Only Child (33 page)

• • •

"W
hat if he—?"
"There's no way," I said to Rejji. "Not now."

• • •

"B
urke . . ."
"They heard it all?" I asked Cyn.
"Every word. I was right there."
"I stationed Max behind Giovanni, just in case."
"He didn't
move,
Burke. Not a muscle. I don't see how he did it. I wanted to . . . just . . ."
"How do you think
I
felt?" Rejji said to her. "And I was close enough to do it."
"Why isn't Michelle with you?" Cyn asked.
"She stayed behind to clean up anything he might have touched. And to check out. She's going to ride over with Mole and the Prof."
"And he can't possibly . . . ?"
"There's some reality he doesn't get to direct," I promised her.

• • •

I
pulled up to the barbed-wire-laced chain-link gate, flashed my brights three times.
The gate swung back from both sides. I drove the Plymouth through. The gate closed behind me.
"Watch those spike heels," I told the women. "The ground here is all busted up."
We got out. Made our way over to a small building with a single gas pump in front.
"You wait over there," I told them. "Next to the car."

• • •

T
he white stretch limo ghosted up to the gate, flashed its brights three times.
I watched as the gate swung back.
The limo pulled into the shadows.
The back door opened. The Vision climbed out, Max right behind him. The driver's door opened, and Clarence stepped out, his semi-auto aimed at the ground.
I slipped back into the shadows, got to the shack before they arrived.
When the door opened, The Vision saw me sitting on an old office chair.
"Have a seat," I told him, pointing to the chair's mate.
"What . . . what are you
doing
? I thought we had—"
"Sit down, Vision," I said gently. "I'll explain everything."
"People know where I am!" he said.
"
You
don't even know where you are," I told him. Words I'd said to another man, years ago. Another man like him. "That's part of all this. Your own concept, right?"
His mouth opened, but he didn't speak. His eyes were dull.
"Come on, sit down," I said. "I have one more thing to show you."

• • •

"I
didn't do anything," he said, fear spiderwebbing his voice like a rock against a windshield.
"I know you didn't," I said, my voice wafting through the lattice of the professional interrogator's faked empathy. "It was those insane twins, wasn't it?"
"
That's
what this is about?
Those
psychos? They're steroid abusers. You know what that does to people. I never meant for them to—"
"Oh, I know, Vision," I told him. "It's not your fault that you're a genius."
"I'm not saying I'm a—"
"Well, even if you're not,
I
am. Because you are, my friend.
Noir vérité
. It's so strong, it just takes over. You never filmed the actual killing, did you?"
"No! I'm telling you, it wasn't
supposed
to be . . . real. It's . . . it's like you said. They just got out of control. I wasn't the director anymore. I wouldn't film
that
."
"I know."
"You're not a . . . producer, are you?"
"That's exactly what I am," I assured him. "And your concept, it just killed me. In fact, we're going to be doing one of your projects, and that's a promise."
"Then all this . . . like, kidnapping stuff, you're just . . . ?"
"Making a movie," I said. "Getting the feel of what you told us. Sorry if it looked scary. But I just wanted to see for my-self."
"Oh! Oh, I get it. So when do I—?"
"Just sit here for a few minutes, Vision. I'll have the car brought around for you."
He expelled a long breath, said, "I thought—"
"Five minutes," I promised him, and stepped out the door.

• • •

I
t took less than that for the limo to vanish.
I piloted the Plymouth carefully across the waste ground, the moon's cold glare lighting the way.
Rejji was sitting next to me, her trembling thigh pressed against mine. She pointed at the shadow-shrouded building. "For real," she whispered.

• • •

G
iovanni and Felix didn't come with us. The last I saw of them, they were putting on long black robes, adjusting the hoods over their heads.

A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Andrew Vachss has been a federal investigator in sexually transmitted diseases, a social services caseworker, and a labor organizer, and has directed a maximum-security prison for youthful offenders. Now a lawyer in private practice, he represents children and youths exclusively. He is the author of numerous novels, including the Burke series; two collections of short stories; and a wide variety of other material, including song lyrics, poetry, graphic novels, and a "children's book for adults." His books have been translated into twenty languages, and his work has appeared in
Parade, Antaeus, Playboy, Esquire,
the
New York Times,
and numerous other forums. A native New Yorker, he now divides his time between the city of his birth and the Pacific Northwest.
The dedicated Web site for Vachss and his work is www.vachss.com.

ALSO BY ANDREW VACHSS
Flood
Strega
Blue Belle
Hard Candy
Blossom
Sacrifice
Shella
Down in the Zero
Born Bad
Footsteps of the Hawk
False Allegations
Safe House
Choice of Evil
Everybody Pays
Dead and Gone
Pain Management
THIS IS A BORZOI BOOK
PUBLISHED BY ALFRED A. KNOPF
Copyright © 2002 by Andrew Vachss
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto. Distributed by Random House, Inc., New York.
www.aaknopf.com
Knopf, Borzoi Books, and the colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Vachss, Andrew H.
Only child / Andrew Vachss.
p. cm.
eISBN 1-4000-4013-2
1. Burke (Fictitious character)— Fiction. 2. Teenage girls— Crimes against— Fiction. 3. Long Island (N.Y.)— Fiction. 4. New York (N.Y.)— Fiction. 5. Criminals— Fiction. 6. Mafia— Fiction. I. Title.
PS3572.A33 O55 2002
813'.54— dc21 2002075437
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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