Andrew Vachss: Down in the Zero

"For what?" she asked.

"Bait," I told her.

"You're not going back for a while," I told her. "I want you to write a note, leave it for Charm."

"Where?"

"At her house. I'll drive you over."

"I can't do that."

"Fancy…"

"Burke, I can't . It would make her suspicious. I never go in her house. I'm not allowed."

"Okay, I get it. We'll leave it in your place. She'll see it when she comes snooping around."

I rehearsed in my head, running it through, smoothing out the edges. When it got too loaded, I took a break, looked through the list of numbers I'd copied off the fax machine in Cherry's office at Rector's. Something…

"Fancy, is there a phone book around here?"

"I don't know— I'll look."

She came back with two of them— yellow and white. I pored through the white pages until I found it: "International Country and City Codes."

011 was the international access code. Okay, next step: 61 was the country code. For Australia. So 011–61–2 was Sydney. 011–61–3 was Melbourne. They were all Australia, all Sydney and Melbourne except for one in Perth.

Australia. I checked the International Time Zone chart in the phone book. Sydney was fifteen hours ahead of us. Six in the afternoon on Tuesday would be nine in the morning on Wednesday over there. Fifteen hours…

If you showed fifteen hours ahead on a dial clock, it would look like three hours. One full spin, twelve, plus three more for fifteen.

Did Cherry have a passport? Dual citizenship? Another identity?

And that clock, that special clock. Twin clocks, one in Barrymore's office.

It was late when I heard the crunch of tires on the bluestone. Charm's white Rolls, sitting in the driveway, pointing the wrong way, like she'd driven in the exit. I watched for a minute— she didn't get out. I couldn't see her face behind the driver's–side glass. Fancy stood next to me. I could feel her breath against my cheek.

"Too late for that note," I said.

"I'll fix it," she replied, yanking her dress over her head, stripping frantically. Nude, she ran into the back room. She was back in a second, hopping on one leg as she fitted a pair of spike heels onto her feet. "I'll be right back," she said, and went out of the door before I could stop her.

I watched as Fancy negotiated the stairs, as she walked over to the Rolls, stepping carefully in the spike heels on the loose stones. The driver's window slid down. Fancy bent at the waist, her face inside the window, her naked backside white sculpture in the night.

It didn't take long. The Rolls pulled off slowly. Fancy stood there watching it for a minute, then she turned and climbed back up the stairs.

"What was that all about?"

"I told her I was being punished. That you made me go outside like that."

"What did she say?"

"She asked if I turned you out yet."

"Huh?"

"Turned you out…into the scene. I told her you were my master…I wasn't going to be doing anything without your permission now."

"Why was she coming around?"

"She said she was worried about me. What a joke. When I told her…about you…she was happy, I could tell. She kissed me. Deep, like a lover. She hasn't done that in a long time."

"You really handled that perfectly, girl. How'd you know it would work?"

"I just…knew. It worked on me too. I was all…embarrassed. And excited too. Charm said she could smell it on me. Can you smell it, Burke?"

"Come over here and I'll tell you."

I waited two more tight days, perfecting the pitch. Then I made the call.

"Dr. Barrymore please."

"Who may I tell him is calling?"

"Mr. Burke."

"Hold please."

"Mr. Burke, this is Lydia, Dr. Barrymore's personal assistant. You may remember we met the last time you were here…

"Sure." The woman with the improbably seamed stockings and the controlled walk.

"I'm so sorry, but Dr. Barrymore really has quite a full schedule. He said to give you his regrets, but it may be some time before— "

"Tell him I have something I need to show him. A tape."

"As I explained— "

"I don't mean to be discourteous, miss. But please just tell him what I told you— I believe he'll understand the urgency of my request."

"Very well. If you'll hold for another few moments, I'll try and track him down."

I lit a cigarette, smoked it down while I held the receiver to my ear. If this card didn't play, there was always the bottom of the deck.

"Mr. Burke?" It was Barrymore's voice, blue–tinged, loaded with resignation.

"I'm here. Sorry to disturb you from your practice, but I really think you should see this tape."

"Yes, I'm sure. There's really no need. If you'll just— "

"It's not what you think, Doctor. I'm coming to you in friendship, believe me."

"All right. Can you come this evening? Say at nine?"

"I'll be there. And, Doctor…"

"Yes."

"Please believe what I just told you. I am coming in friendship. You're a professional— so am I. Understand?"

"Yes. Yes, I do."

"I'm going in," I said into the phone. "Tonight. Nine o'clock."

"I've got your back," Blankenship replied.

He let me in himself. The house felt empty, the phones quiet. I followed him into his office.

"You have a VCR here?" I asked.

"Over there," he pointed. "But, as I told you, it's not necessary. Just tell me what you want."

I ignored him. Slid my cassette into the machine, turned it on. I saw Barrymore's face twitch as the picture came into focus.

"Over there, I did my job," Blankenship was saying on the screen. Barrymore sat straight up, eyes riveted, head cocked to hear every word.

I let it play through. Right up to a tight close–up of Blankenship's nobody's–home, truth–telling eyes:

I don't care. About anything. He did that to her, I'm going to put his heart on her grave.

"You see why I had to show this to you, Doctor? He's out there. Right now. Waiting."

"God! I didn't…I mean, I thought…."

"Yeah, you thought it was a blackmail tape, didn't you? You and Charm, getting it on. Or was it you and Fancy?"

"I don't know what you're…I was never with either of them."

"Sure. And it's a big surprise to you, isn't it? That Charm would be in the blackmail business."

His head slumped forward. "No. I knew that. That's how she …got in here. To work. I thought— "

"It doesn't matter what you thought. Not anymore. This is out of control. Charm's a nasty, mean little bitch all right, but you're running with the big dogs now. I'll be sure to tell Angelo Mondriano how good you keep secrets."

The blood drained from his face but he kept his professional mask on, fighting for control. "Who's that?"

"Well, seems like now it's plain old Robert L. Testa, of Seattle, Washington. We've got all the names, Doctor. Before and after. The new addresses too. I know you changed the faces. Probably got all–new documentation too. A beautiful job you guys do. But this is your lucky day— that's not why I'm here."

"You…don't understand," he said. "This place was my dream. We have the finest facility in the country. We can do things for children that are truly remarkable. But it costs a fortune."

"Don't these rich kids all have some kind of insurance?"

"Insurance doesn't begin to cover some of our work. We don't just take children from this area, we have a sliding scale. Some scholarships too."

"So when Cherry came up with the idea…?"

"She…stores information. Like a computer. I know it's…illegal. But, the way she put it, it's as though some foundation was funding our work."

"Yeah, that's nice. You help people lose themselves, the money helps kids find themselves, right?"

"You make it sound so— "

"Your pal Charm's been killing kids," I told him. "Or trying to, anyway. I can't tell. Take a look."