Andrew Vachss: Down in the Zero

Only one question left— who else was in? And how deep?

The Plymouth was wedged in the driveway like a roadblock. The garage doors were closed. I jumped out of the Lexus, headed inside. They were in the living room: Sonny, Wendy…and Fancy. She was on a padded chair in the living room, knees together, hands in her lap.

"Hey, Burke! We've been playing a game. You want to play too?"

"What's the game?" I asked her.

"Bondage," she said, holding up her hands, wrists together, as if she was wearing invisible handcuffs.

Sonny's face reddened. Wendy stretched her long legs out on the couch, protective and watchful, not saying anything.

"I don't get it," I said.

"Well, it seems like your young friend here got it into his head that I wasn't supposed to leave."

Sonny nodded agreement with the accusation. Hard to believe this was the same kid Charm had slapped into submission such a short time ago. "Good work," I told him as I took Fancy by the hand and pulled her out of the room.

Back in the caretaker's apartment, Fancy sat on the bed as I changed my clothes. "Why did you do that?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"Play that trick. To make me stay there…with Sonny?"

"It didn't have anything to do with Sonny. I just wanted to be sure you didn't wander off somewhere."

"Where would I go?"

"To Charm."

"But you told me— "

"Some things, not the whole thing. I've been stupid. This suicide thing, it didn't start when I came out here. I didn't get it because I was in it. Me, not them. I came here with too much baggage, and the weight made me blind. There's one more thing I've got to tell you…and then it's up to you."

"Tell me what?"

"The truth, Fancy. The truth about Charm, and your father."

"You already told me," she wailed. "I don't want to— "

"It doesn't matter what you want anymore. Things are gonna happen. Happen soon. I don't want you making any more offerings."

"I don't know what— "

"Offerings. Like the way your mother served you up to your father. Like the way Charm uses you for her blackmail videos. I'm not here for the same reason now."

"In Connecticut?"

"On this earth. I am going to fix things. This time. This one time. I looked into the Zero and I saw it. You know what I got, little girl? Another chance."

"Burke, you're scaring me."

I lit a cigarette. Handed it to her. "Blow me a smoke ring, Fancy."

She pursed her lips, puffed gently. The smoke billowed but didn't form itself into rings. She tried again, working harder. "I can't," she said. So much sadness in her voice— a little girl who couldn't do the trick.

"Watch," I told her. I took the pack of cigarettes, pulled the cellophane wrapper down so it was anchored to the pack only by a thin strip. I held the glowing tip of the cigarette against the cellophane, carefully. When I pulled it away, there was a neat round hole in the cellophane— it looked like an entrance wound. I handed it to her. "Draw in some smoke," I said. "Then blow it into the pack, right through the hole."

She did it, puzzlement in her eyes. The cellophane filled up with smoke, thick and cloudy. "Now tap the back of the cellophane, Fancy. Gently."

She held the pack straight up, tapped a long fingernail against the back. A perfect smoke ring bubbled out of the hole, hanging in the air. "Oh!" she giggled, doing it again.

"That's what we need, girl. A trick. To make things work. You gonna play with me?"

She nodded, as gravely as a child promising to be good.

"Do you recognize my voice?" I said into the phone, low–pitched and calm.

"Yes," he replied. I could hear the gears switch in his head, down–shifting to someplace familiar. Getting back there in a snap–second, alert and ready.

"I have something. May have something. Will you meet me?"

"Say where and when," is all he said.

Fancy led him into the room. I was seated on one side of a desk I'd cobbled together from a door laid across the seats of two chairs. He sat down on the other side. Fancy walked out.

Blankenship was clean–shaven, jungle close. Wearing an old set of army fatigues, camo–patterned. Lace–up black boots on his feet, saddle–soaped, not shined. Ready ever since he got my call.

"Thanks for coming," I said, lighting a cigarette, resting it in an ashtray I'd made out of aluminum foil.

"Please don't be fucking around with me," he said quietly, taking a .45 out of a side pocket. It looked like a custom job, all flat black matte finish, with a short–tube silencer that probably cost more than the gun itself.

"I'm not. I wouldn't. Hear me out, all right? Show me the respect I'm showing you."

His face was empty. No expression. Nothing in his eyes. The patience of a sniper. His nod of agreement didn't travel three inches.

I told him a version of the truth. Left Charm out of it, concentrated on Crystal Cove. "You see where I am," I concluded. "I don't know if the stuff even works. And I can't know…I'll never know…if it worked on Diandra."

"The army did that," he said. "Experiments. I heard about them, in the field. Drugs to make a man brave. Or to make you focus. Most of them backfired— the VA hospitals are full of— "

"It isn't the army doing it here," I interrupted nervously. He was too close to the edge— if he decided it was a government conspiracy…

"Okay," he said. Flat, no heat coming off him, safe even from thermal sensors if the enemy had them working.

"I'm close," I said. "Real close."

"What do you need from me?"

"I'm going to go inside. See the head man. Barrymore. The doctor. He could deny everything. He does that, I'll go back to working the corners. Or he could make it right— then we're done. But he might decide to get stupid…that's your piece."

"Say what."

"Backup. I'm going in the door. The front door. He's got a squad all over the grounds. They wear maroon blazers, look like servants from a distance, but they're all pros. I need to get off the grounds. You know the place?"

"I've been there. Every night. In and out. There's a good piece of high ground. And I've got a night scope."

"You'll do it?"

"Over there, I did my job. Just my job, understand? I never took ears, I took eyes. One shot…pop! Right through the cornea. I don't know how many I got— I never kept count. After a while, they had a bounty on me. Not my face— they never saw my face— but they knew my work. If this Barrymore helped…kill my Diandra, he's gone. There's no place he can go. I'll wait as long as it takes. I don't care. About anything. He did that to her, I'm going to put his heart on her grave.

I spent more time talking with him. Soldier to soldier, the way he saw it. Defining the mission, making sure he wouldn't go hunting on his own. He agreed to stay at his base, wait for my call.

He got up, didn't offer to shake hands. I let out a long breath as Fancy came back into the white room.

Back in the caretaker's apartment, I opened a fresh videocassette, plugged it into one of two slots in the front of the high–tech VCR Fancy had bought. I handled the used one like it was a stick of dynamite floating in nitroglycerin.

"I never knew there was another room there," Fancy said. "What do you call that…opening?"

"A pocket door. Whoever built it knew what they were doing. The craftsmanship was incredible. If the…other people hadn't told me about it, I wouldn't have found it even though I knew it was there."

"You switched the tapes?"

"Yeah. And I re–tripped the sensor. When Charm goes to check it out, she'll just find a blank, figure nobody used the room for a while."

"Did it work?"

"Just sit still, girl. We'll know in a minute."

I pressed the switch. It showed me and Fancy setting up the makeshift desk in the room, Fancy walking out, me sitting there alone. Her coming back with Blankenship. And all the rest. "Perfect," I said. "Now we edit a piece off onto the fresh tape."