MAX DIDN'T react when I passed by Mama's. Didn't change expression when I cruised by his warehouse. I knew the look on his face. Whatever. It. Takes.
I backed the Plymouth into the last slot in the loading bay of what had been a factory years ago. When the landlord rented it out for lofts, he left the last piece to use as a private garage. When I explained to the landlord that his son's identity was safe with me, he gave me a hell of a break on the rent. Free. Threw in the garage too.
We took the back stairs to my office. Max stood well aside as I opened the door. I threw Pansy the signal- she waited patiently to see what I'd brought her. The beast watched Max with her homicide eyes, a soft growl just inside her teeth. Talking about him the way he had talked about Wesley.
Anytime. Anytime you want.
They'd known each other for years. Max never patted her. She never bothered him. He bowed to Pansy, no expression on his face. Pansy watched.
I got her some liverwurst out of the refrigerator, gave her the magic word, watched it vanish. She stretched out in a corner by the couch, bored. I crossed over to my desk, cleared a place so I had a flat, blank table. Gestured for Max to sit in the chair I use for clients.
He made a gesture like he was dealing cards. I shook my head. Our life-sentence gin game wasn't going to be continued tonight.
What was the truth? My promise to Immaculata? Or could Max really know? Why didn't it hurt me more…like it should have? How come? Bad pun.
How to explain it? I lit a smoke. Put it on the lip of the ashtray, folding my hands behind my head, looking at the cracked cement ceiling. Max reached over, put the cigarette to his lips, took a deep drag. Smoke fired out his flat nose in two broad jets.
I pointed at myself Put my hands under the desk, tried to lift it off the floor. Strained. Gave it up. Too much weight for me to lift.
Max hooked two fingers under the desk. It came off the Astroturf I use for carpet like it was floating.
I shook my head. It wasn't a weight someone could lift for me.
He spread his hands. "What?"
I drew an hourglass figure in the air. Made my right forefinger rigid, poked it into an opening I made in my left fist. Again and again. Okay?
He nodded, watching.
I pointed at my chest. At my heart. Stiffened the forefinger. Approached the opening in my fist. The forefinger went limp. Wouldn't go in. Pointed at myself again.
Max pointed at me. Smiled. I was joking, right?
Wrong.
He made an hourglass sign of his own. Made a "no good" gesture. Drew another in the air. Opened his hands. Try another woman.
I drew another woman. Another. One more. Pointed at myself again. Stiffened the forefinger- let it sag limp. It was me, not the women. Me.
He pointed at his groin, shook his head. Tapped his skull. That's where the problem was.
I nodded. Yeah, so?
He pointed at an old calendar on my wall. Since when?
I made the sign of a pistol firing. Looked at the ground. Blew a goodbye kiss. Since Belle.
He made an "it's okay" gesture. Tapped my wristwatch. It would get better.
No.
His face closed. He went off somewhere inside himself, looking. I smoked, watched my dog, let my sad eyes play over this miserable little place I lived in. The last time Belle was there, it had sparkled.
Max got up, went by himself into the back room. Pansy tracked him. Once you got in, you could move around. You just couldn't leave until I told her it was okay. Nothing back there but a hot plate and the refrigerator. Toilet, sink, and stall shower. I waited. He came back with two paper packets of sugar, the kind they give you in diners. Put them both on the desk, side by side. Tapped one closed eye. Pay attention.
He pointed at me. Tore open one of the packets. Emptied it into his palm. Tossed the sugar into the air. Wiped his hands. All gone. Looked at me.
I nodded. Yeah, that was it.
He shook his head. No. Took the other packet and put it in my desk drawer. Pointed at the desk top. Nothing there. Still gone?
I opened the drawer. Took out the other packet.
The warrior nodded. Took it from my hand. Slipped it into my coat pocket. Patted me down like a cop doing a search. Pulled out the packet, held it up to the light. Made a gesture, "get it?"
No.
He took the packet, walked over to the couch. Stuffed it under one of the cushions. Looked around the room, confused look on his face. Where is it?
I pulled it free from under the cushion, held it in my hand.
Watched my brother, watched his eyes. He'd said all he could.
Then I got it. Hell of a difference between something lost and something missing. It wasn't gone- I just didn't know where I'd put it.
I bowed to Max.
He took the packet from my hand. Pointed to my chair. I sat down. He made frantic searching gestures, opening drawers, looking under stacks of paper, rapping the walls with his knuckles, looking for a hiding place. Shook his head. No. Not that way. He leaned back, put his feet on the desk, closed his eyes, folded his hands over his stomach. Pointed at me. I imitated him. It was peaceful lying there. Safe and peaceful. I wondered if the fear-jolts would come back someday too. I hated them so when I was young and doing time. Wished them away. It never worked. Back then, when I wanted to be somebody I couldn't be. Something Candy always knew I wasn't.
Something brushed my face. I opened my eyes. The packet of sugar was lying on my chest. Waiting.
Which is what I had to do.
It would come to me.
I held a clenched fist in front of my face. Yes!
Max tapped my fist with his own.
Sparking flame to light the way.