Out of Sight / Вне поля зрения

Glenn stayed close to them and was never seriously approached by any perverts or butt fuckers[114]. Foley said, “Don’t take it up ’less you think you might like it.” Buddy said, “What you do, just say no, then kill the guy.”

Glenn believed they let him hang around because he was from L. A., West Hollywood, he knew what was happening. He’d tell them stories about when he was in the car-dealing business and got laid a lot: how he’d work on cars at these multimillion-dollar homes in Beverly Hills and wait for the lady of the house to make the move[115]. Get asked in for a cold drink, a dip in the pool? It happened, man, more often than you’d think, couple of times even with movie stars.

This was when they started calling him Studs[116].

One day in the yard Glenn said, “I’m gonna tell you guys something only one other person here knows about. I was originally at FPC, the camp over there? And was transferred here with another guy for trying to escape.”

“You know Maurice Miller in the boxing program they call Snoopy[117]? Fights lightweight? He was at FPC[118] doing a gig[119] for fraud, I think credit cards. Anyway, we went out one night jogging, like Snoopy’s doing road work and I’m his trainer. We made it almost all the way to Vandenberg and got picked up by air base MP[120] s. They thought we were awol[121].

“I knew if we didn’t make it Snoopy and I’d get sent here or some other joint. But at the time I didn’t worry about getting caught. See, what happened, I got next to a guy over at FPC doing three years on a felony conspiracy[122] thing, strictly white collar. He got the three years and was fined fifty million dollars and wrote ’em a check. Like that, fifty mil, signed his name.”

Foley said, “One of the Wall Street scammers,” and he was right. He said, “I remember reading about the guy. Went up for insider trading[123]. Paid off snitch brokers to give him information on stock deals before they went down.”

“That’s basically what he did,” Glenn said, “made a fortune[124].”

“Everybody thought the guy was a genius,” Foley said, “till they found out he made it the old-fashioned way, he stole it.”

“Anyway,” Glenn said, “here’s a multimillionaire making eleven cents an hour mopping floors, sweeping the tennis courts. Guy that used to be on the phone he said eighteen hours a day, had over a hundred extensions in his office, now has to stand in line to make a call. But the thing I’m getting at, the guy loved to talk.”

“Yeah, to the U. S. attorney,” Foley said.

“He blew the whistle on all the snitches[125] he was doing business with and got ’em brought up[126]. I can’t think of the guy’s name.”

Glenn waited.

And Foley said, “Ripley. Richard Ripley. Called Dick the Ripper[127] on account of how he ripped off the stock market. Big good-looking guy.”

“He was vain, though. What he talked about most of the time, was himself, and I listened. I was all ears.[128] See, my bunk was right above his. I was polite, I played kiss-ass to a degree, I’d stand in the phone line for him; we’re out gardening I’d do the stoop work[129]…

All this time he’s talking about what a high roller[130] he is and I’m taking it all in. I learn he’s got money in foreign banks, plus, around five mil in hard cash, plus, loose diamonds and gold coins. The man actually told me, five mil in cash. Nothing to it.”[131]

Foley said, “He keeps it at home?”

Buddy said, “Yeah, where’s the guy live?”

Glenn hesitated and Foley said, “He must’ve been getting out soon.”

“He’s out now. It was in the paper.”

“But you didn’t make it,” Foley said, “you and Snoopy.”

“Maurice happens to live in Detroit, the same place Ripley has his home. And he knows the Motor City.”

“So does Buddy,” Foley said, “if a guide’s all you need.”

Neither one of them showing much interest, that time in the yard at Lompoc USP[132], five years ago.

Glenn got his release and moved to Florida, second only to California in the number of cars stolen.

He tried to keep in touch with the bank robbers, still at Lompoc, wrote to them a few times but never heard back, not a word. So when Buddy called a few weeks ago it came as a total surprise.

Buddy saying it was a small world: he’d just arrived in Florida and Foley was here, at GCI[133] the past five months. The way Buddy put it, “He don’t like it there and sees a way to bust out. If you aren’t doing anything, you want to drive one of the cars? Take a few hours of your time is all.”

Glenn said, well, he’d been up to Detroit on a deal, but at the moment was free. He said, “Yeah, I think I can make it.”

You had to be as cool as these guys.

“How about if I go see Foley?” Glenn said. “You talk to him, see if he remembers Dick the Ripper. I’d still like you guys to go in with me. You think you might be interested?”

Buddy didn’t comment right out and say if they would or not.

