Free Shella by Andrew Vachss Page A

ain’t got no car. My man, he’s got a car. Nice big car. You want I should …?”
    “No. Just give me a hand downstairs, hail a cab for me.”
    She did it, standing on the sidewalk in her bright-blue dress.
    I got in, told the driver to take me to the bus station.
    I caught the next bus out to Chicago.

    In Chicago, I found a room near the middle of town. The Loop, the cab driver called it.
    By the next day, my arm wasn’t bleeding anymore. I changed the dressing, used my undershirt.
    I went out, found an army-navy store, bought a couple of sweatshirts, a pair of pants.
    I got a razor and some other stuff in a drugstore.
    When I was clean, I took a cab to the airport, bought a ticket to Philadelphia.
    I took a bus from there to Port Authority, then I walked to the hotel.

    When I let myself into the room, I could feel how empty it was. Misty’s clothes were gone from the closet. There was a note on the bed.
    I don’t know how to say this. I hope you come back and read this, and I also hope you never come back, and then you won’t read this. I don’t know, I’m leaving, you don’t want me anyway. I need to have a man, I guess that makes me weak. Maybe you don’t need anybody. I don’t think you do. I know you’re looking for her, whoever she is, but I don’t know why. I guess it doesn’t matter. There’s a man who comes in the club, he asked me did I want to move in with him. I never said I would, I never even went with him, not while I was with you, but I’m going now. I paid the room rent for three weeks, so they wouldn’t put your stuff out. If you’re not back by then, I guess maybe you’re not coming back. I never knew your name. But I did love you, I swear.

    I lay down on the bed, closed my eyes. Thinking, I have to go see Monroe before I start looking for Shella again.

JOHN
    I’m not a plotter. Shella always said the only thing that kept me from going to jail all the time was patience. Because I always know how to wait.
    I tried to think it through. Monroe, he never knew where Shella was. He could never find her—it was all talk. Liar’s talk. Big, boasting talk, showing off. But it worked on me. He was my hope—I made him into something and he just played it out.
    He used me. Then he got scared.
    Monroe would know I got away in Cleveland. He paid them for a body and he didn’t get one. He’d be afraid now. I don’t like it when people are afraid—it makes them smart. He didn’t know where I was, but that wouldn’t matter anyway. He’d know I’d be coming for him. And all I knew was the poolroom where he’d be.
    So what he’d do, I thought about it, what he’d do is be afraid. Have a lot of people around him, watching for me. I didn’t know where he lived. Nothing.
    If I went back to the bar where I first connected with him, he’d know. They’d send me someplace and there’d be more people waiting for me.
    I have to kill him. He lied to me. He made me lose time when I could have been looking for Shella. I did work for him and he didn’t pay me. I have to kill him. I tried to talkto Shella. In my head. I couldn’t see her, but I knew what she’d say.
    It didn’t take me long to pack. In the top drawer of the dresser, where I kept my underwear and socks, there was a picture of Misty. A big picture, black and white. In her dancer’s costume, smiling. On the back was a red kiss, in lipstick. Tiny little writing under it, in pencil. “In case you ever want to look for me, I’ll be there.” And a phone number. The area code was 904. There was a phone book in the room. In the front, it had a map of the country, with little spaces marked off. What the area code covered. 904 was the top part of Florida.

    Nobody paid any attention to me when I walked through the lobby—the room rent was paid. I got my car out of the garage, paid the man, and drove through the tunnel to Jersey.

    I followed the turnpike. Right at the speed limit. All the way through Pennsylvania into Ohio. I