Road Dogs

by Elmore Leonard

  Foley said, You ever use hypnosis?

  Now and then. Would you like to be hypnotized?

  It doesn't work on me.

  Will you let me try?

  I know it won't work.

  Close your eyes, Jack, not too tight, and let your breath out slowly. That's it I'll count down from three, all right? We'll take our time. Three, Jack. Your muscles are relaxing, your whole body is going limp. Two, you feel safe with me, you know you can say whatever you want. Dawn paused. And one. Are we ready, Jack? She reached for his hand on the table and pinched his skin.

  Jack?

  What?

  Did I hurt your hand?

  No.

  You're willing to talk to me? Yes or no.

  Yes.

  You'll let me take you back to the prison, where you knew Cundo Rey? Yes or no.

  Yes.

  Is Cundo Rey a friend of yours? Yes or no.

  Yes.

  Do you trust him? Dawn waited.

  No.

  Now she paused. Would you say he's worth a lot of money, Jack? Yes or no.

  Yes.

  In properties, Dawn said, and a partner in Little Jimmy's investment service. Did you know that?

  No.

  Did you know Little Jimmy runs a sports book for him?

  No.

  Do you know if Cundo has bank accounts? Foley hesitated again and Dawn said, Let's skip that one. Do you think he has money the IRS doesn't know about? Money he's never declared as income?

  Foley turned his head resting against soft red leather to open his eyes and look at Dawn. He said, I think he's got a shitload of money that's never been close to being declared. What do you think?

  She smiled shaking her head, Foley grinning at her, Foley saying, Are we getting to it now?

  Dawn said to her neighbor the bank robber in his clean white T-shirt, his hair parted and combed, Well, aren't you the tricky motherfucker. I'll have to watch my step with you, won't I?

  Reverend Dawn, Foley said, you're asking me to conspire against my friend, aren't you?

  I saw you coming, Dawn said. I said to myself, This jailbird's too good to be true. But my God, you're the real thing, aren't you? You're into Cundo for over thirty thousand waiting for him to call it in, let you know it's payback time. With the vig it could more than double. You don't trust him, you don't respect him, but he's loaded, he's sitting on a fortune, and the way things are, you know you'd better get Cundo before he gets you.

  Jesus, reading his mind.

  But it's all in Little Jimmy's name, Foley said.

  That's the next question. What keeps Little Jimmy from selling the homes and stealing away in the night?

  You tell me, Foley said, you're the psychic.

  I want to know what you think.

  Cundo saved Little Jimmy from getting cornholed eight or nine times a day.

  But that was twenty-seven years ago, in Cuba. Why do you suppose Little Jimmy's still loyal all these years?

  I don't know if he is or not, Foley said, but I'm pretty sure he's the key to the money.

  Sometimes he'll visit, Dawn said, and sound like he's out of La Cage aux Folles, he loves to put it on. But when we talk about Cundo, Little Jimmy shuts down part of his mind, always careful of what he says.

  I imagine he likes you.

  He adores me.

  But doesn't trust you.

  He tells me what we'd do in bed.

  Yeah ?

  In detail, trying to turn me on.

  Dawn shrugged and took a sip of her drink. It wasn't that outrageous. But the little guy will not say one fucking word about Cundo's money. I put him under hypnosis and asked if he was skimming from the investment business and the sports book. He said Cundo doesn't know enough about business to pay him what he's worth, so he skims to make up for it. He said he lifted a hundred and fifty thousand to buy himself a Bentley, used. I said, 'Why not a Rolls while you're at it.' He said, 'I am not one to exhibit myself.' But he is, he's a little show-off, in his Cuban heels maybe an inch taller than Cundo. I asked if he's ever thought of selling the houses and taking off with about seven million. He said no, never. I asked the key question, why he's dedicated his life to serving Cundo Rey. I said, 'Is it because you're in love with him?' He said, 'Yes, of course, always.' But I can't ask one question about Cundo and money. I say, 'I'm asking as his wife.' But he knows Cundo and I aren't actually married.

  You're not? Foley said, surprise giving way to another feeling, glad to hear it. He told me you exchanged vows.

  In the hotel room with rum and Coke. He said the vows we make to each other is what counts, not some guy in a cheap suit asking if we take each other forever and ever.