Glenn had seen him three times since that phone call. At a bar in West Palm near Glenn’s apartment. A hotel in Miami Beach where Foley’s ex-wife lived. Adele. About forty but not bad looking. And the third time when Buddy drove him out to Glades Correctional, showed the route he’d take once he had Foley in the car, and where Glenn would be waiting with the second car.

Right here with the Audi parked off to the side of the turnpike, trouble lights blinking, a note stuck in the side window that said GONE TO GET GAS[134], Glenn waiting now among pines and palmettos a good fifty feet from the car. If any approaching headlights turned out to be a trooper, Glenn would be out of there, through the trees and down the grade[135] – about where they should be coming up now, with the girl Foley must’ve used as a hostage. But what good was she doing him now? He should’ve left her in the trunk of the car.

A few more minutes passed before he heard them coming.

Chapter Seven

Karen told Foley, climbing the bank in the dark, it would be a lot easier if he let go of her arm. He said he was only trying to help, so she wouldn’t slip in the weeds and fall.

Karen hoped she’d be able to tell her dad about it later. The conversation in a trunk with a bank robber – escaped convict – who wondered if it would be different if they’d met in a bar.

Like a first date, getting to know one another. Her dad would love it.

Foley stayed behind her now looking at her slim figure, her legs at eye level in the short skirt, tight against her rear end as she climbed the grade. Buddy was up ahead. Foley said, “Have your clothes cleaned and send me the bill,” wanting to say something to her, keep it light, but he felt awkward with her now, tense.

She said, “I’ll send it to you at Glades.”

Still not acting scared.

They reached the top of the grade and now he could see the car, amber lights blinking. He didn’t see Glenn until he heard him.

“Jesus, what’d you crawl through, a sewer?”

Standing at the edge of the trees with Buddy saying to him then, “That’s a white car?”

“What’s the difference? It’s the only one here.”

Glenn had on sunglasses and a raincoat that hung long on him, open, over a T-shirt and jeans cut off at the knees.

Foley said, “Take your sunglasses off,” his tone mild, Karen Sisco standing only a few feet away.

“I see better with them on,” Glenn said.

“I’d take ’em off,” Foley said, “before they get stepped on.”

He was aware of Karen turning to look at him, but kept his eyes on Glenn, who gave a shrug, took the glasses off and stuck them in his jeans.

“Wait in the car,” Foley said.

Glenn didn’t move. He said, “You’re out in civilization now, man, ease up[136].”

“I’d like you to go wait in the car,” Foley said.

“How’s that?”

“Take her with you and put her in back.”

Glenn said, “In the trunk?”

“The backseat.”

“What do you need her for?”

Foley stared at him, waiting.

Glenn said, “But I’m hanging my ass out for you, man. I’m here, but I don’t fucking have to be here[137].”

Buddy said, “Be cool, Studs. Are you cool? Go on, stop talking so much.”

“Studs,” Glenn said.”Now we’re old pals again, back in the yard at Lompoc.” He motioned to Karen saying, “Come on, have to do what I’m told.”

She walked past Foley without looking at him and he said, “Wait a minute,” to Glenn.

“Let me have your raincoat,” he said. “Somebody forgot to bring me clean clothes,” looking at Buddy with a straight face. He didn’t get it. He said, “I brought ’em, they’re back at Glades in the Cadillac. You wanted to take her car…”

Foley watched Karen walk over to Glenn as he was slipping the raincoat off.

Glenn saying, “Here you are, sir,” folding the raincoat once and then rolling it up. He threw the coat to land in the weeds at Foley’s feet.

Glenn got his sunglasses out of his jeans then, put them on and took Karen by the arm toward the car.

Foley watching them.

Close to him Buddy said, “What’s wrong with you?”

Foley didn’t answer, watching Glenn and Karen standing by the car now. Now Karen looked over, ducked her head and got in the backseat.

She watched Glenn walk around the front of the car to the other side, open the door and slide in behind the wheel.

“Like I said, I walked away from a prison myself one time, out in California, so I know what it can do to your nerves, being a wanted fugitive[138]. But if he thinks he can talk to me like that… Shit, I’ve been here over a half hour watching headlights coming this way, hoping to Christ they don’t stop and it’s the Florida Highway Patrol, if you think that’s fun.” He turned his head enough to look at her, at the same time running his fingers through his hair.

“You must be scared, get in a situation like this. You heard me ask him what he’s gonna do with you? He wouldn’t say. You know why? He doesn’t know himself. He can’t think straight. Is he gonna let you go or shoot you? It’s too bad, but I guess you were in the wrong fucking place at the wrong time…” He turned to stare out the window again.

