Andrew Vachss - Down in the Zero

"What you got that's hot, schoolboy?"

"A nest of snakes, Prof. I need to show you a few things. We'll take my car, okay?"

"You say, we play, bro," the little man said, waving Clarence over.

The Prof took the shotgun seat next to Randy, Clarence and I sat behind. Randy cruised through the quiet streets as I ran it down. The Prof gave me a quick glance over his shoulder, tilting his head toward Randy. I nodded— it was all right for the kid to hear.

"The Mole showed the printout to some other people. Israelis," I said. "They got somebody they want on that list."

"Don't be downing the Mole, man. Everybody's got a button, something to push."

"I know," I said. Thinking of Charm— and her handles. "That's not the thing. I saw the list too. Here's one of the names on it," I said, pausing to give it weight, "— Angelo Mondriano."

"Damn! He's been long gone, youngblood. Word is he's holding up a bridge somewhere, inside a slab of concrete."

"I don't think so."

"I remember it now," the Prof mused. "He went canary, then he jumped the cage, right? Didn't some of the wiseguys ask you about running him down?"

"Yeah. He must have dropped a couple of dozen heavy hitters when he testified. He was in the Witness Protection Program, then he went over the Wall. Six–figure bounty on his ass. Open contract— the money for his head."

"That's not like the new Italians. What about all the cash he was supposed to have swiped?"

"There's Italians, and there's Italians," I said. "The guys who came to see me, they were the old guys, you understand? Vindicata! The money wasn't the thing for them. It was blood. You know the rules."

"Yeah. You turn, you burn. You roll, you pay the toll. But I thought…"

"No. Couldn't be. They dropped him, they'd want to make it public. Put his head on a stake, send the message."

"That's right enough," the little man agreed. "So what we got, somebody in the ID business?"

"Sure. That's where the money's coming from. It was a long list, Prof."

"And the Israelis, they're going in?"

"Yeah." I gave Randy directions, told him to cruise by Rector's. "And that's ours," I pointed.

Without being told, the kid swept into a slow series of figure 8's, passing back and forth around Rector's from different angles.

"It don't look like much— a real soft touch," the Prof said, evaluating with his eyes.

"I got a way in. Front door," I told him. "That's not the work."

"Okay, bro. Take the point— let's eyeball the joint."

"Drive over to Crystal Cove," I translated for Randy.

The kid drove the way a pro diver hits the water…without a splash. Fingertips light on the wheel, taking the corners just the quiet side of tire squeal, braking so smooth he wouldn't have spilled a full cup of coffee.

"My man can drive , can't he, Prof?" I asked.

"Fine as wine," he replied, holding out his palm for me to slap.

Clarence never said a word.

"What can you tell me about the grounds?" I asked Randy, talking over his shoulder.

"I was never inside the hospital itself," he said, not turning around. "Just inside the doctor's house, near the front. There's a stone wall all around it. Not a high one— you could jump it with a good horse."

"Any guards?"

"I never saw any."

"Okay. When we get close, let me know."

We drove in silence for a bit. Then the Prof said, "We going in?"

"If it looks right. You got your works?"

"It's in the bag, and that's no gag."

"Righteous."

The road turned narrow, trees arching over the top of the car as we drove. No houses. The car started up a grade. "It's about a half–mile up the road," Randy said.

"Find a place to pull over. Where we won't be seen from the road."

He slowed the Plymouth, watching the landscape.

"No," I told him. "Someplace with a strong sight–line. Can you do it?"

"Sure." He slowed down again for a deep J–curve, still climbing. When he finally stopped the car, we were standing on a bluff. "Down there," Randy said, pointing.

We got out of the car, walked to the edge, looked down. I could see where the hospital got its name. The cove was landlocked, nestled in a natural triangle of hills and woods, with one side open to a road below. It was a series of low, interlocking buildings, all flat–topped except for a glass spire rising several stories from the part closest to the entrance.

I popped the trunk, found the night glasses, held them to my eyes. Most of the buildings were old stone, with small multi–paned windows. Along the back part of the triangle there was a long, narrow structure, built into the rest of the hospital but obviously constructed much more recently. Gray, smooth–finish granite, with seamless slits of dark glass. Probably one–way— I couldn't see any lights behind them like I could in the rest of the place.

The stone wall was in place, just like the kid said. It didn't completely circle the grounds. Instead, it ran in a sharp V from a meeting point at the front, where a wide opening was guarded by a black metal gate, hinged in the middle. I tracked the right–hand wall to its end— it seemed to merge into the underbrush at the base of the hills behind the hospital.

I handed the glasses to Randy. "Can you get the car close to the rear…where the wall comes against those hills?"

"I think so."

"Okay, let's get it ready," I said to the Prof, turning back to the trunk. I took out a pair of Connecticut plates, special–made for me at the Mole's. Handed them to Randy. "Put these on, front and rear," I told him. "It's just wing nuts— you can do it with your fingers." He held the plates in his hands, tracing the heavy seam on the reverse side of the embossed numbers, looking a question at me.

"You take two plates, cut them down the middle with a torch, then you weld the two halves together. It gives you a cold plate— won't bounce any of the Law's computers."

He nodded, went to work. I took a wide roll of tape, Day–Glo orange, peeled it open, and handed one end to the Prof. We taped a line across the back bumper— headlights would pick it up hundreds of yards away. We left a big piece loose and dangling. When we were done, I handed the Prof a big orange circle of plastic with a peel–off back, took one for myself. We pasted one on each of the back doors. The Prof took off his long duster— underneath he was wearing black jeans, a black sweatshirt, black sneakers on his feet. When my jacket came off, I looked the same. Added a navy watch cap for my head. We each slipped on a pair of thin black kid gloves. The Prof took a flat leather case from his duffel, slipped it into a side pocket.

Clarence got in the front seat— I took the back with the Prof. Randy started the car, then he motored slowly down the rise, nosing around until he found the right spot. We were maybe twenty yards from the end of the stone wall.

"You want to run the jungle?" the Prof asked.

"I don't think so. Don't know what's back there. Maybe a trip–wire…"

"So let's do the wall, Paul."

"Hold up a few minutes," I said. "See if there's a guard on the circuit."

Nobody spoke for a while.

We gave it fifteen minutes or so.

Nothing.

"You ready, Clarence?"

"You're covered, mahn," he said, pulling a long black tube from under the seat, holding it pointing down.

"Randy," I said quietly, leaning forward. "We're gonna commit a crime here. All of us. Prof and I are going in, Clarence's gonna hold our place, understand? Your job, you start the engine, leave it running. The back doors stay open. Don't worry, no light will show. If we come back walking, you move off slow, okay? But if we come back smoking, you have to go , understand?"

"Yes."

"You up for it?"