  How's it been having to wait eight years to score off the little guy?

  How's it been taking free rides? Dawn said. The chick lawyer who didn't cost you a dime. While you find out all you can about him. I'm doing all right, Jack. I have clients, I do readings. Cundo said, 'Watch over my properties for how you think about seven hundred a week?' I said, 'How you think about a thousand?' He said okay. I said, 'For each home?' The little guy said, 'Yes, of course.' He said it was what he meant.

  A hundred grand a year ain't bad, Foley said. You manage to get by on it?

  You're a little smarty, aren't you? Dawn said. It's part of your disarming charm. Yes, I can manage on two grand a week, and I bet the horses with Little Jimmy. He makes sure I win more than I lose.

  A psychic can't pick winners?

  Isn't that curious? Dawn said.

  We've been talking about Cundo's money, Foley said. You haven't asked how the little fella's doing in stir. You don't worry about him?

  Dawn said, Jack, in a lazy kind of voice, how much time do we have, a couple of weeks?

  He's out the end of next week.

  You want to know if I worry about him doesn't he have bodyguards, little Latino guys with cute little mustaches?

  He had me in stir, Foley said, and guys he could always call on. I didn't see anybody mess with him. He said if they did, he'd have them burned alive.

  The inmates believed him?

  He killed a Russian in Cuba, the mozo working at the hospital. Another one, a guy who came looking for him he called Uncle Miney. Foley paused. There was one more. Yeah, the boatlift skipper, Cundo pushed him overboard. The kind of thing prisoners all knew about.

  He's killed four times? Dawn said, not so much surprised as thoughtful.

  Reverend Dawn, Foley said, you're smarter than the little Cuban, and I'm counting on you reading his mind. But

  She said, I don't know him as well as you do?

  You don't think the way he does. He has a gift too, he makes crime pay, a lot. How to go down but stay on top. How to win friends and influence convicts.

  I know he pays for what he wants, Dawn said.

  With money Little Jimmy's making for him. Cundo Rey keeps his eyes open. He knows what's going on. Little Jimmy told you Cundo won't notice his skimming a hundred fifty grand for a car. You want to bet?

  Yeah, but Cundo needs Little Jimmy, Dawn said.

  And Little Jimmy knows how Cundo thinks, so I'm not gonna worry about Little Jimmy. I'm gonna worry about you, Reverend Dawn.

  Jack, you're not funny.

  You've already looked through both houses for money stuck away and have come up empty. She said, I'm the psychic, okay? Why'd you hang out with him for two and a half years?

  He told good stories.

  About himself.

  Always. They were still good.

  But you don't trust him. She took a sip of her drink and said, Let's put little Cundo and Little Jimmy on hold for the time being, if it's all right with you, and give some thought to pleasing ourselves this lovely overcast afternoon. See how much we like each other.

  Foley said, Plumb the depths of our compatibility, grinning at her, having fun again.

  It must seem like an eternity, Dawn said, since you've taken your clothes off with a woman. Watched her
undress

  He saw her eyes turn soft, dreamy, but now, the way she was staring at him, her eyes seemed out of focus and Foley would swear at that moment she was looking into his mind. Now she blinked and seemed, not confused, but less sure of herself.

  She said, It's only been five days?

  You're close, Foley said. Actually it's been four.

  Now she'd have second thoughts. Who was he with, some hooker? But then realized, no, with her gift she'd know he was with his ex-wife the morning he left Florida, so they'd stay with the program, and they did, Dawn saying:

  I'm going to take my dress off.

  Foley said, And your undies?

  Dawn said, I'm not wearing any.

  So then all Foley had to do was pay attention and be tender, not rush into this and get carried away. It got him to grin as they looked each other over, the grin working all right here as they made it to the bed. Foley did not want to be as ready as he was and set his mind to picture the crowd at Venice Beach, the girls with long legs flying by on Rollerblades and it didn't help but didn't matter, Dawn came up like thunder, couldn't wait, Dawn the one dying to get it up to speed, and Foley revised his approach put the tender moves away until they did it again, Foley believed after a cigarette and a few sips of Old No. 7 and that was pretty much what happened when they settled down to restore their lust. But by the time they were at it again, getting into what he thought would be slow love, sail for a while kissing and grinning at each other, but they found themselves stepping it up and this act of love turned feverish, as wild and perspiring as the first one, Dawn sounding like she was dying but putting up a good fight, Foley, Foley in there performing, feeling himself into it and they finished in a dead heat, Foley believing he was in love again.

