Andrew Vachss - Safe House

“Any problems?”

“Nah. They mostly asked me about . . . the guy. How’d I do it and all. How’d we find out he was a Jew. Everything else, I just told them what was . . . what was true, I mean. About it. They told me about it, so I said I’d do it. Do him, I mean. Like you said.”

“Did one guy ask you all the questions? Was there a leader?”

“I don’t . . . think so. I mean, they was all talking. Most of the stuff they asked me, I didn’t know the answers.”

A warning bell went off in my head. “Like what?”

“Like what they was up to, the guys that was supposed to be with me . . . the guys I was supposed to be with. In my cell, like? Understand?”

“Yeah. What else did they want to know?”

“Like, what Lothar said about them. Stuff like that. I told them the truth . . . nothing.”

“Herk, they never searched you?”

“Oh yeah,” he said brightly. “They did that. Just like in the joint. Finger-wave and everything. Before they started talking. One of them, he asked me where I got the tattoo.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“I told him an old Jewish guy gave it to me.”

“Jesus.”

“They thought that was real funny. They was all laughing at the guy who asked me.”

I took a long, shallow breath, looking deep into Herk’s eyes. They came back innocent, like the big damn kid he was. “Herk, did they say anything about what they were planning?”

“Nah. You know what? I don’t think they gonna tell me either. It’s like, I got to stay there, close anyway, ’cause they don’t know ’xactly what they gonna do with me. But they didn’t say nothing . . . uh, specific-like. Just . . . something’s gonna happen. I mean, everybody knows that. Knew that, I mean. In my crew. The one I was with that told me to—”

“Yeah, okay, I got it.” I took a deep breath, making sure I had the big man’s full attention. “Listen close now, Herk. What’s Lothar’s weight? Can you tell?”

“He ain’t no boss, Burke, I can tell you that. I don’t mean he’s like a flunkey or nothing, but he ain’t the big cheese, that’s for sure.”

“Herk, think for a minute. Close your eyes. Try and put yourself back there. Just . . . listen, okay? We’re not looking for the boss, we’re looking for the brains, understand?”

“Bro, when it comes to the brains in a crew, all I know, it ain’t never gonna be me.”

“They all asked you questions, right?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Were any of them like . . . hostile? You know, on your case hard?”

“Nah. Well, maybe this one guy . . . Kenny. But you could see he’s weak. You know how their voice gets a little . . . I dunno, jittery? No matter how hard they talking?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s Kenny. It ain’t him, that’s for sure.”

“And it’s not Lothar?”

“No way, man.”

“Herk, listen real close now,” I said urgently, lighting a cigarette. “I—”

“Can I have one too?” Vyra asked me.

Herk shot her a disapproving look.

“What did I do?” she asked, innocently, looking out from under her false eyelashes, her hands clasped in her lap . . . but squeezing her elbows to emphasize the cleavage.

“That stuff’ll kill you,” he said. “That’s why you don’t put weight on, all them cigarettes.”

“You too? You think I should—?”

“I think you should shut the fuck up,” I told her, turning back to Hercules, but handing Vyra a cigarette. “Now, listen,” I said again. “You know the difference between feelings and facts?”

“I . . . guess.”

I took a deep nose breath, drawing the oxygen all the way down to my groin, centering. If I couldn’t translate it down for Herk, I was lost. “Listen to these questions, okay?” I said, holding his eyes. “One: when did you go to the joint the last time? Two: was it worse than the time before? Three: what was the charges? Four: was your lawyer any good? All right?”

“Yeah.”

“Now answer them. One at a time. Concentrate.”

“Okay,” the big man said, brow furrowed. “I last went down in ’91. For A and R. That’s assault and robbery,” he said in an aside to Vyra, who was still holding the cigarette I gave her, unlit. “It was worse the last time. ’Cause none a you guys was in there with me. But it wasn’t that bad. I mean . . . you know how it is. I got crewed up quick. And . . . and . . . oh yeah! My lawyer fucking sucked. Miserable-ass weasel they give me in the court. He had me pled out before I could draw a breath.”

“Good. Now: which of those was facts, and which was feelings?”

“They all facts, bro. The stone truth.”

I had a piercing headache.

Vyra got off the bed and stood next to Herk, one hand on his shoulder, the other holding the still-unlit cigarette. She bent her face close to his. “Is true love a fact?” she asked him.

“Huh?”

“If you love someone, a true love, that’s a fact, yes?”

“Sure.”

“But it’s also a feeling, right, Hercules? Love is what you feel, isn’t it?”

The big man sat there pondering, Vyra’s perfectly manicured hand sitting on his hyper-muscled shoulder like a butterfly on a boulder.

I didn’t say a word.

“Yeah,” he finally said. “It is. Sure.”

“Did any of them ask you what it was like in prison?” I asked him quickly, trying to catch the ripple from the rock Vyra had dropped into the pool.

“Oh yeah, bro. Like, they was all interested in that. I figured it was ’cause none of them been—”

“What about the other questions? When you went down, what you went down for?”

“Nah, they was . . . Wait a minute. Yeah! One guy. Scott, that was him. He was the only one asking me about that fact stuff. Yeah! When I went in. Even what joints I was in. And—”

“—and your date of birth?” I cut in, smelling blood. That’s the key to a criminal-records search, the foundation stone that unlocks all the data.

“Sure did, bro! I ask him, what’s he want to do, send me a fucking birthday present? Couple of the guys laughed, but Scott, he still wanted to know.”

“You told him, right?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“He’s the man, Herk.”

Vyra gave him a big wet kiss on the cheek. “You figured it out, honey!” she said.

Herk grinned broadly, Vyra’s lipstick mark clear on his face. I made a grunting noise and his eyes swung back to me. “Whatever you do,” I told him, “don’t ask any questions. Keep your nose out of things, understand? They wanna tell you something, you listen. They don’t, that’s it.”

“I got it, bro.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Burke?”

“What?”

“It’s gonna be all right, ain’t it?”

“Yeah it is.”

“You just tell me what to do and I’ll—”

“I know. You got your own place yet?”

“I’m staying with Lothar. Right in the porno store. Only upstairs. He got a whole apartment up there. You can’t even tell from the street. Pretty slick, huh?”

“Yeah. Lothar try and make conversation with you?”

“Just bullshit. Not about business. Well, not about . . . I mean, he got business of his own. Burke, did you know there was Nazi porno?”

“Nazi porno?”

“Yeah, like Nazis raping a girl. And torture stuff. Wearing those uniforms with what I . . .” He touched his chest. Where the tattoo was.

“Lothar’s into that?”

“ Big -time,” Hercules said. “I think . . . maybe . . . ah, never mind—I’m too fucking dim to be playing Sherlock Holmes and all.”

“What?” I asked him, leaning forward, putting my damaged hand on his thick forearm. “Come on.”