Andrew Vachss - Down in the Zero

"You were going to stay here all night?" she asked.

"I didn't want to wake you."

"That was sweet…but I wasn't asleep."

"You were…peaceful."

"Can we go outside?"

"Sure, if you want."

She took off her heels, slid over against me. I opened my door, climbed out. Held out my hand. She took it. We walked down to the creek in the darkness. Fancy found a fallen tree, the tips of its dead branches dangling into the creek. She tugged on my hand until I sat down next to her. Then she let go of my hand, spun so her back was against me, stuck her legs straight out on the tree, balancing easily.

"That was my first one," she said, facing away. "My first real one.

"Your first real what?"

"Climax. At least that's what I think it was. I could feel it inside. Hot bolts, like lightning crackling. Then…whooosh!"

"Good."

"Good? That's all you can say?"

"I don't know what to say," I said to her back.

"Did you really want me to help you?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you said you wanted to."

"Get you into Rector's? I didn't say anything about that."

"That isn't all of it," I told her, improvising, steering it away.

"What, then?" she asked, spinning to face me.

"I have to talk to some people. People from around here. The parents…of the kids who died. I figured, some of them would get suspicious. I'm going to tell them Cherry hired me. Because she was concerned about Randy and all. I thought you could back that up, maybe come along with me while I worked."

"You really do…want me to help?"

"That's what I said."

"When do we start?"

"Tomorrow," I said. "And, Fancy…don't tell anybody about this, okay?"

"Who would I tell?"

I drove back to the apartment, Fancy sitting close to me the way girls did years ago, before seat belts.

"Can I come upstairs?" she asked. "Not tonight, child. I've got to go out again."

"Don't call me 'child.' I hate that. I'm not a child."

"It doesn't mean anything, Fancy. It's just an affectionate term."

"I like 'bitch' better."

"Okay."

"In front of people, you understand? It's a property word."

She got out of the Plymouth, opened the door to her black NSX. "Tomorrow, okay?" she murmured, coming into my arms.

I gave her a squeeze, patted her bottom. "I'll call you, bitch," I told her, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead before she could protest.

The black car pulled off. I glanced over at the garage— the Miata was still missing.

I dropped the coins, dialed home base.

"You speak to the Prof?" I asked Mama when she answered.

"Right here," she replied.

"What you done, son?"

"I'm not sure, Prof. I got something…maybe a big score. Not on the phone, okay?"

"Keep it tight— we fly by night."

"You can get out here?"

"Name the place, I'm in the race."

I told him take the turnpike, grab the first gas station past the Greenwich tolls. Midnight tomorrow.

"I'll be at the spot. On the dot."

"How'd it go last night?" I asked the kid. He was sitting at the kitchen table, tearing into his third bowl of cereal like he needed the fuel.

"I'm…not sure. It was different. Not the party. I mean, that was like it always was. Me, maybe."

"You get to see that girl? Wendy?"

"Yeah. She was there. We…danced. Outside."

"I didn't think you all went in for dancing at those parties."

"We…they don't. The music…you really can't dance to it unless you're wrecked. We went outside, on the patio. I asked her to dance. Not to the music, just to dance."

"You can do that?"

"Dance? Sure. My mother sent me for lessons when I was a little kid. Ballroom dancing, like. I can do all the old stuff."

"Sounds pretty good."

"It was. Really good. We didn't stay there. I took her for a drive. We just drove around. I told her…about racing on Sunday. She said she'd be there. It was…I can't really explain it. She showed me some of her poetry. In this big notebook she's always carrying around. I never knew what was in it."

Something in his face. "What?" I asked.

He looked across at me. "One of the poems…it was about suicide. I got upset. Scared. I asked her, did she ever consider…doing it? She told me she didn't, not really. But she thinks about it. She said a lot of people do. Not 'cause things are bad…just 'cause there doesn't seem any reason. For anything."

"Randy, was she ever at Crystal Cove?"

"No. I asked her. She said it was none of my business at first, got mad at me a little bit. So I didn't say anything. But later, she asked, was I really scared for her? I told her I was. It was true. She…kissed me then. Just before I dropped her off at her car. And she told me she was never there."

"It sounds all right."

"I know. But that poem…it was all about suicide, I know it was. 'Sweet Darkness,' it was called."

"If she's a poet, she lives a lot in her mind, kid. It doesn't mean she's going over."

"I know. But…she's gonna be okay. I'm gonna…stay close."

"Good."

"Today, I mean. We're going to go to The Hills. It's like a park. Have a picnic. You think that's dumb?"

"I think it's righteous."

"You don't need me for anything?"

"Just take the phone with you."

He tapped his side pocket again. I finally realized where I'd seen that gesture before. The black kid with the 8–Ball jacket.

I considered my lawyer suit, finally rejected it in favor of Michelle's outfit. If Fancy was going to come along with me, I wanted to look like I might be in her circle.

She opened the door to her cottage before I knocked, holding a giant fluffy white towel in front of her, water beading on her shoulders.

"Am I early?" I asked, stepping inside.

"No, you're right on time. I was waiting…so you could tell me what to wear.

"Just put on…"

"No, come on — tell me." She walked toward a back room, still wrapped in the towel. I followed close behind. The cottage had an extension in the back, a greenhouse, built right in. The summer sun slanted through the sharply sloped glass. Fancy kept walking, all the way to a bedroom. The walls were a soft pink, the bed was covered in a quilt of the same shade. She opened a closet. "Tell me," she said again, a pleading undertone to her voice.

I pawed through the racks, picked out a rose silk outfit. It had a simple collarless bolero jacket, with a straight skirt underneath.

"This," I told her, holding it out to her. She stood there, holding the hanger. I found a plain–front white silk blouse with a loose turtleneck collar, held it against the rose silk. "This too," I said.

"Burke…"

"Get dressed, bitch. I want to get going."

She turned away, dropped the towel. I walked out of the room, heading for the greenhouse.

It was peaceful in there. The walls were lined with shelves, all kinds of plants. One shelf was a neat row of bonsai. Orchids were bunched in a corner, standing under a gentle mist from some kind of machine. I was fingering a big green plant loaded with small, hard buds, not quite ready to burst.

"What's your favorite?" Fancy's voice behind me.

"Favorite what?"

"Plant. What kind of plants do you like?"

"Blossoms," I told her. "Any kind of blossoms."

"Yeah …" she mused. Then she stepped between me and the plants. "How do I look?" she demanded.

"You look great, Fancy."

"You want some coffee?"

"No thanks."

"A drink?"

"No."

"Well, are we ready to go?"

"Just about. Let me look over my notes for a minute."

I walked back to the front room, sat down. She sat across from me, knees close together, hands in her lap.

"How's Randy doing?" she finally asked.

I looked up. "Seems like he's doing real good. Had himself a date last night. I think he took her dancing."