Andrew Vachss - Choice of Evil

“And with all those baby-rapers getting hit, it just reeks of you, honey,” Michelle said, nodding her head in agreement.

“He said it right at the beginning. Of that freakish ‘journal’ he sent me. ‘Folie à deux,’ remember? I told him I could get him mob contracts, but I’d have to say I saw Wesley, get it? He made me send him all this stuff, prove I was the real thing. That I was with Wesley. All the way back to the beginning. I don’t know where he got some of his info, but it was on the money, all of it. So now, the way he figures it, if I see him, I did see Wesley. He is Wesley now—the way he figures, he’s proved that. Taken over. So he’s going to meet me, I’m sure of it.”

“But, honey, what’s the point?” Michelle asked me. “He can’t do anything to you—not if he wants you to. . . do what he said. If you don’t do it, he’s on his own. Why meet with him?”

Max grabbed Michelle’s hand to get her attention. With his other hand, he reached over and tapped my heart. Pointed to himself, then to Immaculata. Finally, he made the sign of a man shooting a pistol.

“Oh God,” Michelle gasped. “You mean—?”

“It was him,” I told her. Told them all. “If he’s the one Gutterball talked to on the phone, then he’s the one who did the hit in Central Park. Did it the same way Wesley would have. A couple of flunkies to lay down cover fire, make a diversion, then a surgical strike. And wipe out the witnesses. Gutterball must have known it was gonna cost him those two other guys. Maybe he wanted them gone anyway—got three for the price of one.”

Immaculata cleared her throat, threading delicately, the way she always does. “But, Burke, if that’s true. . . this. . . killer, he wasn’t the one who shot Crystal Beth.”

“He made it happen,” I said flatly. “He knows a thousand ways to kill. If he’d used any other one, she’d be here today. Right here. With me.”

Something must have happened to me after I said that. When I came around, I was in a chair in the basement, my family all around me. I didn’t ask how I got there—Max could carry me as easy as a wino could lug a bottle wrapped in a paper bag.

I opened my eyes. Looked at the only people I loved on the whole planet. “I don’t know if you can make up for things,” I told them, calming down. “He killed a lot of little kids. Then he stopped. And killed a lot of scum. I don’t know if they were child molesters or mob guys or both. . . at first. Then it was fag-bashers. Then pedophiles. Maybe whoever’s keeping count thinks his scales are balanced. But not me. Michelle was right. What do I care if he was planning to kill every last freak on the planet? Because now he’s. . . stopped. He’s going to be Wesley now. A contract hitter. And you know what? It doesn’t matter anyway. He killed Crystal Beth. Got her killed, same difference. He wants to be Wesley so bad—I’m going to send him someplace where he can talk to him face to face.”

“You ain’t alone, home,” the Prof reminded me.

“You want Terry to hear this?” I asked Michelle.

“It’s not up to her,” Terry said, his still-changing voice on man-sound now. “I know how I got my mother,” he said, reaching over to touch her. “And my father,” he said, bowing his head toward the Mole. “I know what you. . . did, Burke. Then, I mean. I’m in this too. Whatever you want to do, I want to do it too. If someone took my. . .”

He didn’t finish. Didn’t have to.

“There’s no way,” the Prof said. “He’s not gonna walk into a room. Motherfucker don’t take no risks. No way you’re gonna get a piece past whatever he’s got set up either.”

“Mole?” I asked.

“If he has the correct equipment, he could pick up any weapon, in any form, just from its composition. Even plastic explosive. Thermal-image scanners could. . . . I have. . . devices. Very small. But they would not be. . . invisible if he were properly equipped.”

Max leaned over, tapped each of my hands, spread his into a question. Could I kill him with my hands if I got close enough?

“I don’t know,” I told him honestly. Max has been training me for years and years, but I never got that good at any of the techniques. I can hit pretty hard, and I can take a shot and keep coming. And if I got my hands on any vital spot—and focused hard on why I was there—maybe. But it could never be a sure thing.

“It will not work,” the Mole announced.

“Mole, I think I can—”

The Mole held up his hand for silence. “He will not let you get close enough. Remember?”

Sure. I knew what he meant. Like Wesley. This killer would keep a safety zone around himself. Wesley usually did it with an Uzi. I don’t know what this guy would use, but the Mole was right—he’d use something.

“We could put a tracking device on you,” the Mole said. “But you would have to discard it before you stepped into his zone.”

“Fair enough,” I told him.

“Not enough,” the Prof said. “This team needs a scheme.”

They all argued for a while. I just sat there, slumped in the chair.

When they ran out of gas, I told them how I wanted to do it.

“I’m not rebuilt yet,” Xyla said. “How could I—?”

“I need a message sent to him. I don’t care if you send it on this machine. Send it the same way you sent the first one. He’ll get it. I don’t need an answer. When he bangs back in. . . when you have this all back up. . . he’ll either go for it or he won’t.”

“I can do that,” she said. “Trixie has a little halfass Mac I could—”

“Sure,” I stopped her.

She grabbed a pen. I waved her away, wrote it down myself, and handed it to her.

not coming alone. bringing woman. she *direct* connect. she *only* one who can validate in certain areas. can *not* make it happen without her. not negotiable. you pick time, place, conditions. . . anything you want. but if can’t bring woman, no go.

“Jesus,” Xyla said. “He might not answer at all now.”

“That’s his choice,” I told her. “Just like this whole thing’s been since he started.”

“This is the only way,” I told her.

“You’re. . . serious?” Nadine asked.

“Dead serious. I’m keeping my promise. But this is the way I’m going to keep it. I don’t trust you. There’s only one way I can—”

“How do I know you’ll—?”

“You don’t,” I told her. “You don’t know anything. Take it or leave it,” I said.

“No!” I whispered to Strega. “No handcuffs. No chains. You have to keep her—”

“She’ll like them,” the witch hissed at me, glancing over at Nadine standing in the farthest corner of the white living room, her back to us. “If she tastes it herself, she’ll know how it feels when she—”

“No.”

“Burke, if I have to keep her for—”

“If you can’t do it, say so. But you can’t chain her, understand? No restraints.”

“How else could I watch her twenty-four-seven?”

“You know how,” I told her.

I didn’t feel guilty about leaving Nadine there. Poison wouldn’t have a chance against Strega—she drank it for nourishment.

I needed the time to get everything ready. And I needed Nadine with me when I went to meet the killer. Needed her to come when she was called, no hesitation. Once he opened the window, I knew it was going to be just a narrow crack. And if I moved wrong, a guillotine.

I kept thinking about my hands. I’d boxed in prison. I wasn’t really any good at it. The Prof got me started. He’d always wanted to train a fighter. Knew how to do it too. But it was a long time before I understood what I was really being trained for. When I first started, I’d be fine until I got hit with a good shot. Then I’d go off. Take three to give one. All I—finally—learned from boxing was self-control. Staying inside myself even in battle. I did learn that much. Max tried to teach me too. And I learned some of his stuff. But I never worked at it. Never. . . got it, I guess. I don’t know.