Andrew Vachss: Down in the Zero

He was maybe fifteen minutes behind me. We went into his house. I almost didn't recognize it— the dump I'd seen before was transformed, as poison–neat as a monk's cell.

"It's not Barrymore," I told him. "I've got it down to a short list now. Few more days, couple of weeks at most. I'll be in touch."

"Take your time," he said. "Be sure."

Half a million was just the right amount. Enough so Barrymore would think it was the score of a lifetime for a small–time operator like me— not so much that he might think about other alternatives. I drove straight into the city. Told Mama as much of the story as she'd want to know. Michelle would make the call, get Barrymore to come into our territory with the money. Check into a hotel, go out for a walk. The Prof would do the rest. Very simple.

"Gems worth much more," Mama said reproachfully.

"Smooth is better," I told her.

More calls. More arrangements. More deals.

"I need the Plymouth," I told Sonny.

"Sure. You want me to drive?"

"No, it's just a pick–up. I'll be back tomorrow."

"You want me to keep looking after Fancy?"

"No. She's going with me. But, Sonny, if Charm comes around, tell her that. Fancy went someplace with me. Nothing more. Got it?"

He nodded.

I made another call from a pay phone. Listened to the arguments, ignored them.

"Where are we going?" Fancy asked, squirming around on the Plymouth's front seat.

"To pick up my girl. It's not far."

"Your…girl?"

"Shut up, Fancy. You like to play at being a bitch— you're about to meet the real thing."

It wasn't a long ride. Elroy's shack up in Dutchess County hadn't changed…maybe it sagged a little more. I pulled into the yard just as one of his pit bulls charged the car, running right up on the hood to glare through the windshield. Elroy came out in a minute, shambling forward, his prize beast on a chain. Barko, a white demon with a black patch over one eye.

I cracked my window carefully. "I came for my dog," I told him.

"Hey look, man, she never got pregnant. I mean, she won't even tie …even when she's in heat. I think maybe she's gay. But I got an idea. I know this vet— "

"Now, Elroy. She's coming with me now. Call off your mutts." As soon as he gave the signal, I stepped out of the car, crouched, cupped my hands, shouted "Pansy! Come here, girl!"

The monster cranked around the corner of the house like a rhino on methedrine, pounding toward me, ears flapping, huge mouth open, yipping like a pup. She piled into me, knocked me over, stuck her enormous snout in my face, nuzzling, tail wagging out of control.

"Pansy! Good girl! You look great!"

She finally let me up, running around in circles, a hundred and forty pounds of joyous muscle and bone.

"Pansy! Jump!" I snapped at her. She hit the ground prone, waiting. I opened the back door of the Plymouth, made the hand signal. She piled in. Saw Fancy on the front seat, parked her massive head on the seatback, drooling. I made a signal for "friend" and she growled happily. Fancy was rigid, eyes huge.

"This is my girl," I told her. "Pansy. The world's finest puppy, aren't you?" I said, rubbing the back of Pansy's neck.

"What is it?"

"Pansy's a Neapolitan mastiff. The best, sweetest, most loyal dog in the whole world."

Pansy growled agreement. "Go ahead and pat her," I said to Fancy. "She's cool."

Fancy gave the dog a halfhearted pat. Pansy immediately licked the entire side of her face in one huge swipe.

"Eeewww!" Fancy responded. I couldn't tell if she was happy or disgusted.

"You ready to do what I asked you?" I questioned Elroy.

"Okay, man. But look…"

"We'll talk later," I told him, gesturing for Fancy to come over to me.

We walked into Elroy's shack. It was all set up, the assortment of working tools I'd told him to buy on a flat table next to a chair. I sat on the couch, told Fancy to come to me. I pulled her across my lap, lifted her skirt, pulled the hem of her panties toward the center of her buttocks, off one cheek. "Right there," I told Elroy, pointing.

The tattoo needle hummed as Elroy did his work. He'd never done one before, but he had world–class hands, a master engraver, specializing in commercial artwork— stock certificates, bearer bonds, twenty–dollar bills…

Fancy lay still for the whole thing, holding my hand.

"Looks pretty good," Elroy said, admiring his work. "It'll probably scab up— better keep the bandage on for a few days. And try to stay off it."

"Thanks," I told him, helping Fancy to her feet.

Elroy walked over to the driver's window. "Look, man, I'm telling you— "

"It's not gonna happen," I told him. "You'll have to find some other way to breed your super–dog. The experiment's over.

I stopped at a deli, left Pansy and Fancy together while I went shopping. Back at the apartment, I dumped a quart of chocolate chip ice cream into a giant mixing bowl Fancy brought over from the big house. I added a couple of pounds of gingersnaps, all crumbled up for a topping. Pansy watched the preparations, her eyes screaming with desire.

"Speak!" I told her. She hit the mixing bowl like a jet–fueled battering ram. Fancy watched, transfixed, as the huge dog made the whole concoction disappear.

"God!"

"Yeah. Isn't she beautiful?"

"I never saw anything like it."

"I had her with Elroy, that guy you met? He was gonna breed her, but I guess it didn't work out. But now she's back with me. Back home, right, girl?"

Pansy put her head in my lap, making her downshifting–diesel noise of contentment as I scratched behind her ears.

The next night, in the apartment.

"You ready?" I asked.

"Yes." Fancy was nude again, standing in the high heels, the white bandage stark against her right cheek. She bent over, dialed the phone.

"Charm? I'm back!"

…

"No, it's perfect. You were right. I'm really out now."

…

"No, he went off somewhere. I'm not allowed to move from the corner where he put me. He's…perfect, now. That's why I called. I want to…give him something. He's really into it now, the scene. He wants to do a double. The whole thing. Over the barrel. I have to bring him … another slave. I mean, maybe I don't have to, but it would be— "

…

"Yes! Do you think Sybil would— ?"

…

"Really? Charm, you'd do that for me. Oh, that's perfect. Can I— ?"

…

"Okay. It has to be late, though. He's not ready for a group thing. After it closes, all right?"

…

"And I'm in charge, Charm. You might have to really take it. He's— "

…

"Oh, that's great. Thank you so much. I'll see you."

The parking lot at Rector's was dark. A little past four–thirty in the morning. The white Rolls was the only car there, standing right next to the back door. I pulled Fancy's NSX in next to it.

She opened the door and we stepped inside. Fancy unzipped her dress. Underneath, she was wearing her domina outfit— all black leather— restraining, displaying, threatening. Her spike heels clicked on the floor as she walked over to the cabinet just past the long bench. She came out with a black whip, a cat–o'–nine–tails with a short stock.

She walked beside me, flicking the whip lightly against her hip. All the way down the hall to a room with a red door. I started to reach for the handle. She pulled at my hand, pointed to the back of her thighs, nodded emphatically. I took the whip she handed me, watched as she bent over, cracked it across the back of her muscular thighs a few times, more sound than fury, being careful to stay away from the bandage. She let out a moan, turned and winked at me. Then she took the whip from my hand and opened the door.

Charm was sitting in a straightback chair, facing the doorway, dressed in a schoolgirl's sailor suit, blue top over a white pleated skirt. She had on the Mary Jane shoes with straps, plain white socks. Her long hair was combed into pigtails, each one anchored with a white ribbon. Right out of the fetish catalog.