"What do you mean?"
"They have the same letters. U. K. E. In both our names. Maybe they have the same root. Mine is from the Bible. Is there a Burke in the Bible?"
"Not by that name."
"Are you Immaculata's friend?"
"She is my brother's wife."
"Max is your brother?"
"Yes."
"It's true," Mac assured him.
"Immaculata is my friend."
"I know. That means you're my friend too."
His eyes flickered again, straightened. "Do you know any monsters?" I hunkered down next to him, getting my eyes on the same level.
"Yeah, I know some."
"Do you fight them?"
"I have."
"Do you win?"
"Sometimes."
"Are you scared…when you fight them?"
I held his eyes, willing them to stay on mine. "Yes," I told him. "Yes, I'm scared."
He held out his hand to me, a soft child's hand. "Don't be scared. If you're my friend, you don't have to be scared."
"I'm not scared now."
His eyes rolled again. Came back slower this time. "Burke?" he asked. Like he was seeing me for the first time, waking up from a dream.
"Yeah?"
"If we put our names together, you and me, do you know what they would be?"
"No. What?"
"Burke and Luke. Together it would be Lurk. What do you think?"
"I think you're right." Watching his eyes, holding them steady. Tiny lights dancing in them now— candlepoints in the night.
I got to my feet.
"Are you coming back?" he asked.
"Count on it," I told him.
21
Back in Lily's office. I lit another smoke, waiting.
"He's got a genius IQ," Lily said. "Tests right off the scale."
"I could tell."
"What else can you tell?"
"He's video-phobic, right? Somebody photographed him, maybe videotaped. While something ugly was going on…maybe to him. You see the same reaction from some kids when a flashbulb goes off."
Storm edged forward. "He was examined at our hospital. After the attack on his baby brother. They found something besides the knife scratches."
I turned my face to her, waiting.
"A prolapsed rectum," she said, icy hate in her soft voice.
"The parents?"
"Wolfe thinks so," Lily said, something standoffish in the way she said it. I wasn't going to let it go by twice.
"Wolfe is your pal, right?"
"Sure."
"Your sister?"
"What's your point?"
"What's yours?"
She looked across the desk to Storm. Shrugged her shoulders. "Luke's been sexually abused. Wolfe should be right on top of it— she knows what we know. But she's waiting…like there's something more.
"And she doesn't like him." Immaculata's voice, stepping into the room.
"How do you know?" I asked over my shoulder.
"Luke knows. He told me."
Immaculata had a baby. Lily had a glowing teenager named Noelle. Storm was pregnant. Wolfe had no children. I never would. I glanced at Storm's swelling belly. "You're sure you're not…?"
Lily caught my look. "No, it's not that. Wolfe is just like us. She adores Noelle. And Flower. She knows something."
"And you want…?"
"We have to protect the child," Immaculata said. "That's what we do here."
"Wolfe won't talk to me," I said.
Lily smiled her Madonna's smile. "She might…she likes you.
Storm giggled.
Women. "I'll take a look," I told them. Immaculata kissed me on the cheek.
22
Max and I motored over to West Street, took it north past the triangular wedge of the short-stay motel at Fourteenth Street, hooked a U-turn, and headed back downtown. Horatio Street runs through the Village, a nice block, brownstones, well kept. On the other side of the highway, it's a dead-end street, runs right up against the filthy Hudson River.
The Prof was there, wrapped in his long overcoat, a flaming red silk scarf around his neck, the ends trailing almost to his feet.
Midafternoon now. When it turns dark, the long parking lot parallel to the river becomes a hustler's strip. Boys work the pavement, competing for the attention of the cars that slowly cruise the circuit. Manicured fingers push buttons— tinted glass slithers down. Young faces ravaged by the acid of their lives appear in the opening, auditioning on a private TV screen. The winners get to climb in the front seat and open their mouths. They usually finish at the end of the concrete strip— it doesn't take long. The kids get out of the cars and wait for the next customer. Sometimes a dark posse car comes by, loaded with cold-eyed blacks fondling automatic weapons. The crack express. Then the kids become customers themselves.
Out here, the winners go to jail. The losers get dead. Freaks don't like their little boys covered with condoms, but they don't mind a shroud.
We got out of the car, standing side by side. The Prof stepped into the space between us.
"There was more to the score," the little man said.
"You have enough time?" I asked him.
"I didn't Hoover the place, Ace. You never know when the maid's gonna show."
The Prof had graduated from shotgun bandit to hotel burglar, one of the very best. Worked with a shoeshine box over his shoulder, no nerves. But he wasn't perfect— I'd met him in prison. Every wheel has a double zero someplace, you spin it long enough.
I barely felt the little man's touch as something slipped into my coat pocket. We worked this 50-50. The Prof got half for taking the up-front risk of going inside— I split my half with Max.
"The cash ain't wrapped in trash, bro'. The freak had a Xerox in his pad. I made you some copies."
I fingered a roll of paper. The money would be inside.
"Pictures?" I asked.
"The Yellow Pages, man."
A pedophile's address book. Maybe worth more than the cash.
Traffic noise at a distance. Safe and quiet where we were. Little knots of people all around, dealing. Nobody looked too close.
"Drop you anywhere?"
"I'm cribbed up north, 'home. Get me to the tunnels, I'll ride the rails."
We dropped him off at Fourteenth and Eighth. Headed back downtown.
23
The white dragon tapestry was barely visible in the streaked window of Mama's restaurant. All clear. We parked in the alley behind the joint, entered through the unmarked steel door. The kitchen crew nodded to us, eyes over our shoulders in case we hadn't come alone.
We took my table in the back. I held my hand at stomach height, indicating a child. Then I went rigid, holding my arms out so tight they trembled. Pointed at Max, a question on my face.