Andrew Vachss - Blossom

"Bart called me. I wasn't too busy, so I thought I'd fly out, see if there was something we could put together."

I bowed my head slightly. Just enough. "Much appreciated."

"Where are we?" Bostick asked.

"Lloyd didn't do it," I told him. "We need to know how it looks for him, he comes in and surrenders. And what the Man wants with Virgil, he comes in too."

"If the kid comes in, I can work bail for him again. Take a couple-few days. The rifle they found in his room, it bounced. No connect to the murders. What they got is a kid with a porno collection, a loner who prowls around at night. Maybe a peeper," he continued, watching my face.

"I know."

"And they got a couple of kids that were out one night. Some statements our boy may have made about killing people in parked cars."

"He's a juvenile in this jurisdiction?" Davidson asked.

"Doesn't matter," Bostick replied. "Homicide's an adult offense. Here, he gets bound over for the Grand Jury no matter how old he is."

"That's good."

Bostick nodded agreement. "Yeah, a jury won't go for all this collection of crap, but a Juvenile Court judge…you know how they are."

I did. "You going to push it to trial?" I asked.

"It's still a crap-shoot. If this boy didn't do it, somebody did. Better to hold off, see if they make another arrest."

"They're looking?"

"I don't think so. Not most of them anyway. This one detective, Sherwood, he's got a lot on the ball. I think he knows Lloyd isn't the one. But the cops…they want to close cases, not solve them."

"Virgil?"

Bostick smiled. "We've been talking that one over. The way I see it, Virgil was out looking for Lloyd. The poor kid got scared and ran off. Virgil found him, brought him in. He should get a medal, right? I don't think they'll hold him."

"Good. You know this Detective Sherwood?"

"A bit," he said cautiously.

"Enough so you could get me a talk with him?"

"Maybe."

I dragged on my smoke. "I don't want to buy him. I want to give him whoever did this."

"You?"

"Didn't Davidson tell you? Nobody knows these freaks better than me."

"We discussed your credentials."

"I got other references."

"I'm sure you do. But…"

"The human who did this, he's not some lonely, scared kid who likes to look at pictures. The guy you want, he's a sex-sniper."

"A what?"

"Sex-sniper. A guy who gets sexual satisfaction from penetrating his victims at a distance. The rifle's his cock. The bullets are his sperm. Bang bang, you're fucked."

"How d'you…?"

"Berkowitz…Son of Sam, remember? Apparently motiveless shootings. Girls alone. Or a guy and a girl together. That Zodiac freak on the Coast. That maniac in Buffalo. They're out there, and they play to a pattern."

"I never…"

"There was a case a lot like this one a few years back, somewhere in upstate New York."

"Is this kind of research a hobby of yours?"

"It's my work. And how I stayed alive this long."

Davidson nodded agreement, watching the Indiana lawyer. "Burke knows freaks like nobody else, Bart. In New York, even the cops admit that."

"You could find him?"

"I think so. Maybe. I know where to look."

"Where?"

"Where you can't look. That's why I may want to buy some slack from this detective, if he'll play."

"I'll ask him."

I got up to leave. "Okay. Virgil and Lloyd, they'll be ready to come in soon, maybe a few more days. I'll get word to you in front, you'll handle the surrender?"

"Sure. The bail…"

I opened my attaché case. "There's twenty-five K in here. Take what's left over as a front on your fee."

"You want a receipt?"

"I got one," I told him. Shook hands with Davidson and walked out.

48

MCGOWAN ANSWERED the phone on the first ring.

"It's me," told him. "I'm in Indiana, just outside Gary. Working on a case. A sex-sniper, real ugly freak. My brother's cousin is a suspect. I'm looking for the real hitter. There's a detective out here, name of Sherwood. If I give him your name and number, will you go for me?"

"What's that mean?"

"Tell him what I am. What I'm not."

"Okay, pal. He might not like what he hears."

"I'll chance it. Out here, I'm Mitchell Sloane, okay?"

McGowan's honey-Irish voice came through the line. "Tell him to call. I'm not in, I'll get back to him."

"Thanks."

He hung up.

49

DRIVING OVER to the hideout that night, little tongues of flame licked at my insides. Not my old friend. Not fear. Not yet. I knew why I came to Indiana. Did what I came for. What my brother asked. I knew the Sociopath's Song by heart. Travel light and you travel fast.

But you got nothing when you get there.

I knew the man who was out there. Out there in the dark, shadow-stalking, licking his lips, directing his porno movies through a telescopic sight. Making them into snuff films.

I didn't owe it to anyone to hang around, see this thing through.

And if I owed it to myself, I didn't want to know why.

50

THE SPORTING-GOODS store had a good supply of boxing equipment. I ignored the rifles stacked against the far wall, concentrating on what I needed for now.

When I got inside the hideout, I dumped the duffel bag out on the floor. Told Virgil we'd all be going in soon.

He nodded, looking at the boxing gloves lying on the cement. "He's been beating the hell out of that heavy bag. We gotta know the rest."

The rest. Punching bags don't punch back. If Lloyd was going to quit, we needed to know. Now.

"Let's do it," I said.

I waved Lloyd over. "We're going to spar some now, kid. See how those hooks of yours work when someone's trying to block them, okay?"

Lloyd held out his hands for the gloves, head down. Hesitant.

"What's wrong, boy?" Virgil's voice was quiet, steady.

"What if I hurt Burke?"

Virgil's laugh had relief in it. "Hell, son, you couldn't…"

I stepped on his words. "You won't be able to hurt me, Lloyd. It looks like I'm in trouble, Virgil'll pull you off quick enough."

He nodded. I wrapped the Ace bandage over one hand. Held out the other for Virgil. "Not too tight," I told him.

The top of the kid's head came about to my chin. I banged the gloves together, rolled my shoulders, rotated my neck on its column, getting ready.

Lloyd was still watching me closely when I shot a sharp jab into his chest. He grunted, backed up, and I slid my left foot forward, hooked to his gut, chopped him down with a short right to the jaw.

The kid hit the ground, came up swinging, trying to get his face buried in my chest. I caught a double left hook on my right forearm, fired a return shot under his heart as he dropped his arm. He went down again.

He came up slower this time, face flushed. I flicked a jab in his face. It bounced off his cheek as he came forward, head lowered, butting at my chin. He dropped his left shoulder but fired with his right, catching me right at the belt line. I grabbed the back of his neck with my right glove, pulled his face into my left fist. Something squished. He hit me a half dozen hammer shots to the ribs, pushing forward, shoulders working.

Virgil pulled him off. The kid's face was bleeding, blood bubbling around his nose as he sucked in air. I sat down on the floor. Virgil raised Lloyd's hand in the air, his hard-coal voice a parody of a ring announcer. "Referee stops contest at two minutes and fifteen seconds of the first round. The fighter from New York's unable to continue. A TKO for the man from Kentucky. Llllloyd !"

51

LATER THAT NIGHT, we told Lloyd about the joint. "You remember the guy we called Astro?" I asked Virgil. I felt a laugh bubble in my chest, thinking back. "That fat dude with the long hair in on a transfer from another federale joint?"