Black Heart, page 10
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Lovely Leonard was not a bad person to take his wrath out on, Thwaite figured; in fact, his profession made him a better choice than most.
The door creaked open on its chain and Thwaite jammed his shoe into the gap.
'Open up, Lenny.'
'Yo' early, man.'
Thwaite reached beneath his jacket, produced the hardwood baton he had had made for himself. He brought it up in front of him. 'You see this, my man?' He waved the thing back and forth like a metronome. 'This says time don't mean a thing.'
'Hey, hey.' Lovely Leonard's voice dropped to a stage whisper. 'Yo' caught me wif ma pants down.' And when Thwaite made to comment, he went on. 'Got me a bitch in here, man. Bangin' her brains out, y'know? Gimme a break, will y
Thwaite's raised arm was already descending in a thick white and brown blur. The meat part of the baton crashed into the thin cheap chain, jerking it, mooring and all, from the inside wall. He lowered his shoulder and launched himself through the widening gap, smashing his way into the apartment.
'Fuck!' Lovely Leonard said, losing his balance. He stumbled backward into the threadbare rug. True to his word, he was naked from the waist up. His trousers had been hastily put on, the zipper still open, the waist button still undone. He clutched the top part now with one hand to keep the material from falling away from his private parts. His thin, hairless chest gleamed in the light.
'Get up from the floor, Lenny,' Thwaite said. 'You look like a fool down there.' He waited until the black had regained his feet and had done up his trousers, then he reached out and gripping the chocolate flesh at the base of the neck, he brought the man closer towards him.
'Now listen to me.' Thwaite's voice was soft, silky, nevertheless filled with menace. 'You open your door to me when' come. No matter what time it is, right? Remember that, Lovely Leonard' - he brandished the baton - 'or I'm likely to rearrange those beautiful facial features so that someone'll have to give you
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ew nickname ' He let the pimp go, he rippled his fingertips .<3jve it over '
Lovely Leonard grunted, went to the far corner of the room,
_p,ng to reach underneath the mattress of the day bed
'Very original,' Thwaite commented as the other returned ae stood before Thwaite, counting out hundred dollar bills When he got to five, he stopped, folded them over, put the wad into Thwaite's fist
'Easy as pie,' Thwaite said, pocketing the cash He saw the unhappy look on Lovely Leonard's face 'Jesus,' he said lightly, 'you oughta be jumping for joy, Lenny For this little monthly shot m the arm neither you nor any of your girls gets hassled by Vice Your profits go up and I take a piece of it Why worry' We all get a little richer ' The wad of bills seemed hot high up on his thigh He put his hand in his trousers pocket, covering the cash with his palm Somehow it didn't make him feel as good as it once did 'Cheer up '
At that moment, he heard the flushing of the toilet from behind the closed door to the bathroom once, twice, three times
He looked at Lovely Leonard 'Your girl got the trots, Lenny7' The other's face was slick with sweat, his eyes were wide and rolling
The bitch's cleanm' herself'
But Thwaite wasn't having any In three swift strides he was at the door 'Open up1' he called and immediately threw himself shoulder first at the door It burst open and he saw a young white woman on her knees over the open toilet She had one hand on the lever, the water was still spinning around
She had been staring intently into the bowl but as he burst in on her, her head whipped around He saw her pinched face filled with fear Her small sharp teeth were bared
He took a step towards the bowl and she growled low down m her throat She leaped at him, fingers like claws, nails aimed at his eyes He brought the baton up, tapped her as gently as he could on the side of her head at the apex of her arc She let out a 1'ttle moan, fell away from him against the tiled wall
Thwaite ignored her for the moment, bent down and rescued
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the small spinning objects from going down the toilet. He shoo^ water off them: two glassine envelopes. He opened one carefully tasted a bit of the white powder inside.
'Shit!' he coughed.
He made a grab for the girl who was just beginning to stir He took a look at the insides of her arms, then the insides of het legs. That's where he found them. An army of track marks.
'Goddamn shit!'
He pulled the girl to her feet, began to guide her out of the bathroom.