  He held her, kissed her hair, her ear, did all that, watched her breathe as she came back to earth, her lips parted, this innocent-looking girl with green eyes drawing him in as her little helper, knowing it was what he wanted before he did. She was psychic, clairvoyant better than that, this girl was everything an ex-con like Jack Foley could pray for. Thank you, Jesus. A girl you had to subdue to reach where you were going. But once she opened her eyes there she was, she was aware, she was with it, back in her skin. He turned her on and they were closer now.

  Intimate. She got out of bed and went in the bathroom, left the door open to sit on the toilet and smile at him.

  Did you have a good time?

  My heart, Foley said, soared like a hawk.

  You weren't bad yourself, Dawn said. You surprised me.

  She got back in bed with a cigarette to lie against the headboard now, Foley rubbing an ice cube over his chest, feeling male, satisfied. Dawn said, Did he tell you about the bank Little Jimmy runs, with the numbered accounts?

  Not much. It didn't sound like a bank.

  It is, Jack. It's a bank.

  This is only my second week outside, I'm still pure, clean, and you want to pull a bank job?

  There was a silence before she said, Jack ? and he turned his head to her.

  When Cundo was in prison he'd call and the first thing he'd say, he'd ask me if I was being a saint. Cundo believed saints never had sex. Are you being a saint for me?' 'Yes, I'm being a saint.' 'For me?' 'Yes, for you.' Finally I told him if he didn't stop asking if I was a fucking saint I'd disappear and he'd never see me again. And he did, he stopped saying it. Until last week, the day before you got here, he called and asked me again, after years of not asking, if I was being a saint. I said, 'All this time I've been alone?' I said, 'For more than seven years I've been waiting for you, and you ask me that all over again?'

  Did you ask him, Foley said, why he doesn't trust you?

  That's not the question, Dawn said. If he doesn't trust me, why did he invite you to come here?

  Fresh out of the joint, Foley said.

  Dawn nodded, looking at him.

  That's the question.

  Chapter NINE

  LOU ADAMS MET THE LAPD GANG SQUAD DETECTIVE AT THE Firehouse Bar on Rose Avenue. He knew Ron Deneweth from a police officer's funeral, the two sitting and talking after with a few beers. Lou still had Deneweth's card and called him once he'd decided to play this deal.

  Deneweth said, You know this place was actually a firehouse at one time?

  Is that right? Lou Adams said, waiting to look at the stack of rap sheets Deneweth was holding.

  Usually, Deneweth said, you see some of those muscle freaks from Gold's Gym in here. They sit at the bar sipping Red Bull looking at themselves in the mirror, every so often popping a bicep.

  Lou said, You gonna let me see those sheets?

  I don't know why you come to me, Deneweth said, all the federal programs you have. S. T. E. P. Street Terrorism Enforcement and Prevention. You have C. L. E. A. R. Community Law Enforcement and Recovery. H. E. A. T. Heightened Enforcement and Targeting. You have S. A. G. E. Strategies Against Gun Violence. Shouldn't it be S A. G. V.?

  It should, Lou said, but S-a-g-v isn't a word. You gonna let me look at the sheets?

  You also have G. I. T., Deneweth said, Gang Impact Teams, handing the stack to Lou Adams. The guy you want's on top. He's Gang Intervention, a very bright boy, leader of a program called

  Y. B. U. Young Boys United.

  Nice-looking boy, Lou said, studying the mug shot of Vincente Sandoval, also known as Vincent, Tico, El Nino: twenty-one years of age, five-ten, one-sixty, eyes brown, looking devilish in his do-rag, one earring, gang tattoos from his youth. The Hardcore Gang Division brought him up four times on suspicion of felony homicide, one conviction; did three years for first-degree manslaughter, still in his serious teens.

