for the DA. Hoping you’d be dumb enough to have a landline in the office, so they could find out where to serve the search warrant,” I said. Wolfe’s operation didn’t have a street address. She met with her clients the same way I did—anyplace else. “Or maybe he just wants to pump you. The cops have to know that Wolfe has a network, and that you’re with her.”

“No, no,” Pepper said. “He’s not with them. He’s for Wolfe. For real.”

“And you would know that exactly . . . how?”

“Because . . . All right, I don’t know it. Not for sure.”

“You ask Wolfe?”

“How could I? I haven’t talked to her since . . . since this happened.”

“So?”

“So that’s why I’m . . . why we’re here. Why we waited. Detective Sands said he wanted to meet—”

“You told me that.”

“Here’s what I didn’t tell you,” she said, lips tight with self-control. “He didn’t ask for me. What he said was, ‘Send anyone you want. Ask whatever questions you want. Or don’t say a word—I’ll do all the talking. You understand? I could be wired like a radio station, it wouldn’t do the other side any good.’ Now what does that sound like to you?”

“Like he’s for Wolfe. Or he’s smarter than the average cop.”

“Or both, right?” Pepper said, eagerly.

“We have to go,” Mick cut through it, his voice no-dispute hard. “If he’s got anything that could—”

“Pepper’s right,” I said to him, getting it for the first time. “If he’s working for the other side, even getting a look at you or Pepper would be another round in their cylinder. Especially if you’re going to be her alibi, down the road. But my face won’t mean anything. . . .”

“You’ll go, right?” Pepper asked, big dark eyes pressuring and pleading at the same time.

“Seven? You mean, in less than two hours, then?”

“Yes. That’s why we waited here. It’s pretty close by. If you hadn’t shown up, we would have had to—”

“I’ll do it,” I said. “But I don’t know when Davidson’s going to call and—”

They were already on their way out, the Rottweiler leading the way.

Less than two hours before the meet. A half-hour walk from my place, max.

I don’t drink coffee. And stims scare me, the way they throw off my pulse rate.

So I took a long hot shower, followed by a fifteen-second blast of only-cold spray. A quick, careful shave. A glass of grape juice and some rye toast, to settle my stomach. I threw down the motley assortment of vitamins and minerals and Devil-knows-what-else I swallow every morning, a habit I’d gotten into when I was holed up in the Pacific Northwest, after the ambush that was supposed to have totaled me. I wasn’t running from the shooters; I was staying down to make sure there weren’t any of them left. Besides the ones I’d already found.