Free Another Life by Andrew Vachss Page B

of paper, neatly typed:

The following scenarios are STRICTLY FORBIDDEN:
Violence or use of weapons
Rape fantasy
Beast work
Incest
Red or brown showers
Amputation or mutilation

“See what I mean?” she said as I glanced over the list. “That particular service is Gold Card or better. A girl gets caught breaking any of these rules, she’s gone, no matter what kind of earner she is. And a supervisor spot-checks every call.”

“I get it.”

“We don’t,” she said, a faint aura of accusation in her voice. “We know you’re hunting.” She turned to the still-blushing Rejji, said, “What? You think Burke came over here to play with you, brat?” She turned back to me. “What’s your problem? You don’t think you can trust us, why come at all?”

“You know better than that,” I told her. “I’m just feeling my way through this. I didn’t come to ask you for something; I came over to learn.”

“And did you?”

“I might have.”

“Which means…?”

“If you know a girl who fits a certain profile, I’d like to hear about it.”

“You said that funny,” Cyn said, tilting her head. My fault: sometimes I forget that her IQ is as outrageous as her chest.

“Hard-core sub,” I got specific. “Professional. No boundaries. The kind who’d let a trick do anything to her, even with a kid in the room—”

“Ugh!” Rejji.

“Shut up!” from Cyn, who was listening intently.

“—and might have access to people who could put together a snatch of that same kid.”

“Like a mobbed-up boyfriend?”

“Heavier than that,” I told them, measuring my words. “I’m talking about a girl with a client list that could include the kind of guy who could put together a military-type operation. A man willing to gamble big bucks, if he can play for much bigger ones.”

“So she’d have to be in on it herself,” Rejji said.

“At first,” Cyn said, “but maybe not in on anything, anymore.”

I nodded. You can recycle the script, but the ending never changes.

“Same number?” was all she asked.
    * * *
    “W hy didn’t you just level with them?” Michelle asked, later that night. “Rejji and Cyn are—”

“Leveling with them means telling them the truth. And I don’t know the truth, girl.”

“You think that baby wasn’t snatched because a professional sub wanted to make some money?” my little sister said, her voice a blended sourmash of anger and disgust. “Please!”

I knew better than to say anything.

“This rich freak pays whores, and has his kid watch the action, right?” my sister said. “Who knows why he does it, but we know why they do. So maybe one of them has a pimp, or maybe her trick book’s full of big-bucks clients. Either way, somebody smelled a big payday, and called in the troops. What’s so…?”

“Girls with that level of client don’t go dropping names, sis. They may know things, but they know what it costs to say things, too.”

“And you think, just because they’re into pain, you couldn’t make them talk?”

I ignored her sarcasm, said: “Whoever put together that snatch team was top-drawer, with a lot of experience. Maybe armored cars, maybe banks…I don’t know. But it had to be the kind of man who would be very touchy about who he’d work with.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you can forget about torture—a pro won’t deal with anyone into that. Nothing to do with morals; you just never work with guys who’re bent, because they bend too easy themselves. Plus, we’re looking for a heister; no way blackmail’s his regular business.”

“Maybe surveillance is his business, mahn. That would mean he already has a team. And a team is what it would take to clamp a twenty-four/seven on an address, never mind a moving target.”

“Sure”—I nodded at Clarence—“unless that custom Rolls was GPS’ed. Pryce thinks he’s looking in the right places, but he can’t get in deep enough; that’s why he came to me. For us, the key isn’t the baby, it’s the ransom.”

“But there’s been no—”

“That’s just it,