Andrew Vachss - Safe House

I’d ended up doing time with a lot of men who hadn’t learned that one.

“Not even a friend,” she said quickly, slowing my train of thought before it ran off the tracks. “An enemy, in fact. He doesn’t want me, he wants me to do something. And I won’t.”

“Wants you to . . . ?” I asked, leading her into it, fire-bursts flaring under my skin. Arson in readiness, distrust standing by for the accelerant.

“Betray a trust. Sell someone out. Give them up.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Then it all comes down. Not just me. The network. My whole . . . purpose.”

“I still don’t know what that means.”

“And you still don’t know why you, yes?”

“Yes.”

She got to her feet. Bent forward at the waist and kissed me on the side of my mouth. “Another walk,” she said. “A much shorter one this time, okay?” And held out her hand.

I took it and got to my feet.

“What about my jacket?” I asked her.

“We’ll be back,” she said.

Still holding on to my hand, Crystal Beth blew out the candle, leaving the room almost black. She made her way over to the door as if she’d memorized the place in the dark. Once it was open, there was enough light to see by. She trailed one hand behind her, keeping me connected as she descended the stairs.

The second door from the staircase was painted black. Against the dull white walls, it looked like a cave opening. Crystal Beth rapped sharply. I couldn’t hear anyone approach from the other side, but the sound of a bolt snapping open was clear in the silence. The door opened to a wash of pinkish light. Crystal Beth stepped aside, nudging me forward with a hip. A woman was seated on a padded stool aimed right at us, back-lit. I couldn’t make out her face—all I could see was a pair of nylon-sheathed legs crossed at the knee, one foot dangling as though to better display a brilliant turquoise spike-heeled shoe.

“Long time no see,” Vyra said.

Ifelt Crystal Beth behind me, so close her breasts pushed against my back. Vyra’s heavy perfume filled the little room. It stunk like a trap.

“What is this?” I asked her, keeping my voice relaxed, my hands on my belt buckle in case my nose was sharper than my eyes.

“Don’t be mad,” Vyra said. “This was my idea, not Crystal’s.”

“What idea is that?” I asked her.

“Bringing you in.”

“You’re . . . being stalked?”

“Not me,” Vyra said. “The others. I . . . support this place. Crystal and I, we’re . . . close.”

“Why didn’t you just—?”

“Because you wouldn’t take me seriously,” she interrupted. “You never have. Never had a reason to, I mean. I thought, if Crystal told you about the . . . situation, you’d help.”

“You’re in over your head,” I told her flatly.

“But you wouldn’t be. We agreed, Crystal and me. She’d tell you the first part. Then I’d explain how she came to you. Then we’d both tell you what—”

“Maybe I need to tell you what,” I said.

“Burke, please don’t be mad at me. I couldn’t stand that. Can’t you just listen for a few minutes?”

“I’ve been listening. And for more than a few minutes.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Maybe this was the wrong way, okay? If I screwed it up, I’ll take whatever’s coming to me. But it isn’t Crystal’s fault. Don’t punish her for what I did. Please . . .”

I stepped away from Crystal Beth, my eyes acclimating to the pinkish light. The room was bare except for the vanity mirror and the stool. Not even a closet. “Go ahead,” I said quietly. “Say what you want.”

“Can’t we go upstairs?” Crystal Beth asked. “It’s more . . . peaceful up there.”

“Go ahead,” I told Vyra again.

She took that for agreement, got off the stool and squeezed past me. I felt silk against my hand. She went out the door. I didn’t move. Crystal Beth tugged at my hand. I pulled it away from her. “You need both your hands,” I told her.

“For what?” she whispered behind Vyra’s back.

“To put all your cards on the table,” I told her.

Vyra went first, snake-hipping her way up the stairs, silk rustling, spike heels flashing, perfume trailing. Crystal Beth was next, walking strong and carefully, like a warrior to battle.

At the top of the last flight, Vyra marched into Crystal Beth’s room as though she’d been there before . . . and owned the joint. She had the candle lit by the time I stepped inside, leaving the door open. I took the easy chair. Vyra grabbed the metal chair, crossed her legs again and went back to admiring her shoes. Crystal Beth dropped to her knees without making a sound, positioning herself between us to my right, leaving me a clear sight line to the door.

“Anytime you’re ready,” I said, to neither of them in particular.

“I met Crystal a couple of years ago,” Vyra said, talking over the other woman’s kneeling form like there was no doubt who I was going to listen to. “I was volunteering at a shelter. On the phone, mostly. Crystal was a . . . visitor. Not a client. When I found out what she was up to, I said I’d help out. And it just . . . grew on me, I guess. When she finally was ready to start this place, I put up some of the financing. It’s a 501(c)(3) corporation, so my . . .”

She didn’t say “husband,” just let her voice trail away. I didn’t fill the silence.

“It’s tax-deductible,” she finished lamely. “When Crystal started to have this . . . problem, she tried to figure out who could help. I told her I knew someone, but she was stubborn. Sure she could do it herself. Once she realized she couldn’t, then she said she’d listen to me,” Vyra finished smugly. “That’s when I told her about you.”

“You don’t know me,” I said. Flat, no room for argument, denying her credentials.

“I know enough,” she responded, a pout in her voice. “I know you could do something if you wanted to. And I know you work for money. What could it hurt to listen?”

“I don’t like that kind of game—closing my eyes and guessing if it’s gonna hurt.”

“Why do you have to be so hostile?” Vyra asked. “Crystal’s my friend. Friends exchange . . . information, don’t they? If she asked me did I know a good mechanic, or a compassionate gynecologist, or what ever, why wouldn’t I tell her?”

“I don’t know why you’d do anything,” I said, staying inside myself. The danger-jolts crackling around my nerve endings weren’t from physical fear. By then, my crew was in place. Somewhere outside, not far away. The store-bought locks these women had on their doors wouldn’t keep the Prof out. And nothing they had behind those doors would stop Max, if it came to that. But they had plans, Crystal Beth and Vyra. And I don’t like being in people’s plans.

“Burke, please. Come on,” Vyra said. “It’s a . . . job, right? You do jobs.”

“You’re guessing,” I told her.

“You must do something, right? I’m not asking you what that is, okay? But anyone can listen, can’t they? You can never get hurt just listening.”

I ignored that. If she’d been raised like I was, she wouldn’t talk so stupid.

“If he doesn’t want to . . .” Crystal Beth said, like I wasn’t in the room.

I turned to her. “Don’t lie,” I said.

She refused to take offense at what I said. Played it for a green light instead, said: “It started when—”

“Tell him about the—” Vyra interrupted.

“That’s enough,” I cut her off. “This isn’t a movie. You’re not the director. And I can’t listen in stereo anyway.”