Blossom (16 page)

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

C
ALLED 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

A
LMOST 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."

"She sounds like a fine woman."

"She was."

"Did she raise you?"

"No. I was only there for the summer. The State raised me."

"Are your parents dead?"

"I don't know. Never met them."

"Oh."

"You can get that sappy look off your face. You don't miss what you never had."

"You don't know my looks. You don't know what they mean. And folks
do
miss what they never have. They do it all the time. Now tell me what you found out."

87

L
ATER, I WAS on the couch in her living room. Blossom was curled up at the other end.

"Why are you in this?" she asked.

"Virgil's my brother."

"I understand that. But you came to help Lloyd, right? I know he's been arrested and all, but nobody thinks he did it. Why don't you go back home?"

"I could never explain it to you. The guy who did this, I know him. Not his name. I was raised with humans like him. I know why he does it."

"You want to stop him before he does it again?"

"I'm no hero. That's not it. I told you, I can't explain it."

She slid closer on the couch, voice quiet. "Cyndi tell you what I told her? About you?"

"To stay away from me?"

"Yes. She tell you why?"

"Not exactly."

"You're a trouble–man, Mr. Burke."

"What's that?"

"There's men who walk on the edge because they like the way it feels under their feet. Risk–takers."

"That's not me."

"Yes. Yes, it is. You've got the mark. Clear as a signpost. It's got nothing to do with bravery. But wherever you go, there's trouble. Trouble for somebody."

"You don't know me."

"And you don't know the sniper?"

I dragged on my smoke to have something to do. Thought it through. "I won't be around here long."

She stood up. Held out her hand to me. "You'll be around here till it gets light anyway."

88

I
N HER BEDROOM, she pulled the T–shirt over her head and stepped into my chest, tilting her face up. Her lips were full and rich. Swollen. I kissed her softly, my hands trailing down her back. Her skin had a fine sheen of powder and sweat. Her arms came up, linked around my neck. She leaned back, one bare foot on my shoe. Her breasts were small, round perfect things, tiny nipples dark against the milky flesh.

Blossom pushed my jacket off my shoulders, opened the buttons on my shirt with a pickpocket's touch. She sat on the bed while I pulled off the rest of my clothes. Held out her hand again. Pushed me onto my back on the bed. Got to her feet. Hooked thumbs in the waistband of her powder–blue panties and pulled them down to her thighs. Bent at the waist as she stepped out of them. Came onto the bed again, her face in my neck. I gazed down the line of her back. Her ankles were slim, calf muscles standing out strong. A woman who spent a lot of time on her feet. Her buttocks swelled from a tiny waist. I patted her, feeling the firm flesh bounce back against me.

"It's a handful, huh?"

"Bigger than I would've thought."

"I had to learn how to walk to keep it down. Boys used to follow me home from school."

"I would have, I saw all this in motion."

She slid one leg over mine, trailing wetness. Kissed me deep, tongue curling up against the back of my top teeth. Her hand found me. "You left something in your clothes," she whispered. "Go get it."

"What?"

She propped herself up on her elbows, regarding me with those searchlight eyes. "Don't tell me…"

"What?
"

"Why do you carry that pistol, trouble–man?"

"For protection."

"Yeah. You wouldn't leave home without it. That the only kind of protection you can think of?"

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh. You have any or not?"

"Not."

Her little fist thumped me lightly on the chest. "Nice work, boy. You get lucky enough to come along when I'm having an estrogen–fit, then you blow it."

"Speaking of which…"

"Forget it. What year do you think this is? I didn't go to medical school to have some strange man playing with my life. I don't know where you've been."

"I…"

"Don't even tell me. A stiff cock's got no conscience."

"Your mother tell you that?"

"Matter of fact, she did. Best time to ask a man for a favor is just before he comes."

"When's the best time for a woman?"

"Just after." A gentle twist to her mouth, playing with a smile.

I cupped my hands behind my head. Looked at the ceiling. "How long do these estrogen–fits of yours last?"

Her full smile bloomed in the darkness. "Not long enough for you to find a drugstore, you dope. You know
anything
about women?"

"Not much."

A faint coppery smell came off her body. She nuzzled against my neck. Whispered, "Wait here." Like I was going anywhere. I watched her walk out of the bedroom. She didn't bother to keep it down. Cyndi could have taken lessons.

I closed my eyes. Felt her hand on me. Slick and wet. A long fingernail trailed down my shaft. Electricity ran from my spine to the back of my neck.

"You found something?" I asked her.

"Like what?"

"I don't know. A diaphragm, foam…something." Not saying anything about the vasectomy I'd had years ago…like I'd told her too much, somehow.

"Feel this," she said, guiding my fingertips to her upper arm. Five tiny little lines, fan–shaped under the skin.

"What is it?" I asked her.

"Progestin. Best birth–control chemical there is. Each implant is a time–release bar. The whole thing's good for about five years. Unless you weigh more than a hundred and fifty–four pounds. You think I'm a good risk?" Patting her butt, smiling.

"You're well on the safe side."

"You're not exactly a silver–tongued devil, are you, boy? Anyway, this version's called Norplant. It just got FDA approval—I was one of the volunteers they tested it on. No ugly side effects like the Pill."

"So why…?"

"I know how to keep from having babies. Know what to do if that doesn't work too. You never heard about Safe Sex?"

"Sure." I didn't tell her where I first heard about it. From a child molester. Safe for him.

He thought.

Her hand stroked. I opened my eyes a slit. White fluffy bath towel lying on the bed.

"That isn't going to work," I told her. "I haven't gotten off like that since I was a kid."

"Shhh, baby. Close your eyes. I'll tell you a story."

She whispered all I'd missed out on, coming to her house without protection. Whispered and stroked and teased and played and chuckled.

Then she spread the towel over me, curled up against me, and we slept together.

89

I
WOKE UP to the sound of the shower. Wrapped the towel around me, went into the kitchen, lit a smoke. Heard the bathroom door open. Found Blossom seated at her dressing table, working some cream into her face. She nodded her head at the bathroom, concentrating.

The place was full of steam, mirror fogged. I took a shower with the liquid soap she left there in a clear push–top bottle. Washed my hair with shampoo I found in a black squeeze tube. Put on last night's clothes.

Blossom was still in the bedroom, still fussing with her face when I came back.

"I don't want you to take this the wrong way," she said, "but I can be saying this only once. I'm not mad at you. There's nothing wrong. But I
can't
talk to people in the morning when I first get up. I need to be with myself. It's okay if you stay, do what you want. There's food inside. But don't talk to me till I talk to you, okay?"

"Okay."

She was letting me see pieces of her—the ones she wanted held up to the light. No more today. I walked out. It was still before rush hour—it only took me twenty minutes to get back to the motel, even with stopping at a drugstore.