'What yo' doin', Thwaite?' Lovely Leonard called plain, tively. 'She my best bitch by far. I pay you. No hassles.'
'That's vice,' Thwaite said nastily. The sight of the wretch he had his arm around made him ill. She couldn't've been more than seventeen. 'You do what you do, Lenny and that's fine by me. But you start foolin' with this shit' - he dangled the open bag in front of the pimp's face - 'and you got to pay. I told you in the beginning that you were buying yourself a limited insurance policy.' He held the half-conscious girl up in front of him. 'She's just a goddamned kid, Lenny. For Chrissakes, I got a daughter at home just about the same age. What the fuck's the matter with you, ain't you got any sense?'
'But she came to me,' the black man said. 'Hey, hey, they all do, y'know? They got no one, got nowhere t'go. They wanna make some bread. This's the way.' He danced around nervously 'Hey, man, don't take her in now. I mean, shit, the bitch's worth a thousand a week to me, clean.'
Thwaite was almost at the door. 'You're goddamned luckv I'm not taking you in, too, Lenny.' Thwaite opened the front door with his free hand. 'But the truth is you're small potatoes You and the others like you don't amount to shit in the cesspool I work in.' He lifted the girl up onto one meaty shoulder. 'You must've been born under a lucky sign, my man. This's your one and only warning.'
He took the girl out of there. She seemed as light as a feather Downtown, at the precinct, he had her booked, gave over the evidence, then waited with her until the matron from Juvenile showed up.
Staring into that narrow, battlescarred face, he could see the beauty hidden underneath but not truly defeated yet He was nured to her savagery, what did that mean, after all' The street had done that to her, the mean cruel street But like a patina, he knew that wildness could be stnpped away, leaving what had always been there
She was just a girl, a thin frightened creature with no home, no family, no ties She would not give him her name and Lovely Leonard said that 'Nina' was all he knew her by Still Thwaite had run her description through Missing Persons just in case He had come up with a blank but that meant nothing
Somewhere, perhaps in Ohio or Michigan, Nina did have a family But that hardly mattered They were as good as dead to her and what was she left with' A needle filled with dreamsleep and death She might have been treated better in a zoo
He stood up when the matron arrived He briefed her and all the while his gaze was on Nina The girl stared at the floor at her feet Her dirty blonde hair was tousled, clumped strands wisping her wide forehead She appeared quite docile now
And that was the last he saw of her He said goodbye but either she did not hear him or did not care She made no reply
He became aware of how weary he felt The combination of that pathetic girl and Tracy Richter's enormous energy had drained him Locking horns with that man was like fighting a battalion
He took the Chevy towards the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel, thinking back to the confrontation He was surprised to find that he had not been bluffing with Richter He had actually put his job on the line1 Amazing1 Why did this case mean so much to him' Why not just forget all about the ugly mess and get on with his life Shake down a few small time pimps and bookies That was much more his speed, wasn't it' He was just a grimy slab the department had turned into hamburger like it did everybody else He had no business sticking his nose into this
And that, he told himself, was just why he was doing it He was enclosed in a tiny world of filth and once, just once, he wanted to stretch his neck out and get above it all Just once he'd
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like to be able to clean up a patch of the shit instead of dumping more on the floor.
Every day, he pulled in junkies with weapons who cut up people. He went through the motions of giving a case to the DA's office only to see it disintegrate into a plea bargain or a slap on the wrists from an 'enlightened' judge who had absolutely no idea what was happening to the quality of life on the streets.
If it was up to him, he'd take every goddamned judge on the circuit and shove them out there for a month or two. He had no doubt they'd return to the bench with a different attitude.
Out through the tunnel. Thwaite took the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway south towards Park Slope. The lights of Manhattan twinkled into the gathering dusk, smeared by haze.
So now he'd made'the Holmgren thing into a cause. The truth. He wanted only the truth, and by that, be cleansed by it.
At the western edge of Park Slope, the highways described a wide arc to the southwest. Unconsciously, he began to hum an odd, inverted rendition of'The Man I Love'.
