Andrew Vachss - Blossom

"I'm sad because …of what else is. All the success stories."

"You sound so evil when you say that. Like there's a chill in here."

"How should I sound?"

"I hate him too, honey. He killed my sister. But that boy…he has to be so…sick."

It felt like I was being baited. Goaded into something. "You think he needs a psychiatrist?" I asked her.

"Don't you?"

"No."

125

IT WAS TEN o'clock that night before I finished. Counted the files I had set aside. Almost two hundred. I closed my eyes. Went down inside. Where only the devil knew my secrets.

Called his name.

Wesley. The monster who signed his suicide note with a threat— I don't know where I'm going, but they better not send anyone after me.

"Where is he?" I asked the monster.

"Out there."

"Can I find him?"

"He can find you," the monster said, in his dead-machine voice. "Fire works."

I knew. He wasn't talking about the Fourth of July.

126

A HAND on my chest. Foggy voice. A strangled scream. Blossom's face inches from mine, the pink glow gone dark. My fingers locked around her throat. The soft flesh turned to acid— I whipped my hand away.

Later, on the couch, her head in my lap. Cold water dripping onto my thighs from the ice pack she was holding against her throat.

"I never saw anything move so fast. It was like a steel vise…" Her voice was raw, raspy.

"Don't talk."

"Burke…"

"I'm sorry. I was somewhere else. Didn't know it was you."

"It's okay. I thought you were asleep. I just wanted you to come to bed."

"Close your eyes, Blossom. Go to sleep."

She found my hand, separated the fingers like she was counting them. Put my thumb in her mouth, curled onto her side, closed her eyes.

I felt the cold go through me, reaching where the ice pack couldn't touch.

127

VIRGIL AND I spotted the Blazer in the parking lot. Matson was sitting in his spot. Two guys with him. Looked like he did: mean-eyed, blotchy-faced, chinless. The Master Race.

We sat down.

The fashion show went on behind us.

Matson leaned forward. "You got yourself quite a background, friend."

"Satisfied?"

"Yeah. What was it like?"

"What was what like?"

"Africa. I thought of doing that kind of work myself. Merc stuff. Pay's good?"

"Good enough."

"Must be heaven. Killin' niggers and gettin' paid for it too."

One of his boys laughed. I swiveled my head slowly, catching his eyes. Weasel. He stopped laughing, waiting for his cue, not knowing the script.

"You go by Mitchell Sloane?" Matson asked. So he wrote down the Lincoln's license number. Or Revis was more helpful to him than just running my prints.

"I go by a lot of things."

"Yeah. Yeah, I understand. Where'd you hear I was in the market for some hardware?"

"Around. I heard you were a serious man. Had serious business."

He nodded sagely, basking in the praise. "That's the truth. Lots of groups like ours around, but we're the real thing. Everybody knows that. It ain't just the niggers, you know. Maybe it ain't as bad as Jew York yet around here, but we're workin' on it. Got homos in the government, Jew-bastard IRS on our necks, no room for a white man to breathe anymore."

"That's what I sell. Breathing room."

"I got you. You know, a nigger once came in here. Right in the fuckin' door. Like he owned the place. Lickin' his ape lips at the girls. Now that don't happen no more. The word's out. We've been growing. Slow but steady. Have to be real careful, who you let in."

"Yeah, the feds are everywhere."

"Undesirables too. You hear about Patterson's crew, down in Crown Point? They had a guy in there, ranking member and all. Turned out he was a Jew. Patterson's a fuckin' fool— he shouldn't be in a leadership position in the movement."

"How's he supposed to know, who's a Jew?"

"There's ways. We got our eye on them. On some of them. Send 'em a message one of these days."

Virgil watched, bored.

The Nazi's voice droned on.

White Noise.

I cut in at an angle, merging with his rap. Talked his talk. Guns and blood. Freedom for the Race. I let him bargain me into a half dozen Uzis, five grand for the package.

"You use these, the cops'll think it was some nigger dope dealers, right?"

"Yeah!"

"COD."

"Deal. I'll meet you right here on…"

"I look stupid to you, I'm gonna ride around with a truckful of a life sentence?"

"The cops won't bother this place."

"It's not the locals I'm worried about."

"So where, then?"

"Chicago. I got a warehouse in Uptown. You drive in, drive out."

His eyes went crafty with the chance to impress his punks. "No way, partner. Not across a state line."

I pretended to give it some thought. "Okay. It'll take me a few days to get the pieces together from my source. Give me a number, I'll call you. We'll make the exchange on the road. Wherever you say."

"I'll give you our Hot Line. When you call, you get our message. The Race Word. There ain't no beep, but it's an answering machine. When you hear a voice saying White Power! that's the sign-off. Just leave your message after that, I'll get back to you."

"Good enough."

The bouncer's eyes tracked me and Virgil out the door.

128

I HANDED BLOSSOM the pistol. "You better hang on to this, find a safe place for it." Thinking of Revis.

"Okay, boss."

"Be careful with it— it's loaded."

She popped the cylinder, pointed the barrel at the ceiling as the cartridges dropped into her palm. "I know about guns. From the Army. M-16, M-60, grenades…we even practiced with LAWs."

"You were in the Army?"

"Don't look so surprised, baby. They paid for medical school. It was a good deal. And Mama didn't leave us a fortune. Violet and I agreed, we'd save the money for Rose. Pay her way through school."

I held her against me until she stopped trembling.

129

LATER, THE PHONE RANG. Answering machine picked up.

Virgil's voice: "He went to the same place. Alone."

130

TWO HUNDRED NAMES. For the first time, I missed New York. If I was home, if I could tap into my machinery, call in some markers, work the angles, make some trades…I could narrow them down. Find out which of the kids had later died, gone to prison, been institutionalized, moved away. But out here…I was working in the dark.

I needed a match.

131

CALLED BOSTICK. "Can you check some real estate for me?"

"If it's local, sure. Take about an hour."

I gave him Matson's address.

132

IN VIRGIL'S back yard, night falling.

"She checked the place again?"

"Yep. Reba says he lives alone, looks like."

"The house is in his name. Nobody else on the mortgage. He could have a girlfriend living there. Or maybe one of his Nazi pals. We'll play whatever's there."

"He's got that dog, though."

"It's a long shot. We can't wait for him to be somewhere else. Have to go in while he's there, brace him, take a look. He's gonna guess who we are, tell his pal the cop."

Virgil shrugged. "Kids go to bed early. I'll be up, watching TV with Reba. Lloyd too."

"He's dirty anyway. Can't see him going to court. And I'll have a message for him, he does that. Let me do the talking, it comes to that."

"Okay."

"We'll leave Lloyd in the car, like last time."

Virgil nodded. I caught a look on his face. "What's wrong?" I asked him.

He dragged on his smoke. "I don't hold with killing dogs, brother."

"Matson, he's an amateur. Probably thinks the way to make a good watchdog is to starve him. I'll take care of it."

133

"I NEED TO knock out a dog."

Blossom didn't change expression. "What kind of dog? How fast?"

"A shepherd. Figure, eighty, ninety pounds. He needs to go down pretty quick, stay down for at least a half hour."