Karen leaned forward to have a look. She saw them against the dark bushes, one holding her shotgun, the other, Foley was unbuttoning his shirt. They seemed to be talking.

“What I mean is you can be the man inside[139],” Glenn said, still watching them, Karen sitting back now, “but out in the world, if you don’t know where you’re going, man, you’re fucked.

You know what he’s doing? Taking off that filthy uniform. He’s gonna put my raincoat on and ruin it. I bought it at a flea market out in West Broward, ten bucks. It’s old but, shit, it’s a genuine mackintosh. Now I’ll have to have it cleaned.”

Karen said, “Glenn?”

His head turned and she was looking at his designer shades[140], small oval lenses in a gold wire frame.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

She watched him hesitate, uncertain.

He said, “It couldn’t have been out at Glades, if that’s what you’re thinking. I was never out there.”

Karen shook her head.

He raised his hand to stroke his hair away from his face.

“But you’re sure we’ve met, huh?”

“A couple of times.”

“Is that right? Where?”

“Last fall,” Karen said, “I drove you from the Palm Beach county jail to the federal courthouse, twice. You’re Glenn Michaels. I never forget anyone I’ve cuffed and shackled[141].”

He didn’t move or say a word, staring at her now like he’d been turned to stone.

Karen said, “Let’s think for a minute, Glenn, see if we can work this out. Is there a gun in the car?”

Foley had his head down, chin on his chest, fingers working at a button caked with muck. Buddy, watching him, said, “If you want to do that – here.” He laid the shotgun in the grass, came up to take the guard shirt in his two hands and ripped it open, popping buttons and tearing the shirt. He wiped his hands on his khaki pants as Foley threw the shirt in the bushes, picked up the raincoat and put it on.

“Why you brought Glenn,” Foley said, “I’ll never know. He wants something. It’s the only reason he’s here. He gets picked up doing one of his cars,[142] he’ll make a deal and give us up.”

“He talks too much, that’s all.”

“That’s what I’m saying. I don’t know why, but every time he opens his mouth I want to punch him out.”

“He ain’t the problem, Jack.”

“Look. I couldn’t leave her in the trunk. And that’s all I can tell you.”

“Then tell me why you want to bring her.”

Buddy waited.

“You gonna tell me?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Foley said.

She touched his arm and said, “Glenn, don’t think, okay?” Knowing that’s what he was trying to do. She said, “Just listen. You’re in a tough spot,[143] but I think I can help you.”

He said, “Hey, wait a minute …” but didn’t know what to say after that. She asked him again if there was a gun in the car. The way she put it this time, “Do we have a gun in the car?” We.

Like they were together in this. He remembered her voice now from before, riding in the GM C[144] van. She had a nice voice and never raised it. He remembered you could bullshit with her about different things, this girl no older than he was. She said his name again.

She said, “Glenn, Foley’s not going to make it[145]. You said yourself he can’t think straight. And if he goes down[146]… Glenn, you go with him.” She touched his shoulder and he jumped. She said, “I can understand if you and Foley are close…”

“We’re not. I’m helping him, yeah…”

She stopped him.

“Wait. Have you helped him, Glenn? At this point, technically, I doubt you could be charged with aiding a fugitive. So you still have a choice.” She said, “You can help him and risk going down again, get cuffed and shackled, hope to God you pull a reasonable judge, not some hard-on[147]. Or, if you want to play it another way…”

She paused and Glenn said, “How?”

“All the time we’re in the trunk,” Foley said, “we’re talking, we’re getting along, you might say.”

Buddy said, “Jesus Christ,” turning his head, as if he didn’t want to hear it.

“Listen to me, all right? I kept wondering if she and I had met, you know, under normal circumstances like at a cocktail lounge …” He stopped, running out of words, Buddy staring at him again.

“You want to take her up to my place,” Buddy said, “and get cleaned up? You come out of the bathroom with your aftershave on and she goes, “Oh, I had you all wrong[148]?”

“I want to talk to her again, that’s all.”

Buddy kept staring at him.

“You’re too late, Jack. You’re what you are, clean or dirty. The best either of us can do is look at nice pretty girls and think, well, if we had done it different…”

Foley began to say – he wasn’t sure what, something; repeat himself, not wanting to give up? He heard Glenn start the car and looked over to see the headlights pop on.

“He wants to go,” Buddy said, “get out of here, and I don’t blame him.”