Up ahead, he could see the glow and glint of the Narrows, the water soft and gentle-looking; the night concealing the luridly iridescent oil stains scarring its surface. He was in Bay Ridge now; home.
He exited just south of Owls Head Park, taking Shore Road back down Sixty-ninth Street. His house, a white clapboard and shingle affair looking very much like the others, stood midway down the block. There was a maple tree out front that was making a valiant attempt to stay alive.
He sat in the car, staring at nothing. It was not yet time to go into the house. He could see the lights on here and there, the steel blue of TV sets flickering, giving out the news of the day. It was all bad.
Thwaite shut off the engine of the Chevy, got out and locked the door. The heat hit him hard; it was a stifling night even out here, across the river from the city.
He went north along Bliss Terrace, heading towards Owls Head Park. At the edge of the park he paused, wondering whether or not to go in. It was Wednesday, time for his weekly
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ayoff, something he had come to think of as a normal clockwork part °f his life. Tonight, however, he felt different. Per-. haps it was £ke Holmgren thing and the promise it held out to him; perhaps he was changing.
He almost turned away then but his roving eye caught the movement within the park and he thought, Ah, what the hell, I can always use the extra cash. He went slowly down the path with the certain knowledge that this would be the last time. He felt like he was shedding an old and filthy skin, leaving it on the ground behind him.
Ships' horns hooted in ghostly concert as he left the stone path and went over the low black iron railing. Past a large oak, he saw Antonio's familiar silhouette with its wide-brimmed hat and puffy-sleeved shirt. Spic dandy, Thwaite thought, disgusted with himself. Yet he could not stop and turn around.
Now he could see the two girls: Spanish, big-breasted, widehipped with the kind of animal sensuality he found typical of their kind.
'Hey Thwaite,' the pimp said by way of greeting. 'You a little late. Got business elsewhere now?'
'Always, 'Tonio,' Thwaite said. 'I got more important things to do.'
Antonio gave him a sour grin. 'Yo Thwaite. You better be careful what you say, man. I keep you in business.' He handed over a clutch of bills.
Thwaite, counting them, said, 'You couldn't keep an old lady welfare afloat with payments like this.'
The pimp spread his hands, shrugged. 'Yo Thwaite. What can I say, man? Business sucks.'
Thwaite looked up. 'You're not thinking of holding out on me, are you, 'Tonio? You got more brains than that.'
'Hold it right there.'
Ihwaite swung his head around. One of the girls, her high heels planted wide, had a small .32 calibre pistol levelled at his stomach.
Antonio was grinning, his yellow teeth clacking together in delight. 'Yo Thwaite. Now we see who's boss.' He came forward, prancing a little in his pointed-toed boots. 'I figure, this
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here's my turf. You been runnin' me around, givin' me grief for too long a time, y'know? I had it with you, bro'.' He reached out a hand. 'Now be a good boy and hand over all your cash.'
'You're out of your mind,' Thwaite said. 'You won't have an operation left, you do this.'
'Shows just how fucked up you are, man. The PD, they don't like to hear about this kinda shit, you know? What d'you think, I'm ignorant or something? I watch the news on TV. They don't want "no bad press: cops on the take, makes 'em sweat right through their blues, am I right? I squeal about this deal an' you dead an' buried, bro'.' His fingers made quick curling motions. 'Now hand it over. Move!'
Thwaite reached out towards the pimp's open hand and spread apart his fingers. The crumpled bills fluttered to the
ground.
Antonio was lightning swift. His right leg came up in a blur, the pointed-toed boot burying itself in Thwaite's groin. 'Puerco!'
he cried.
The breath whooshed out of Thwaite's lungs as he grabbed himself. Bright lights danced in his head. Blinding pain filled him up so that he gasped uncontrollably.
'You think I'll get down on my knees for that?' Antonio watched the other bowed before him. He grinned. 'Yo not me, bro'. Now you know who's boss around here.' He leaned over slightly, his cupped palm coming down. 'Give me my fucking bread, man.' His voice was full of menace.
