Out of Sight Page 9

  What she should do, hell, advertise herself as a magician and play birthdays, schools, company parties, that kind of thing; prisons, why not? She could do rope tricks: cut and restore, threading the needle, the coat-escape using volunteers. She could do handkerchief tricks: Fatima the dancer, the serpentine silk, the dissolving knot. She could do card tricks: the Hindu shuffle, overhand shuffle, the doubt lift, the glide . . .

  The phone rang, on the desk by the window.

  She could do sealed envelopes: the Gypsy mind reader, impossible penetrations . . .

  “Hi, this is Adele speaking.”

  A male voice said, “Oh, is this Adele?” with an accent, Cuban, or one of those.

  “Yes, it is. Are you calling in answer to my ad in the paper?”

  “No, I don’t see it.”

  “You picked up one of my announcements? You must have been right behind me when I passed them out.”

  “I talk to the guy you work for, Emil?”

  “Oh, uh-huh. Yeah, I was Emil’s box-jumper for almost four years.”

  “You were his what, his box? . . .”

  “His assistant. What did he say about me?”

  “He tole me your number and where you live. See, I’m looking for an assistant and would like to speak to you.”

  “May I ask, sir, do you perform in the Miami area?”

  “Yes, around here. I was a mayishan in Cuba before I come here. Manuel the Mayishan was my name. Let me ask you something. You do the sawing of the box in half trick with you inside?”

  Adele paused. “Yes?”

  “How do you do that trick?”

  “How do you do it?”

  “Forgive me. I ask you this wanting to be sure you are experience.”

  “Well, I’ve seen it performed both ways,” Adele said, “thin sawing’ or the old Selbit method, if that’s what you mean.”

  There was a silence before the Cuban voice said, “Yes, I see you know what you doing. I would like to come speak to you about working for me.”

  Adele said, “Well . . .” She said, “Why don’t I meet you at the Cardozo, on the porch? You know where it is?”

  “Yes, but you don’t want me to come where you live?”

  “I have to go out anyway. I can meet you in an hour. Will that be all right?”

  He took a moment before saying, “Yes, all right.”

  And Adele hung up.

  How do you do the sawing of the box in half trick? . . . Was he serious? He didn’t know a box-jumper was an assistant. Maybe mayishans in Cuba called them something else.

  The phone rang.

  She’d wear shorts, show off her legs.

  “Hi, this is Adele speaking.”

  Whoever it was hung up.

  • • •

  BUDDY CAME OUT OF WOLFIE’S AND GOT IN THE CAR.

  “She’s home.”

  He turned south on to Collins and didn’t say another word until they had gone ten blocks and were passing the Normandie.

  “There it is. You see the guy sitting on the porch? The old ladies and one guy? You know they’ll have a couple more in a car.”

  Foley was looking around. “I didn’t notice any.”

  “You know they’re there.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes open.”

  Buddy turned right on 10th and right again into the alley to pass behind the row of hotels. He said, “Nobody hanging out back here, that’s good.” They came to 11th at the end of the alley and Buddy stopped.

  He said to Foley, “You bring the gun?”

  Foley lifted the straw bag from his lap. “In here, with my suntan lotion and beach towel.”

  “You giving her some cash?”

  “What I got the other day.”

  Buddy nodded, staring at Foley, studying him. “I still think you ought to wear a hat.”

  “All the shots of me in banks I have a hat on, or a cap. I doubt anyone’s seen me without one.”

  “Look at your watch,” Buddy said. “It’s eleven-twenty. I’ll be back here in half an hour, at ten of twelve. You don’t show, I’ll be back here at twelve-twenty. You still don’t show I’ll see you in thirty years.”

  • • •

  THIS CAFE WAS RUN BY PUERTO RICANS—CHINO COULD TELL by the way they spoke—but it was okay. The coffee was Cubano and they didn’t bother him sitting at the counter or looking out the front window through the backward words on the glass and seeing the hotel almost directly across the street, the Normandie, four stories high. Jack Foley’s former wife was on the second floor, in 208, maybe a room in front and she was looking out the window as he looked at the hotel. He had phoned from here. He didn’t like the plan of meeting her on the porch of the Cardozo Hotel, people there, people passing by. He’d have this coffee and a little more and go up to her room to talk to her in private. What could she do?

  • • •

  FOLEY WALKED FROM THE ALLEY TO COLLINS AVENUE AND STOPPED on the corner to watch cars creeping by in both directions, tourists taking in South Beach, or looking for a place to park. He started walking toward the hotel in the middle of the block, taking his time. Buddy was right, there’d be a car somewhere close by with two guys in it. He watched a car up ahead pull away from the curb and a Honda nose into the parking space, a woman at the wheel. He wondered if they used women on surveillance. What he’d do, walk in the hotel. If the guy on the porch followed him in, he’d start talking to whoever was behind the desk about rates for next season. Make up a story. As if he could see a room or use the men’s, hang around until he could slip upstairs. He didn’t think the guy on the porch would pay any attention to him. He was approaching the Honda now, the woman out of the car, standing at the parking meter in profile, feeling her pockets for change:

  Blond hair, tan jacket and shoulder bag, long legs in slim jeans and heels—plain, pink medium heels that caught his eye, pink shoes, a nice touch with the jeans. The hair, the profile, made him think of Karen Sisco.