  In the L. A. area he's known as Tico, Deneweth said. It's not on his sheet where he's from originally. I think Nicaragua, but I could be wrong. I'm thinking he has a green card or we'd of sent him back.

  What's he do as a gang intervention worker?

  Nothing much. Tico has a bunch of teenagers, showing 'em how to be good boys, stay clear of V-13 and the Shoreline Crips and someday become grown-ups.

  Tico Sandoval, Lou Adams said. What should I call the boy, Tico or Sandy?

  Sandy, you know how many young men like yourself I looked at before naming you my second in command, my Segundo? As many'll fit in a good-size holding cell. When I was told you go both ways I said, 'Whoa, you mean the boy's a fruitcake?' No, what they meant, you can pass as one hundred percent Latin doing a samba, or go African with a bone through your nose. I'm told you're even a speck Chinese, but I don't see it. What was your mother?

  What was she?

  Sounding Hispanic.

  Where was she from?

  Oh my mama come from West Memphis, Arkansas.

  See? Right before your eyes he becomes a colored guy. From spic to African-American nigger, Lou Adams believed, as the mood struck him.

  I'm told by Detective Ron Deneweth, Lou said, gang intervention has turned you into a man of peace, and I want to believe it. Ron says they have you looking at ways of bringing the Latins and the brothers together, get 'em to work out their beefs. Es verdad?

  Tico said, Is true, all right. I'm thinking of ways to bring peace to the valley once again.

  Sandy, Lou said, are you fuckin' with me?

  Boss ?

  They were sitting on the sunporch of a yellow frame house on Broadway near Oakwood Park in Venice, where Tico was living with a good-looking black woman who was supposed to be his ah'nt, the way he said it.

  Lou said, You fuck with me, Sandy, I'll have Immigration deport your skinny ass back to Central America, drop you off home in Nicaragua. You savvy 'deport your ass'?

  Yes, boss, of course.

  Calm about it. A Spanish dude in his striped do-rag and silver earring.

  Tell me, Lou said, if you know a Jack Foley.

  I don't think so.

  He's only the most famous fucking bank robber in America. Last week he was released from a Florida prison and bought fake ID to get out here in a hurry.


  Can I ask why you looking for him?

  He's gonna rob another bank.

  How do you know that, boss?

  It's what he does, he robs banks. I went to the prison in Florida, Lou said. I talk to inmates, I talk to hacks, administrative people every one of 'em said, 'Jack Foley? Yeah, he hung out with Cundo Rey, they road-dog buddies.' So I'm thinking, Cundo's put him up. You know about this Cuban? He's still in the joint but suppose to have property out here. Buys homes and sells 'em, all he does is get rich.

  In Venice ya lo creo.

  Speak English. You know him?

  I hear of him only.

  Well, I checked with the county. They don't have him down as owning any. But then I find his name as a partner in an investment company. Rios and Rey, Incorporated, Financial Consultants. When'd Cundo learn to add a column of figures?

  Tico shook his head. I can't help you, boss.

  This squirt's finishing up a homicide conviction in Florida while he's a businessman in California? Yeah, uh-huh. I spoke to a cute woman name of Tibby Rothman. You know her? Little bitty thing.

  I see her around, yes.

  She puts out the Venice newspaper, I understand, when she feels like it. I asked her did she know a James Rios. She said, 'You mean Little Jimmy the bookkeeper?' and grinned at me like she'd said something funny. Now Lou asked his second in command, Sandy, you know this Little Jimmy person?

  Now Tico was grinning.

  Boss, everybody in Venice knows Little Jimmy. He's what you call a character. Sabe usted character, boss?

  This federale being a tough guy was a trip. You fucking with me,

  Sandy? The question on Tico's mind: what was the guy doing here by himself? They send him to watch a bank robber just got his release who could sit on the beach all day watching girls, do whatever he wants? They send one guy only?

  One guy can't do it. So he wants Tico, your young Boy United, to watch the bank robber for him. The man said, And get some of those gangbangers, their pants hanging off their ass, to help you. He said, Four times six is twenty-four. He did, he said that. You need four colored guys and four la Cucarachas, one of each working surveillance at all times, six hours on, six off. Can you handle it? You can't, I'll have your ass sent back to what did he say, Nicaragua? The man not knowing shit where Tico was from.