Andrew Vachss - Blossom

The door to the oil burner opened from the inside. A kid stepped out, blinking his eyes at the light. A slightly built boy with close-cropped light hair, trembling.

"Uncle Virgil…"

Virgil ignored him. "This here's Lloyd," he said to me. "My wife's kin."

The kid watched me like a bird watching a cat. A bird who couldn't fly.

"Get on inside," Virgil said to him, stepping aside so the kid could walk in front of us.

Back in the big room, Virgil nodded toward the left-hand corner. A triangle of packing crates, hubcap on the floor between them. I took a seat. Virgil settled in. "You too," he told the kid.

He nodded his head at the corners of the basement. "This here's the living room. Over there's the kitchen, far side's the bedroom. You already seen the bathroom. Man who owns this house, he's kin of Rebecca's." He said her name the way they do in Appalachia, twanging hard on the first "e," dragging it out.

"Ain't nobody gonna come around. We got electricity for at least another month, until they turn it off. Garbage goes in the plastic bags. We stack 'em back behind the furnace. Got enough food here for a long time. Anybody comes, it's me they find. Lloyd hides himself in the furnace. Reba'll come back for him, it comes to that."

"You going to go quietly?" I asked him.

He saw where I was looking. At the pair of long guns resting against the wall just behind him.

He shrugged. "They don't want me for much of nothing. Helping a bail jumper, that's no kind of time. It just didn't seem natural to hole up without some firepower."

"This an ashtray?" I asked, pointing at the hubcap on the floor.

"Yeah. The basement windows are all boarded up but there's plenty of cracks in them. It clears out pretty good."

I lit a smoke, sneaking a glance at the kid in the flare of the wooden match. He was sitting soft, waiting. Like Terry, when I first rented him from a kiddie pimp. Not exactly like Terry: this boy didn't know why I came. And he did care.

I looked across at Virgil. We'd done time together and he'd passed the test. More than once. The test of time, the test of crime. In my world, no difference. "What's my end?" I asked him.

"I need to know some truth. Reba, she'd'a told you what happened over here, right?"

I nodded.

"First the cops thought it was Lloyd. Then they didn't. Now they back to where they was. It's Lloyd. In their minds. Me, I don't know about this stuff. Freak stuff. But you know them…"

Them. Humans who kill for love. Torture for fun. They set fires to watch the flames. Black-glove rapists. Snuff-film directors. Trophy-takers. Baby-fuckers. Pain turns on the switch. Blood lubricates the machinery. Then the power-rush comes. And they do too.

It's not sex. Castrate the freaks and they use broomsticks or Coke bottles.

I've been studying them all my life. Since I was a tiny little kid. They taught me. Nightmare walkers.

Virgil was right. Whoever ventilated those kids in lovers' lane…

"I know them," I said in the quiet darkness. The kid couldn't meet my eyes. Or wouldn't.

"You're here to talk to Lloyd. When you're done, you tell me the truth. You'll know. Nobody's better at it than you. I know you did it before. For that lawyer. I remember you telling me about it. Never forget it. That's what I need now."

I dragged deep on my smoke. "I'm in."

Virgil nodded. Turned to the kid. "Lloyd, this man's my brother. You heard what he said. He's gonna talk to you. You're gonna talk to him. When it's done, I'm gonna know the truth. You got it?"

"Uncle Virgil…"

"What?"

"I didn't do it."

"You didn't do it, my brother will know. Then I'll get something together for you. Whatever it takes. You a member of the family. My wife's cousin. Blood kin. You didn't do it, we're behind you. I risked my house for you. My home. Where my children live. And it looks like I may be going back to jail for a little bit too. That's okay. A man's got no more than his family."

"Will I have to go to jail?"

"Jail? Boy, you better pray you going to jail. Only way you're going inside is you didn't do what they say you did."

"Uncle Virgil," the kid's voice was a ribbon of broken glass, drooling out of his slack mouth. "I don't understand. What do you mean?"

Virgil lit a cigarette of his own. I knew what he was doing. Getting his thoughts together, making sure it came out right. "Lloyd, you didn't do this…my brother tells me you didn't do this…then we come up with a plan. Some plans don't work out. And then people go to jail. You have to go to jail, you'll go like a man, you understand? That ain't no big thing. And you'll always have your people. Inside and out. Something waiting for you. Like I had."

He took another hit on his cigarette, hazel eyes anchored on Lloyd. "But if you did it…if that was you sneaking around killing those kids…then I won't shame my wife by letting her know. I won't have kin of mine doing evil like that."

"I…"

"Lloyd, it turns out you did it, you gonna be what they call a fugitive. Only they never gonna catch you, understand?"

"You mean…I'm going to run away?"

"No. You did this thing, you not running any farther than this basement."

27

THE BOY slumped forward, covering his face with his hands. Shoulder blades bowed like broken bird's wings, dry-crying, chest in spasm. But he didn't say a word.

I watched him for a minute. Virgil was granite. I knew he'd kill if he had to— that's how he came to prison. And I knew his word was good.

I looked up. Caught his eye. "Virgil, I'm beat. Just got in from the Coast. This interrogation, it's going to take a long time. How about if I catch some sleep, talk to Lloyd when I get up?"

He got it. "Whatever you say, brother. I could use some sleep myself. We got all the time in the world. Take the first bunk, the one over on the left."

I got up, walked over to the cot. Folded my jacket into a pillow, lay back, closed my eyes.

Virgil smoked another cigarette. "Lloyd," he said, "I need to take a shower before I sack out. I'll talk to you later."

I heard the rush of the shower. Heard the kid get up, light himself a smoke. Heard the hubcap rattle on the cement floor as he ground it out. I rasped a breath through my nose. As many times as the nose had been broken, it was perfect for faking a snore. Virgil took his time, giving the boy every chance to bolt. He didn't go for it. By the time Virgil came back inside, I'd heard the kid's cot creak.

Dead quiet. You could hear crickets chirp, a car pass on the highway. The summer heat didn't penetrate the basement. Faint whiff of diesel fuel on the air.

It was worth the shot. If the kid tried to get out while we were asleep, we'd know.

But if he didn't run, we'd know nothing. Sniper-blasting unsuspecting kids in a parked car wasn't the same as trying to get past Virgil in the dark.

28

I LET THE past play on the blank screen of my mind, regulating my breathing, focusing. Getting to the center. Virgil had called the right number— I knew how to do it.

A long time ago, I had this fool dream of being a private eye, working off the books. This young lawyer reached out for me through Davidson. I met them both in the parking lot near the Brooklyn Criminal Court. Davidson made the introductions. Vouched for me. He let the young lawyer speak for himself.

"I represent Roger B. Haynes." Like I should have heard of the guy.

"Eighteen-B," Davidson interrupted. Telling me the young lawyer was assigned to the case, not privately retained. Any money for me was coming out of his pocket.

"He was arrested for the rape of a little girl. The rape took place right near the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. In broad daylight. The girl ID'd him in a lineup. There's plenty of medicals to prove she'd been raped, but nothing to connect Haynes to it."