'Here!' Thwaite said, uncoiling. His polished hardwood baton shot upward and out, slamming the pimp in the ribs. He felt the percussion through his wrist and arm, heard the snapcrunch and felt the give at the same time.
Antonio moaned and collapsed where he was standing, a look of disbelief frozen on his face. On his way down, Thwaite used his kneecap against the pimp's cheekbone. Antonio spun, his
arms pinwheeling.
Thwaite was aware of movement to his right and he crouches down, using Antonio's body as a shield. The pimp moaned as Thwaite manhandled him.
There was no sign of the two girls and Thwaite whispered
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the other's ear 'You better pray they took themselves out of here, Johnny-boy '
'Madre de Dtos1' Antonio shivered in pain
Thwaite took the surrounding terrain in by quadrants A siren wailed somewhere behind him, diminishing Then it was still There was almost no wind but the crickets were up IVlournful hooting of the ships through the Narrows
Lines of trees and shrubbery confronted him, looking oddly two-dimensional in the sputtering mercury lamps' harsh light He was sitting in the middle of a vast shooting gallery and he was the duck He dropped his baton and drew his service revolver He put it in front of Antonio's face
'Listen, shit-for-brams, I'm giving you the chance to end it here before someone really gets hurt'
'I ain't gonna do no time, man ' Antonio spit blood It looked black in the artifical light He coughed, his body convulsing 'Shit, you hurt me bad, bro' '
Thwaite scanned the immediate vicinity 'You shouldn't've been so greedy, 'Tonio You had to be taught a lesson '
'Last one to try to teach me a lesson, bro', was my old man ' He spit more blood 'I carved him up good, man '
Thwaite said nothing He thought he had caught a glimpse of reflection moving among the maples 'All right,' he called 'I've got my gun drawn Come out with you hands up and no one will get -' He ducked down, one hand grabbing the back of the pimp's shirt A clod of dirt exploded to one side
Antonio was giggling quietly now 'Youn for it now, bro' Sonia, she don't like puercos She gon' put you away, man '
But Thwaite had seen the bright orange blossom as the pistol had been fired A second shot ploughed into the ground, nearer this time
"Tonio, she'll listen to you,' he said quietly 'Tell her to come out nice and easy and we'll forget the whole thing '
The pimp twisted around His nose and mouth were smeared with blood and he was holding the side where Thwaite's baton had cracked his ribs His eyes were bright with life 'Oh, no, man ' His lips twitched into a semblance of a smile 'Now way ' ou scared, Thwaite I can see that'
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Thwaite let go of Antonio and, keeping his eyes focussed on where Sonia was, began to move crabwise to his left. She was on that side of the tree and now she began to shift her position to get a clear shot at him. That was when he lifted the gun and, using both hands, the arms extended like rods, squeezed off two shots in succession. Boom! Boom! Like thunder in his ears.
'Sonia! Anda! Anda!' It was Antonio's strident voice. 'You
stupid whore. Run!'
Thwaite stood up. 'It's too late for that now, 'Tonio.' He began to walk towards the trees, on the lookout for the other
girl.
'Puerto/' the pimp screamed, struggling to his feet. 'Your
mother was a whore, you sonuvabitch!'
Thwaite stood over the body. He had put the girl's gun in his jacket pocket. There was no sign of the other one. She lay with her legs spread wide as if he were a customer. His heart beat hard; how he wished he had turned around at the edge of the park and gone home.
He heard the noises as Antonio approached. 'Madre de dios!' He collapsed beside her, touched her face, 'Muerte!' His head whipped up. 'You killed her, puerco!'
Thwaite was suddenly filled with rage. He gripped the pimp's greasy hair in his fingers and pulled hard. 'Listen to me, you little piece of snot, I warned you!' There were tears in his eyes. 'You were too stupid to know what you were fooling
around with!'
With a violent gesture, he flung the man from him and, ignoring the hate he saw burning in those brown eyes, said 'You take that other girl and get the hell out of my sight Because if I ever see you again, 'Tonio, I'll blow your head off and no one will have to ask why I did it!'
