Andrew Vachss

Investigative journalism is the maintainer of our democracy. If you take it out of the picture, then we have no chance. As a society, as a people, we have no chance whatsoever. UNDERGROUND vachss.com/underground.ht…

I brought back the newspapers and a bagful of bakery for Pansy. Took my time, stretched it out. I read the paper the way I did in prison, sucking every ounce of juice from the pages. It didn't bother Pansy—she has a dog's sense of time. Only two limits for her: never and forever.

Shrink-wrapped in clear plastic, too. The professionals, they know how much deadweight to put inside to get an exact match. When the sucker gets it home, he learns the truth. Bearer bonds, it's a little trickier. Same idea, bigger suckers.

From SACRIFICE The trick with moving phony paper, it has to look legitimate & smell crooked. Suckers think stuff's been stolen, they know it's for real. Stop at any light in the right part of town—someone'll come up to your car with electronics still in the brand-new carton. 1/2

I parked the Plymouth in the back, right under the Chinese characters neatly printed on the alley wall. I didn't bother to lock the car — I couldn't read Chinese, but I knew what the sign meant. Max the Silent marking his territory.

From BLOSSOM: I pulled off the highway, heading east for Chinatown. Past the tiny triangular park at the back of Federal Plaza. The white dragon tapestry stood alone in the front window of Mama's joint. Whatever was waiting inside wasn't the law and it wasn't trouble. (1/2)

When I got back, I let Pansy out to her roof. I had some rye toast and ginger ale, thinking I might bet on a horse when this was all over. Pansy came back inside. I worked on her commands for a half hour or so, just to keep her sharp. Like oiling a gun. Then I went to sleep.

From HARD CANDY: I got off the street before the citizens took over the city. Gave Pansy the food I'd brought back from Mama's. Felt her pleasure as she lit into it, her sadness when it was gone. In a couple of minutes, she forgot about both feelings, back to herself. Lucky dog.

$17.20 to win, more than seventeen hundred bucks to the good on our first bet in months. I waved it away —I couldn't concentrate. Max had picked up the cash from Maurice. Like old times. Moving money, not bodies.

From HARD CANDY: Max took out a racing form, still pumped up with our last success. Gypsy Flame had destroyed the field, powering overland on the back stretch, clearing the others by the paddock turn, driving home with room to spare. (1/2)

And, sometimes, for a few hours, it worked. Now part of my mind is like some crazy trivia game — I know all kinds of things, but I can’t always connect the dots.

From SAFE HOUSE: When I was locked down, I read everything I could get my hands on, telling myself you never knew what you could use on the streets. But that wasn’t the real reason I spent so much time reading. I was trying to get *out*. Any way I could. (1/2)

I was in the prison yard, walking the perimeter with my eyes, checking the gun towers. The Prof materialized next to me. He didn't have to ask what I was doing. "First place to look is inside your head, schoolboy. Over the wall don't get it all." BLOSSOM vachss.com/av_novels/blos…

“May jackals refuse your bones,” the little man said. “Amen,” Michelle answered. She knew what we all did — when the Prof says grace, he addresses our enemies: past, present, and future.

From DOWN HERE We all sat around the big table like a thieves’ Thanksgiving. “Let us pray,” the Prof said. Nobody laughed. “Prof” was short for Professor or Prophet, depending on how you knew him. “I never fall, because I see it all,” he'd said when we met, a lifetime ago. 1/2

He could be working the subway tunnels or the after-hours joints. The Prof never had an address, but you couldn't call him “homeless.” I asked him once why he didn't find himself a crib somewhere—why he lived in the street. “I got the balls, and I don't like walls,” he told me.

From BLUE BELLE: Max was already dealt in on the meeting with Marques, and I could get a message to the Mole easy enough. That still left me a few days to find the Prof. It might take that long. The little man could be sleeping in doorways or prowling hotel corridors. (1/2)

The Prof was a legend Inside. And he had picked me to school. "Only thing that's true is what you *do,*" is what he taught. I live that. That's how I found the place I rightfully belong. That place isn't just worth my life — it *is* my life. Trespassers, bring your own body bags.

Questions only a kid can ask from his heart. Like knowing is all there is to it. I was thinking about how to tell the kid, when Virgil met it straight on. "Same thing that makes a real woman, son. After the storm, all you got is the foundation." vachss.com/av_novels/blos…

From BLOSSOM Virgil's voice interrupted the memories, like he was plugged into my thoughts. "Yeah, what a man he was. Sure helped me become one." The kid's voice was tight with wonder. "How do you get that?" "What you mean, Lloyd?" "I mean ... what makes a man? A real man."