They walked toward the car.

Then stopped and watched as it took off, tires squealing as the rubber hit pavement. They watched the taillights until they were out of sight down the turnpike, neither of them saying a word.

Chapter Eight

At Good Samaritan[149] they told Karen she was lucky, all she had was a concussion, but they’d keep her here till tomorrow, do a few more tests to make sure.

Her dad came here with newspapers and magazines to watch over his little girl. When Daniel Burdon, FBI special agent, arrived he asked her dad to please wait outside, they had some business to do here. He had in his hand a copy of the statement Karen had dictated to a court reporter that morning.

It was mid-afternoon now, sunny outside, the private room pleasant enough, flowers brought by her colleagues arranged on the window-sill.

Burdon asked her, “ Tell me how you got the bump on your head. You tried to grab the wheel – where was this?”

“Coming to the Okeechobee exit. I wanted to get to a phone and thought of the tollbooth. We went off the exit ramp, down the grade and I guess hit the abutment.”

“Must not’ve had your seat belt on.”

“No, but I did think about it,” Karen said, “once I was in the front seat. I climbed over…”

She swung her leg over the seat in the tight skirt and told Glenn not to look. Actually told him that, Don’t look. And smiled for just a moment remembering it. Burdon was frowning at her. She said, “Glenn had it up to a hundred[150] and, blowing past cars… I don’t mean when we went off the road. As soon as I saw the exit and grabbed the wheel, he hit the brakes. We were going about fifty when we went off.”

“When he had it up to speed,” Burden said, “where was he going in such a hurry?”

“He didn’t know, he was running, getting away. I tried to talk to him. I said, “Look, if you come in with me you’ll be okay. You haven’t really done anything yet.”

Burdon said, “Hadn’t done anything? The man conspired to aid a fugitive and he’s driving a stolen car.”

“I told him not to worry about the car. Forty thousand cars stolen last year in Bade County, three thousand arrests and half of them never went to court.”

Burdon said, “It sounds like you’re aiding and abetting[151].”

“I wanted to bring him in.”

“After you piled up, you didn’t see him?”

“The next thing I knew, the paramedics were taking me out of the car.”

“And nobody else saw him,” Burdon said, “that we know of. There a couple of points I keep wondering about have to do with the two guys that grabbed you. Buddy is it? And this fella Jack Foley. I looked him up, I swear the man must’ve robbed two hundred banks in his time.”

Karen said, “Really?” Impressed, but sounding tired.

“I asked him how many, he said he wasn’t sure. He’s been doing it since he was eighteen.”

“You talked to him, uh?”

“In the trunk, yeah.”

“What’d you talk about?”

“Oh… different things, prison, movies.”

“This fella[152] has you hostage, you talk about movies?”

“It was an unusual experience,” Karen said, looking right at Burdon. “But I wasn’t a hostage.”

“What were you then?”

“I was his treat after five months of servitude.”

Burdon frowned.

“He assaulted you, sexually?”

“I wasn’t that kind of a treat,” Karen said.

“Wanted to be close to a woman, so he crawled in the trunk with you.”

“I don’t know,” Karen said, looking up at Burdon, standing by the bed.

“See, then you let this guy Foley get away, I couldn’t help but wonder[153], you know?”

“What?”

“If bank robbers turn you on.”[154]

“You’re serious.”

“Maybe. I’m not sure I am or not. But you didn’t shoot Foley or the guy with him. They’re unarmed, you had a shotgun and you let them throw you in the trunk. Okay, now you got your Sig in your hand. You say in the report you couldn’t turn around, he had you pinned down. But when the trunk opened, how come you didn’t cap the two guys then[155]?”

Karen said, “Is that what you would’ve done?”

“You say in the report Glenn didn’t have a gun, but you let him get away.”

“Have you ever shot a man? You have to know what you’re talking about.”

She watched him shrug and start to turn away, smoothing the front of his gray double-breasted suit. He paused and said, “We’ll talk another time, Karen. All right? I’d like to know why Foley put you in that second car when he didn’t need you anymore.”

“You’ll have to ask him,” Karen said.

“Sounds to me he liked having you around. I’ll see you, Karen.” Burdon turned and walked out.

A few moments later her dad came in and said, “How you feeling? You hungry, you want something to eat? How about a beer? I can go out and get some.”

“Tomorrow,” Karen said.”I’m not supposed to do anything for at least a week. I was wondering, how about if I stay with you a few days? We’d finally have time to talk.”

