Andrew Vachss: Down in the Zero

"Oh God! Why did you do that? You…who was there ? How could you? I would have…if you'd just asked…"

"Come here, girl. Listen to me."

" No ! You filthy bastard!"

"Fancy, it's all on tape. It's got nothing to do with me."

"I don't believe you. If you didn't set it up— "

"Stay here," I told her. "Don't move." I walked over to the VCR, popped out the cassette, shoved in the copy I'd had made from the video I'd lifted from Cherry's safe. I hit the Play button again, walked back over to the couch. As soon as Fancy saw herself facing the camera, unzipping her skirt as the man on the bed behind her watched, she broke.

"That was over a year ago, that tape," she said, later. She was sitting on the floor in front of the couch, her back between my legs, my hands on her shoulders.

"There'll be a whole lot of them, Fancy. Every time you went into that room. The camera setup works automatically— it doesn't need an operator."

"I'll kill her."

"Who?"

"Cherry."

"It wasn't her, baby."

"Who else could it be?"

"Can I tell you a story?"

"I've heard enough stories. Especially from you."

"You'll appreciate this one, honey. I promise you. In the city, we got three different police departments. The regular cops, NYPD. Then there's Transit, they mostly work the subways. And Housing, they cover the Projects. They're really the only ones who still walk a beat— Vertical Patrol, they call it. The Projects, they're like a neighborhood. Everybody knows everybody else. It's bad out there. Not as bad as Chicago, where the gangbangers take over whole buildings, but dangerous, you know? More for the people who live there than the cops. The kids go elevator surfing, people fuck in the hallways, the rooftops are a good place to get raped. Or die. It's a strange mix— you got old people trying to make it on some lousy Social Security, you got Welfare scammers, you got decent, hardworking folks…everybody. Anyway, this old Housing cop I know, he was working a string of push–in muggings…where the skell follows an old lady up in the elevator, gets off on the floor below, runs up the stairs and shoves her into her own apartment. Then he works her over, loots the place, and disappears. So this cop, he watches. Real close. He finally bags this mugger, snatches him right on the stairwell. Takes him into custody. And the dirtbag can't wait to talk— admits to maybe a dozen of his 'jobs.' The cop's all excited, naturally. He brings the old people down to the precinct, but not a single one of them can ID the mugger. Not one. It was too dark, it happened too fast, he hit too hard, they were scared…whatever. So now he's stuck. Without an ID, the DA won't even consider the case. He's thinking about it and thinking about it and he comes up with this dynamite idea…a Reverse Lineup. Now listen to this. He rounds up a whole bunch of old people from the Projects, okay? Then he puts them up on the stage, under the lights. And he puts the skell behind the one–way glass, like he was the victim. Guess what? The skell loves it. He stands there, picks out his victims. 'Yeah, I did her. No, not that one.' And he's on the money every single time! He knows which one had jewelry in a dresser, which one had some cash hidden in the refrigerator, which one he punched in the face. All they had to do is match up the original police reports with what the skell said, and they had it all. Nobody else could have done it. Pretty slick, huh?"

"Oh, it's just a wonderful story. So what?"

"So this— the tape you just looked at, I picked it up from a hideout, where it was stashed. I made a copy, and I put it back. I wasn't around when that tape was made— you said so yourself. Now listen— when I went back to the hideout, the tape was gone. And the only person who was anywhere around it was Charm. Charm, you understand? Cherry isn't even in this country. Hasn't been for quite a while. You said it yourself— Charm always wants the handle. She needs to know how things work…and how to work people. You didn't want her to think she knew about me, right? Well now, if I'm right, she thinks she does."

"You mean you…knew?"

"Yeah. At least I thought I did. That tape…the one with you and me we just saw…that's a copy too. The original is right back where it came from."

"At Rector's?"

"Sure. You think Cherry's gonna stop by, pick it up?"

"Maybe Charm just…works for her."

"Sure, girl. Maybe she does. But what would Cherry want with a tape of me and you? Who's she gonna blackmail? Especially behind that fairy story she told you— about me being a hitman and all. That's why I stood where I did… when you were tied on the bed. I was out of camera range— it's behind that shadow box on the wall. It's that super–safe sex you talked about…Charm'll read it that I was masturbating, watching you. And sooner or later, she'll drop it on me.

"It doesn't make sense," she said, turning to look up at me.

"How much truth do you want, little girl?"

"All of it," she said, taking a breath. "Just do it."

I slid off the couch, lying down on the carpet next to her. I lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, offered it over. She took it the way I saw a woman take a wet rag in her teeth in the jungle a lifetime ago…biting down so the sounds of childbirth wouldn't alert the enemy soldiers nearby.

"You and Charm have the same room? When you were kids?" I asked.

"No. I mean, just when we were real little…"

"But you were real close to her, right? You didn't keep secrets from each other?"

" I never did. Charm wouldn't let me. She hated secrets— she had to know everything. We had a bathroom, for the two of us, between our rooms. She would just walk in there and start talking to me, even when I was sitting on the toilet."

"Why didn't you lock the door when you were in there?"

"We didn't have any locks on the doors. Not in the whole house, except for— "

"The room where your father took you."

"Yes. But— "

"When you were growing up, did you get your period first, or did Charm?"

"What?"

"Your period…who had it first?"

"Me. I was way ahead of her."

"And you didn't have it at the same time after that, right? Not the same time of the month?"

"I…don't know. I don't know when she had hers, but— "

"She knew when you had yours."

"How could you know that?"

"When your father took you in that room, it was never when you were having your period, was it?"

"Burke!"

"And he always did it the same way, right? Said the same words, made you do the same thing. Did he have something special he hit you with?"

"His hand. And a…paddle. A black one. With holes in it."

"Yeah, he's perfect. A ritualistic scumbag."

"No. He never…you mean, like Satanism and that stuff?"

"It's all ritual abuse, girl. Got nothing to do with Satan. Child molesters love their rituals, their secret ceremonies. You remember how you told me Charm never got punished in front of you? That's because it wasn't punishment that was going to happen once the door closed. Not like you got, anyway. Your father was having sex with her. For years and years. You were just the appetizer."

"Stop it!"

"Where do you think she learned it, child? You weren't getting punished, you were being used. Spanking kids…the way he did…it's erotic for them. Foreplay, that's all. That's why you hate people who do it— you've always known the truth."

"Noooo…"

"Yes. Trauma is scar tissue over memory, but nobody ever really forgets. Charm showed you how to flip things over. Get powerful yourself…at least that's what you thought. You see it in the kiddie joints all the time. The weaker ones get taken off. Raped. You do it to somebody else, you're not the target, see? Sex in prison, it's not really sex. Any more than rape is. You get to beat on somebody else, it doesn't happen to you. Remember how you said it made you feel? Strong?"