Read Online Mask Market by Andrew Vachss - Free Book Online

do.”
    “You know,” he said, barely suppressing his admiration for his own cleverness, “this jewelry we talking about, it’s expensive, man.”
    “I heard it was twenty.”
    “Twenty- five, man.”
    “If it’s as fine as you say it is—”
    “It’s finer. You’ll see.”
    “When?”
    “Tonight, maybe. If you check out. I’m nobody to fuck with, man. ’Long as you understand.”
    The pathetic amateur gave me the address of a vacant lot behind a deserted tool-and-die plant in South Jamaica. That wasn’t the amateur part. Telling me about a midnight meet at four in the afternoon, that was.
     
    B y the time I pulled into the back lot behind the wheel of a gunmetal Mercedes four-door, Max was dialed into the molecular vibrations of the empty building as if he’d been part of the first concrete poured into the foundation. The Mole had dropped him off, driving one of those Con Ed trucks he seems to be able to “find” whenever he needs one. Probably the same place he had found the Mercedes.
    I got out, dressed in a dark-gray suit, a white silk handkerchief in the breast pocket matching the white shirt I wore without a tie. I spotted the target, but acted as if I hadn’t. He was lounging in the shadows of the back wall, cleverly dressed all in black. I lit a cigarette and paced in tight little circles, glancing at my watch: 11:51.
    He let me wait a few minutes. Not because he was a pro, but because making people do what he wanted made him feel more like himself.
    He rolled up on me out of the darkness, like some movie ninja. I jumped back, fake-startled.
    “You got something to show me?” he said, voice swollen with confidence now that he was sure he was dealing with exactly what he expected—a nervous man with a heavy fetish and a heavier wallet.
    “Sure,” I said, keeping my voice soft.
    “I got to search you first,” he said. “You know the routine.”
    “What do you—?”
    “Oh, fuck it, man! Just turn around, assume the position. I got a piece, see?” he said, holding up some little pearl-handled popcorn-pimp special. “You do anything stupid, and— pow! —that’s all they is for you. Way out here, nobody find your body for a month.”
    “Listen,” I said, standing with my arms extended away from my sides, “just take it easy, okay?”
    His pat-down was just like him—rough and stupid.
    “All right, man. You can turn around.”
    “Can I see her now?” I said, a little too eagerly.
    “You know what I got to see first, right?”
    “Sure, sure. I brought it.”
    “You brought twenty-five K with you?”
    “Yes. I didn’t want to…drag this out. You’re not going to rob me, are you?”
    “I fucking should, dumb as you are, man. Show it to me.”
    “It’s in the trunk. I put it in a briefcase, so you could—”
    “Well, open it, motherfucker.”
    “Sure. Just don’t—”
    I unlocked the trunk. As it slid up, I stepped aside, and the nose of the Prof’s double-barreled sawed-off went jack-in-the-box on the pimp.
    “Surprise!” the little man said.
    “Hey, man. I—”
    Max had him by then. The little pistol dropped from the pimp’s nerve-dead hand.
    The Prof climbed out of the trunk, the sawed-off never wavering from the pimp’s midsection.
    “I think we should talk now,” I said.
     
    I nside the building, I used my pencil flash to illuminate a clear spot. Max crooked his left forearm around the pimp’s neck, grabbed his own right biceps, and curled his right hand over the top of the pimp’s head.
    “All he has to do is squeeze now,” I said. “You understand?”
    “Look, man—”
    “Sssh,” I said, gently. “There’s nothing for you to be worried about. I kept my word, didn’t I?”
    “I—”
    “Ssssh,” I said again. “You know I’m not a cop now, right?”
    “Yeah, man. I was—”
    “But you, you do have the girl, right?”
    “Nah, man. I was just trying to run a game, you know?”
    “If that’s true, you’re a corpse,” I said, not