Free Urban Renewal by Andrew Vachss Page B

his right. As he lit the smoke, J.B. noted the bull’s-eye tattoo on the back of the man’s hand.
    In a voice as unremarkable as his facial features, the man said, “She’ll be coming on soon. Working the pole first. The lighting in here—I can see her, she can’t see me. That’s the way we set it up.”
    “I don’t know—”
    “Don’t be stupid,” the man said. “You’re here for Taylor. She cleaned you out. Told every girl in the place a couple of nights ago. So you need to do something to keep your face. And you need to come here to do it.”
    “Bitches run their mouths, so what?”
    “So this: When she finishes her set, she goes back to the dressing room. For the right price, she never gets there. Never comes back.”
    “What about my stuff?”
    “It’s in a storage unit. You got the coin, you get the key.”
    “How do I know this is all legit?”
    “Two reasons: One, you tried to hire the Motley Twins, but they know better than to touch anyone who works here.Two, you come back here tomorrow night, that girl won’t be here. You have my personal guarantee—you are never going to see Taylor on that stage again.”
    “What’s that’s supposed to mean, your ‘guarantee’?”
    “Think about it for a second. The Motley Twins turned you down, am I right? Everyone knows those two psychos would hit the Pope on St. Patrick’s Day if they got paid. So I figure they probably said something about Red 71.”
    “Yeah …”
    “And you didn’t have a clue. Not your line of work. When you want something done, you
pay
people to do it for you, whether it’s shining your shoes or sending a message.”
    “Now,
that’s
true.”
    “Well, what else are we talking about here? You got a gun on you?”
    “No, man. I don’t mess with—”
    “All right. You can rent one from us. Cost you five bills. You take the pistol, walk on back, shoot the bitch in the head, walk back out here, hand over the piece, and keep on walking.”
    “In front of all those—?”
    “Why not? If anything, it’ll just make you look even bigger. Nobody’s going to talk. Nobody wants to be a witness. We’ll throw in the body disposal, no charge.”
    Jean-Baptiste was tempted. But, this time, what he’d been taught overcame his ego.
    “How much for me to walk out now?”
    “Still five. Only five
large
. I know you paid more than that just for the suit you’re wearing. So …?”

    LESS THAN an hour passed.
    “Thirty-five and change!” Buddha gloated. “Didn’t I say this was a beautiful idea?”
    “He had that much left?”
    “About ten on him, and twenty-five in a hideaway behind the glove box.”
    “I guess you never know,” Cross said, his tone indicating that at least one person did. “Go back and find Arabella, you mind?”

    “ WHAT ’ S UP? ” Arabella asked Cross, who was seated in his usual triangle spot.
    “Your new girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend.”
    “That boy’s nothing.”
    “His money’s just as good as anyone else’s.”
    “Meaning …?”
    “Meaning he’s putting out a contract on Taylor. Ten for a kill, double that for a splatter.”
    “A contract with who?”
    “With the first person to snatch the offer.”
    “So you’re saying …?”
    “You know what I’m saying, Arabella. You think wearing that little schoolgirl outfit is going to stun me blind? You’ve got an angel’s face, and a scheming heart. The way you played this, Taylor’s
got
to be living with you. No way she ever had a good experience with
any
man, so …”
    “Who said that about me? Some dyke at Orchid Blue? Maybe your little pal, that crazy Tiger?”
    “What’s it matter? True is true. And something else istrue, too. Taylor’s apartment was cleaned
out
. Wall to wall. Not just her stuff—his, too. All sitting in some big storage unit.”
    “So?” Arabella pouted.
    “So
his
stuff, nobody’s gone through it. And there’s money in there, somewhere.”
    “And you want what?”
    “Stop playing, Arabella. I