Out of Sight

by Elmore Leonard

  Buddy said, “Nothing else pending?”

  “Nothing. How about if I go see Foley?”

  “You don’t want your name on the visitors list out there. Sit tight till you hear from me.”

  “You talk to him,” Glenn said, “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, a dump, where Foley’s ex-wife lived. Adele. About forty but not bad looking. Glenn stopped by to see her another time that had nothing to do with the great escape: see if he could get her to put out without begging or buying her dinner. 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.

  Twenty minutes with the Audi parked off to the side of the turnpike’s southbound lanes, trouble lights blinking, a note stuck in the side window that said gone to get gas, Glenn waiting now among scrub 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—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.

  SEVEN

  * * *

  KAREN TOLD FOLEY, CLIMBING THE BANK IN THE DARK, IT would be a lot easier if he’d quit hanging onto her. He let go of her arm and dropped back a couple of steps saying he was only trying to help, so she wouldn’t slip in the weeds and fall. Karen said, “You mean and ruin my good suit?” The back and the sleeves stained with his muck, the skirt snagging now in the brush. He said he didn’t want her to hurt herself. Karen hoped she’d be able to tell about it later. The conversation in a trunk full of handcuffs and tactical gear 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. “And then what happened?”

  That was a good question.

  • • •

  FOLEY STAYED BEHIND HER NOW LOOKING AT HER SLIM FIGURE, her legs at eye level in the short skirt that hiked up on her, 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 to move through the scrub 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 limp, ratty-looking 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.”

  “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, “Busting out of stir can fuck up your nerves, can’t it? I know, I’ve been there. But I’m hanging my ass out for you, man. I don’t need any get-in-the-car shit. I’m here, but I don’t fucking have to be here.”

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

  “Studs,” Glenn said. “Now we’re old pals again, back in the yard at Lompoc. How come that seems like such a long time ago?” 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 . . .

  And Karen said, “You can blame me if you want. I don’t mind.”

  What Foley wanted was to tell them he was kidding, for Christ sake, he wasn’t blaming anyone, he was trying to lighten up, get rid of this awkward feeling he had. And since he couldn’t do that he kept his mouth shut and 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, Glenn talking to her, Karen as tall as he was, facing him, listening, Glenn looking back this way before opening the door. 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, the inside light on, Karen getting a look at him before he pulled the door closed. Glenn half turned now, laying his arm along the top of the seats. He hunched a little to look out the side window, running his hand through his hair.

  “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. 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. I even smoked a doob lurking there in the fucking bushes. I wouldn’t mind another one, either, right now. How about you?” He turned his head enough to look at her, at the same time running his fingers through his hair. “You must be scared shitless, 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. In stir, he’s as cool as they come; but you get a guy like that outside, now he’s a fugitive, he’s too fucking wired to 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. I imagine you just got offa work . . .” He turned to stare out the window again.

  Karen leaned forward to have a look. She saw them against the dark foliage, one holding her shotgun, the other, Foley—it looked like he was unbuttoning his shirt, working at it, his head lowered. They seemed to be talking.

  “What I mean is you can be the man inside,” 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. I came out, took a trip up north and I had something laid out. I mean something big. The kind, one score, you retire. I’d go do it right now, except it’s so fucking cold up there in January.” He paused for a moment and said, “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 bu
t, shit, it’s a genuine mackintosh. Now I’ll have to have it cleaned. It didn’t do me much good in Detroit, I froze my ass off and that was in November. California, all the time I was out there I never even owned a raincoat. Come to sunny Florida—I wasn’t here for Andrew, but everybody was talking about it so much, and then the end of last summer it started raining like hell, the beginning of hurricane season, so I bought a raincoat. That flea market, any time you go out there it’s full of Haitians buying all kinds of shit, radios that don’t work, clothes, even canned goods. I’m not kidding.”

  Karen said, “Glenn?”

  His head turned and she was looking at his designer shades, 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.”

  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, “You’re pulling at it. 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.”

  “Since I got so many friends here,” Buddy said. “He came through and you treat him like shit.”

  “He wants something. It’s the only reason he’s here. He gets picked up doing one of his cars, he’ll make a deal and give us up.”

  “He talks too much, that’s all.”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “Get rid of the cap.”

  “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.”

  “You don’t want to leave her here, either.”

  “She’s in the car. You want to go or stand here talking about it?”

  “I have a choice? Okay, first take your head out of your ass, 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, LEANING IN CLOSE LIKE SHE WAS creeping up on him and Glenn turned away, all the way around to look straight ahead, get out of her face, Jesus, and try to think. He wanted to know what Foley and Buddy were doing, if they were coming, but didn’t want to look to find out. He had planned to tell them, when they got in the car, he’d had the Audi up to one-thirty-seven in less than half a mile; German iron, it cruised, man . . . She said his name.

  She 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, 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 GMC van. She had a nice voice and never raised it, not even when she was in some moron’s face who was giving her a hard time. 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. You said yourself he’s too fucking wired to think straight. And if he goes down . . . Glenn, you go with him.” She touched his shoulder and he jumped. She said, “If I had hair like yours, all that body, I’d never have to put it up.” 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 hardon. 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 after-shave on and she goes, ‘Oh, I had you all wrong’?”

  “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.

  EIGHT

  * * *

  AT GOOD SAMARITAN 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 with newspapers and magazines to camp here and watch over his little girl. Milt Dancey, her supervisor, came up from Miami to stand by her bed for two hours. Flowers came. Ray Nicolet came, he kissed Karen on the cheek and touched her hair but could only stay a few minutes; he was on the Violent Crimes Task Force hunting the escapees. More flowers came. 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 midafternoon now, sunny outside, the private room pleasant enough, flower arrangements gathering along the window ledge.

  Burdon asked her, “What’s in the IV?”

  “I think just glucose.”

  “You sweet enough, Karen. Tell me how you got the bump on your head.”

  “Isn’t that my report?”

  “Read it,” Milt said. “That’s why you have a copy.”

  “I have read it. What I want is to hear Karen tell it, if it’s all right with her,” Burdon said. “I don’t give a shit if it’s all right with you, Milt, or it isn’t all right. You don’t even have to be in the room. This is my investigation.”

  Karen’s gaze moved from the black special agent who looked like a lawyer to the overweight old-boy marshal who was all cop, and said, “Don’t hit him, Milt, Daniel’s being important. I don’t mind.”

  Burdon smiled at her. “I love the way you talk, Karen, like you one of the boy
s. So tell me what happened. 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.”

  Milt said, “For Christ sake . . .”

  “No, but I did think about it,” Karen said, “once I was in the front seat. I climbed over . . .” 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 and twenty, 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,” Burdon 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; you have to be brought up on grand theft at least three times before you go down, and even then it isn’t a sure thing. Forty thousand cars stolen last year in Dade County, three thousand arrests and half of them never went to court.”

  “Recite all those stats to him,” Burdon said, “it sounds like you’re aiding and abetting.”

  “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.”

  Milt stepped in again. “That’s all. Leave her alone now.”