Andrew Vachss - Down in the Zero

But I had time to chew on it, work it through. They hadn't told me the whole story— I didn't need to know it. That was their business, not mine.

I've got my own business too. I hadn't told them I recognized one of the names on the printout.

Bluestone dust was still dancing in the driveway when I drove up. The kid was lying under the Plymouth— I could see his sneakers sticking out. He pushed himself free, rubbing something off the front of his sweatshirt.

"I changed the oil and filter," he said. "Hey, what kind of injectors are you running? I checked my hooks— that's a four–forty in there, it came with carbs, right?"

"I guess so…I don't know."

"But…"

"Randy, I'm telling you the truth. The car's pretty much the way I got it. I didn't build it— I just drive it."

"Yeah, okay. Burke…"

"What?"

"She was here. While you were gone."

"Fancy?"

"No. Charm. She asked about you."

"Asked what?"

"How come you were here. What you were doing, you know."

"No, I don't know. What did you tell her?"

"That you were the caretaker. To, like, look after the place while my mother was away."

"So?"

"So she…didn't believe me, I think. She gave me a look, like I was lying. It was…I dunno…kind of scary."

"Did she go upstairs, Randy?"

The kid hung his head. "Yeah."

"You told her it was okay?"

"No. I told her she couldn't. She said I wasn't going to stop her…and I'd better not tell you she was there either."

"All right, take it easy. How long was she up there?"

"Just a few minutes. Then she went over to the house."

"You go over there with her?"

"No," he said again, his face still down.

"Stay here," I told him, heading for the stairs.

If she'd tossed the place, she was good. I could see the search–signs, but they were faint. Subtle.

It only took me a minute to find the listening device inside the handpiece to the telephone.

Downstairs again, I ignored the kid's look, walked past him over to the big house. The back door was open. I let myself in, moving quiet. Cherry's bedroom looked the same. I worked the buttons on the intercom and the sliding door opened in the marble wall to the bath. When I looked inside, the compartment was empty.

I stepped out of the bedroom, heard a noise downstairs. I moved back down the corridor, into one of the bathrooms, flushed the toilet, counted to ten, and came down the stairs.

The kid was sitting at the kitchen table pouring himself a glass of milk, a box of chocolate donuts standing open in front of him.

"Hey, Burke. You want a donut?"

"Didn't I tell you to stay by the car?"

"I thought…you meant until you were done in the apartment. I didn't…"

"Don't think so fucking much," I told him. Then I walked out the back door.

Back in the apartment, I took out my notebook, started to go over the list of parents of the kids who'd died. Blankenship scanned legit to me— maybe I'd get lucky with one of the others.

I picked up my tapped phone, dialed Fancy's number. She answered on the second ring.

"Hello."

"Ten o'clock tonight," I told her, my voice flat and hard. "Get your fat ass over here. And don't be late, understand?"

"Yes," she breathed soft into the mouthpiece.

I hung up on her.

Just past four, I heard a tentative knock on the door. I looked through the glass. Randy. I walked over from the couch, let him in.

"What?"

"Burke, I'm sorry. About Charm. And about…not staying where you told me. I was gonna…be different. The car…I can't explain it."

"Sit down," I told him gently, stepping back from the door.

He crossed over to the couch, leaving me the easy chair. He sat there for a minute, collecting himself.

"My mother told me about you," he said.

"Told you what?"

"She said she knew you a long time ago. When she did you that…favor, remember?"

"Yeah."

"My mother doesn't talk to me much. She never did, really. She said she wanted me…real special. That's why she went through all that, with the artificial insemination and all. She's not around here very much. She always says, someday she'll tell me things. She never says what things. Just…things. Things I need to know. I guess…"

His voice trailed off. I lit a smoke, not saying anything, letting my body language tell him it was okay, I was listening, patient, all the time in the world. He took a little gulping breath, got going again.

"Anyway, my mother told me you were a…tough guy. I mean, real tough, not like a weightlifter or anything. Dangerous, that's what she said. Burke is a dangerous man."

You tell a lot of people stories about me, don't you, bitch?

I kept my face quiet, mildly interested, waiting for him to continue.

"She knew you when you were, like, my age, right?" the kid went on. "She said that's the way you were then, too. She said you were a man of honor— that you'd honor a debt. She really told me about you a long time ago. When she went away. I was just a little kid, like ten or something. She said, if anyone tried to do something to me, I should call you. Just call you and tell you, and you'd fix it. For the debt."

"Do something like what, Randy?"

"Like…I don't know. She didn't say. She would…leave me with people. Caretakers, she called them. She always did that. It was them she meant, I think. But I know what she said. If anybody makes me scared, I should call you."

"Did that ever happen?"

"No, not…really. But my mother thought it might, I could tell. I was in her room once, just playing around. I found a maid's outfit. You know, like a black dress with a white apron? I thought it was Rosemary's. She was the maid we had then. From Ireland. So I put it in her room, on the bed. My mother saw it there. I heard her yell for Rosemary. When Rosemary came upstairs, I hid. I was scared, my mother sounded so mad. She asked Rosemary why she took the outfit. Rosemary said she didn't, and my mother slapped her. Right across the face. She told Rosemary to put it back in her room. Then when Rosemary came back, my mother slapped her again. I never told her it was me.

"It was a long time ago," I said. "Don't worry about it."

"My mother asked me later, did Rosemary ever do anything to me? Like…punish me or something. I told her no, Rosemary never did that. That's when she said the thing about calling you, the first time."

I played with my cigarette, letting him drive his own car.

"When I called you, I was scared. Like something was gonna happen, but I didn't know what."

"The suicides?"

"I guess so. There's…something else too. I can't tell you. But I knew if you were around, it wouldn't happen."

"That kid Brew?"

"No!" he snorted a laugh. "Not him. Anyway, when I started to…do stuff with you, I thought I could…maybe help, I don't know. I don't smoke dope anymore," he said, looking straight across at me, eyes clear. "I don't booze either. And I'm not gonna tank, next time they have a party. I want to do…something."

"Drive?"

"Yes! When I drive, it's like I'm the car. It feels…connected. I don't know. You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

"No. No, I don't. All the great drivers, that's the way they talk about it…like it's all one piece."

"Did you know any? Great drivers, I mean."

I couldn't tell him. I started to lose it for a second, but I reached down and grabbed hold. I fussed with a cigarette until I had it under control. "I did time with one of them," I told the kid. "Long time ago. He was a great, great wheelman. Drove on some of the biggest hijacks in the country, bank jobs too. The Prof knew him better than me, but I talked a lot to him too."

"You mean like a getaway driver?"

"More than that, kid. He was stand–up, see? No matter what happened inside, Petey wouldn't leave you there. He'd be waiting at the curb when you came out."