“About what?” Her dad cocked his head looking at her. “ These guys you let get away? You want to use me, don’t you? Get me to work for nothing.”

“You’re my dad.”

“So?”[156]

Foley held in his hand a credit application brochure that said on the cover in bold letters:

LOOKING FOR MONEY? YOU’VE COME TO THE RIGHT PLACE.

Foley folded the brochure and put it in his pocket. Now he continued to study the bank layout, standing at the glass top counter in the middle of the floor, where the forms were kept. There were tellers at three of the five windows, cameras mounted high on the wall behind them, no security guard in sight, a customer leaving and one coming in, a guy in a suit with an attache case. Foley watched him move through the gate into the fenced-off business area at the front of the bank, where one of the executives rose from his desk, shook the guy’s hand and they both sat down. As the guy began opening his case, Foley, wearing a brand-new baseball cap and sunglasses, crossed to the teller window where a nameplate on the counter said this young woman with a pile of dark hair smiling at him was Loretta.

She said, “How can I help you, sir?”

Foley said, “Loretta, you see that guy talking to your manager, has his case open?”

She said, “That’s Mr. Guindon, one of our assistant managers. Our manager is Mr. Schoen, but he’s not in today.”

“But you see the guy,” Foley said, “with the attache case?”, Loretta looked over.

“Yes?”

“That’s my partner. He has a gun in there. And if you don’t do exactly what I tell you, or you give me any kind of a problem, I’ll look over at my partner and he’ll shoot your Mr. Guindon between the eyes. Now take one of those big envelopes and put as many hundreds, fifties and twenties as you can pack into it. Nothing with bank straps or rubber bands, I don’t want any dye packs[157]. Come on, Loretta, let’s go. Don’t be nervous, the key’s right there next to you. That’s the way, you’re doing fine. The twenties go in if there’s room. Smile, so you won’t look like you’re being held up.

Here, give me the twenties, I’ll put ’em in my pocket. Okay, I haven’t had to give my partner a sign; that’s good. Now, he’s gonna wait thirty seconds till after I’m out the door, make sure you haven’t slipped me a dye pack or set off the alarm. If you have, he’s gonna shoot Mr. Guindon between the eyes. Okay? I think that’ll do it.

Thank you, Loretta, and have a nice day.”

Foley walked out the front entrance with his head lowered and his knees bent. Some banks put a mark on the doorway at six feet, so the teller, watching the guy go out, can estimate his height.

Buddy was waiting for him across Collins Avenue in a black Honda. Foley got in and as they drove off Buddy said, “You’re a better man than I am. Bust out one day and back to work the next.”[158]

Foley was quiet, looking out the window at pink hotels, white ones, yellow ones, all past their prime[159] but still doing business. He said, “I always feel a letdown after.”

Foley handed Buddy the brochure he’d taken and Buddy smiled.

“’Looking for money? You’ve come to the right place.’ They got that right. It’s like they’re asking for it. I can’t figure out how nine out of ten bank robbers get caught.”

“They talk about it,” Foley said, “or do something dumb, call attention to themselves. The time I did the bank in Lake Worth for Adele and ended up in Glades? I drove away from the bank and cut through side streets till I came to Dixie Highway. I’m waiting for traffic to clear so I can make a left, I hear this car behind me revving its engine[160], guy in a red Fire-bird Trans Am[161], can’t wait. He cuts around me, tires screaming – it’s like he thinks I’m one of those retirees, takes forever to make a turn. I’d just robbed a fucking bank and this guy in the Firebird’s showing me what a hot-dog he is.”

“So you went after him,” Buddy said.

“I made the left and tore after him. Caught him about a mile down the road and came up on the driver’s side, close, seeing how close I could come while I stared at him, gave him the look[162].

He pulled ahead, I came up again and this time I gave him a nudge, sideswiped him[163]. I was in a Honda, I think just like this one.”

“I read it’s the number one choice of car thieves,” Buddy said, “your Honda.”

“Yeah, I read that, too. Anyway, what happened, when I sideswiped the guy I blew a tire and fucked up the steering[164], the car kept going to the right, so I had to pull over. The guy in the Fire-bird – I don’t think he had any idea what this was about – he’s gone. I wasn’t there two minutes a sheriff’s radio car pulls up. ’What seems to be the trouble, sir?’ No trouble, I just robbed a bank and my fucking car broke down. Outside of that[165]… He’s checking my license when he gets a report about the bank – somebody spotted the car – so the next time I see him he’s pointing a big chromed-up Smith and Wesson[166] in my face.