Shella by Andrew Vachss Read Free Book Online Page A

Shella. Small, dark-haired. Whoever it was closed the door, started for the house. I stepped behind him, locked my forearm around his throat, kicked his ankles, took him down. I smelled perfume, felt long hair. A woman.
    “Make a sound, I’ll break your neck,” I said, quiet. “Who’s inside?”
    “Candy,” she whispered. “She lent me the car. Don’t …”
    “Who are you?”
    “Bonnie. Her friend, Bonnie.”
    “You work at the club?” Her body was slim, slender like a boy’s. Whatever she was, she was no dancer.
    “Upstairs. I work the phones. Please don’t hurt me.”
    “Where’d you get the car?”
    “Candy lent it to me.”
    “When?”
    “Nine o’clock. She brought it out to me. I told her I’d have it back by midnight—she’s gonna drive me home.”
    “It’s after midnight.”
    “I know. She’s gonna beat my ass.”
    I didn’t get it when she said it. I walked her over to the front door. “It’s open,” I told her. “Just walk in, call her name. If she’s in there, by herself, there’s no problem.”
    I touched a spot where her neck met her shoulder, felt her jump with the pain. “Don’t try to run,” I told her.
    She opened the door. I heard her call “Candy?” I waited outside.

    A light came on in the house. Then another. I went around to the back, slipped in a window. I heard a sound from the front. Flesh on flesh. The girl Bonnie was on her knees. Shella was slapping her with one hand, holding the girl’s hair in the other. I stepped forward, let Shella see me.
    “What?” I asked her.
    “It’s okay. This bitch was late, that’s all,” Shella said to me. She turned her head, looked at the girl. “Weren’t you?” she said. Slapped her again, hard.
    “I thought—”
    “It’s okay,” she said to me. Again. “I’m taking her home.”Shella was dressed all in black, like a bodysuit. Boots on her feet, face all made up like she was going out. “We’ll finish this later.”
    I didn’t know who she was talking to when she said that.
    They went out together. I heard the car start up.

    Shella didn’t come back until the next afternoon. I was in the front room, watching television.
    “How come you never put the sound on?” she asked me.
    “I’m trying to learn how to read lips.”
    She gave me a funny look, said she was going to take a shower.
    When she came back inside, I was still there.
    “You never ask questions, do you?”
    “Sometimes.”
    “What you saw, last night. It’s just a game, okay?”
    “Sure.”
    “I do that, sometimes.”
    “All right.”
    “You don’t care?”
    “I don’t know what it is.”
    She sat on the arm of my chair, smelling like soap and powder. “You want me to do something for you?”
    I closed my eyes. Felt so tired.
    “Want me to read to you, baby? Read you a book?”
    I nodded, thinking about it. She gave me a little kiss, a sweet kiss.
    When I woke up, it was dark. A blanket over me. Shella was gone.

    I knew there was something in the memory. I didn’t push it, just let it pass through me. Like pain. I can see the inside of my body, sometimes. I got shot, once. A little gun. Just above the knee. It went in and out. I could see the hole in my pants when I took them off. In and out. I could see the path of the bullet. Like a tunnel, all red and clotted with white stuff. I wrapped a bandage around it, real tight. I saw inside my leg, saw the tunnel close, fill up. It got better. The scars are like dots, front and back.
    Memory. Shella slapping that girl. A hotel room. In Huntsville, Alabama. Some convention. Shella said we could make some heavy scores. When we checked in, I saw the signs for the convention. Women Executives. Advertising or something. I gave Shella a look. She winked at me. Told me we wouldn’t work Badger—she’d get the money herself. Just be ready if something went bad.
    I was in the connecting room when I heard her come in. I heard voices, then the sound of a belt. Shella wouldn’t turn hard