Andrew Vachss - Blossom

"He knew why you were there?"

"No. Guess he asked Sherwood and got blown off. A real philosopher. Had a lot to say about niggers and white girls who didn't know where they belonged."

"Revis?" Remembering the name on the smaller one's badge."

"Yes, that's him."

"Thanks."

"We're partners, right?"

I felt those turquoise eyes on me. It didn't feel like she was talking a fifty-fifty split.

"I'll give it back to you later. Tonight. Today's my last day. I gave Leon notice— he said he had a dozen other girls with applications in, no problem."

"Want me to wait, give you a ride home after work?"

"No, I have to hang around. Cyndi's boyfriend's coming in. She wants me to meet him."

"Check him out? See if he's right for her?"

"You think I can't?"

I nodded a disclaimer. Thinking how good she was at watching people.

83

I DROVE BACK over to Virgil's Picked up Lloyd. Had him take me to where he and the other boys had been prowling when he'd opened his puppy mouth and brought all the trouble down. Went over the ground, getting nothing. I don't know what I expected to find— it wasn't a job for a scientist.

The rest of the time, I drove around, learning the streets. Lloyd at my side, filling in the blanks when I asked him where we were.

84

CALLED BOSTICK. "You entitled to discovery even if Lloyd's not indicted?"

"No. He's got to be charged with something first. What d'you need?"

"Anything the killer might have left at the crime scenes. Blood, hair, shell casings."

"I can probably get that. Anything else?"

"He would've left something. I'll think about it, get back to you. On the meter, okay?"

"You're covered. Your man Davidson's handling a federal matter for me over in New York. We'll work it out."

85

I DUMPED QUARTERS into the pay phone. Dialed Mama's number, expecting the Prof.

"Gardens."

"It's me, Mama. The Prof around?"

"Everybody around. Everybody here except you."

"I'll be back soon."

"Max ask…when?"

"Soon. I told you."

"Any trouble?"

"No trouble."

I heard the phone being put down on the counter.

"Read me a poem, 'home."

"Prof, you bring Vincenzo?"

"I got him, bro'. Go easy. My man gets real strange when he's off his range."

I knew what the Prof meant. Vincenzo lived in the Public Library. Main branch on Forty-second Street. Every day he showed up to do his "research." A tall, gentle-looking man, walking his own road. Carries a knapsack full of notebooks with writing only he can read. Lives on another plane from us. Vincenzo, he's one of the few guys who wouldn't know where to buy cocaine in the city. But he could tell you the precise spot in Colombia where the soil composition and annual rainfall would yield the best coca crop. If it was on paper, he could find it.

"Hello?"

"Vincenzo, my friend. You know who this is?"

"Yes."

"Can you do a research job for me?"

"I'm very busy with my own work. Did you know…?"

"Listen, Vincenzo, I know how important your work is. But this is kind of an emergency. And you're the only one with the ability to do it."

Silence.

"Okay?"

"What do you need?"

"I need anything you can find me on sex-snipers. Like Son of Sam. Or Zodiac, on the Coast. And there was a case in New York, within the last few years. Lovers' lane sniper. Anything , Vincenzo. Anything you can find. Okay?"

"I don't do analysis— I just find facts."

"That's what I need, pal. Facts. The Prof'll take care of you, any costs involved."

"I can give it one research day, that's all. Then I have to get back to my work."

"Okay. So I'll call you tomorrow night."

"You can't call me. There's no phones…"

"I'll call you there , Vincenzo. Right where you are now. The Prof will bring you back again, pick you up at your office tomorrow at closing time. Okay?"

"All right."

The Prof came back on the line. "You find your thrill in the hills yet, man?"

"Still looking. Thanks for t.c.b. on Vincenzo. Can you bring him back tomorrow night? Same time?"

"I say what I mean, I mean what I say, and those who don't listen, they'd better pray."

86

ALMOST TEN when I tapped on Blossom's door. Wearing a T-shirt that reached almost to her knees, feet bare. Her hair was tied in a loose knot on top of her head. I followed her back to the kitchen.

There was a black plastic ashtray on the kitchen table. I lit a smoke while she brewed coffee. One of the caterpillars had formed a cocoon. "What kind are they?" I asked.

"Black swallowtails. Beautiful big things. Long-distance fliers."

"How come you do that…raise butterflies?"

"When I was a kid, I used to try and catch them. The way kittens do. Not to be vicious, just chasing them because they're so pretty. My mother explained it to me. If you love something, you don't crush it. You can't hug a butterfly. She got me some caterpillars. Monarchs, they were. I remember, they only lived on milkweed. I learned patience, watching them eat, get fat, spin their cocoons. When the butterfly comes out, it's never so lovely as it is then. They come out wet. That's when they're most vulnerable. Until the powder dries on their wings and they can take to the sky. You hold them right on your fingers. They trust you then. Let them flap their wings until they're ready. Then you raise your hand and they fly away. I bring the cocoons into the hospital. On the children's ward. It's so good for them to see something get better. Fly away."

"I tried something like that once."

"Butterflies?"

"No. One foster home I was in. Out on Long Island. The old lady who ran the place, she had these rose bushes that she loved. Her pride and joy. All different kinds. That summer, we had this attack of Japanese beetles. What they do is eat rose bushes. Mrs. Jensen, she sprayed and sprayed. Tried everything. But the beetles kept on coming. It was breaking her heart."

She brought her cup to the kitchen table, holding it in two hands, watching.

"I was just a kid. Tried picking off the beetles, one at a time. But it didn't do any good— they just kept coming. So I went to the library. Looked up Japanese beetles. I found out they had what you call a natural enemy. Praying mantis. You ever see one?"

She nodded.

"Anyway, the praying mantis, it makes a cocoon. Like your caterpillars, but much bigger. Heavy strands like fiber, light brownish color. About half the size of a golf ball. I found some in a field near her house. Spent days collecting them. Put each one in a mason jar. I figured, one giant praying mantis would come out of each one. I'd hatch them, put them on the rose bushes. Have them stand guard."

"What happened?"

"When the first one hatched, it wasn't one praying mantis, it was like thousands of them. Little tiny things. So small you could hardly see them. Then I was stuck. See, I knew that birds would eat the little ones. But if I left them in the jar where they'd be safe, they'd starve to death. So I poured the whole jar over the rose bushes. When each one hatched, I did the same."

"Did it work?"

"Oh yeah. I poured out so many of the little suckers that the birds couldn't deal with them all. We had wall-to-wall praying mantises. They whacked every Japanese beetle for miles. When they get their growth, they're huge. Those front paws, hell, you could really feel them when they grabbed. So Mrs. Jensen's rose bushes were safe. But you couldn't go outside without getting dive-bombed by the praying mantises. They were all over the place. On the bushes. In the trees. In the house. All over the cars. The neighbors wanted to murder me."

"Sounds like you went overboard." She chuckled.

"Mrs. Jensen, she stood up for me. Said I meant well. I was only a little boy."