  She turned from the parking meter and he was looking at Karen Sisco—it was, right there, not ten feet away, it was Karen—looking at him now, waiting. She said, “You wouldn’t happen to have change, would you, for a dollar?”

  Foley shifted the straw bag to his left hand, still looking at her, telling himself to keep going, don’t stop, don’t say a word. But he did, he said, “Sorry.” He was past her now without breaking stride, holding to the same unhurried pace, glancing around at signs, the sights, the people, but not looking back, telling himself to keep walking. It was her, all of a sudden right in front of him. He saw her and saw her eyes and for a moment, the way she was looking at him . . . He told himself if he looked back he’d be turned into a convict on the spot, in state blue, so don’t even think of looking back You saw her again and that’s it. All you get.

  • • •

  KAREN WATCHED HIM WALK PAST THE NORMANDIE, PAST THE women on the porch, the agent sitting there now. She thought, No, it couldn’t be. She saw Foley’s face streaked with muck in bright headlights, the guard’s cap hiding his eyes. She saw his mug shot in her mind like all the mug shots she’d ever seen, a criminal offender with a number, not this guy in his color-coordinated orange and bright ocher beach outfit carrying a straw bag, dark socks with those thick leather sandals. She had almost smiled and said hi, how’re you doing, her hand going to her bag. In that moment sure it was Foley. But his eyes gave no sign that he knew her and he said, “Sorry,” without much expression and kept going. She waited for him to look back. She waited until he was all the way to the end of the block, crossing the street, and when he still didn’t look back, she felt a letdown, disappointment, believing that if it was Foley he would have looked back Or he might even have stopped and said something to her. It wouldn’t make sense, but didn’t have to; it was a feeling she had, so it was okay. Like if she were to make a T with her two hands, or he would, calling for a time-out, to give them a few minutes to finish what began in the trunk of the car. It would be okay then to say hi, how’r
e you doing? Oh, not too bad. They stand there talking, polite to each other. That was some experience. Yes, it was. Well, we made it. He might say something about her shooting at him and she’d say yeah, well, you know . . . You have time for a drink? I guess we have a few minutes. They walk over to the beach, sit at a table and talk for a while, say whatever comes to mind, have another drink, talk about movies . . . Maybe. Why not? There would be no way to predict what they’d talk about, they’d just talk until their time was up. Well, okay then, back to work She gets up and walks away, and if she were to look back he wouldn’t be there. It would be over with, out of the way. The next time she saw him—and she would try hard to make it happen—she’d cuff his hands behind his back and take him in.

  Karen walked down to the Normandie. As a courtesy she stopped at the porch railing to show the agent, a young guy she didn’t know, her ID and marshal’s star, saying she was going up to see Adele. The agent said, “Does Burdon know about this?”

  Karen said, “Don’t worry about it,” started to turn away and said, “You wouldn’t have a quarter, would you, for the meter?”

  • • •

  ALL THE WAY DOWN COLLINS TO 5TH STREET FOLEY WOULD stop to look at store windows, menus displayed on cafés, until he was sure Karen wasn’t following him, hadn’t recognized him after all. Foley thinking, That was close. But with more of an empty feeling than a sense of relief.

  She’d be talking to Adele now. That had to be the reason she was down here. He realized that if she had come only a few minutes later and found him in 208, it would’ve gotten Adele charged with a first-class felony, aiding a fugitive. So quit fooling around. Leave.

  But not a minute later he was thinking of going back, walking up Collins on the other side of the street to wait across from her car, the Honda, and get another look at her when she came out of the hotel.

  He said to himself, Jesus Christ, where are you, back in grade school? You just discovered girls?

  Foley turned the corner at 5th and turned again into the alley to walk back that way, by himself, past trash cans and grease smells coming from the café kitchens, seeing Karen in her slim jeans and looking at possibilities again. Like if he were to cross the street just as she’s getting in her car. Walk up to her and say . . .

  If she didn’t recognize him he could walk up to her and say something, anything. He thought of things to say to bank tellers, make it up on the spot before he asked for the money. I sure like your hair, Irene? Is that the latest style? Or, mmmmm, your perfume sure smells nice. What’s it called?

  He could tell Karen he liked her shoes. I just wanted to tell you I like those shoes you have on.

  And she’d look down at them—the way bank tellers touched their hair when he told them it was nice. She’d look down and he’d walk away.

  And then she’d look up again wondering who the moron in the beach outfit was.

  When he got to 11th Buddy was waiting.

  “Well?”

  “We got to get out of town.”

  Buddy said, “Now you’re talking.”

  “We drive or what?”

  “We drive. I wouldn’t mind taking off right now.”

  “What about our stuff? I just bought new shoes.”

  “We’re gonna need winter clothes,” Buddy said, “before we drive into a fucking snowstorm. Coats, gloves . . . We could go to a mall.”

  “And then stop off, get my shoes and stuff.” Buddy turned out of the alley heading for Collins. “We’ll drive up to Lauderdale, Galleria mall, that’s the place, get us a couple of heavy coats.”

  “Overcoats?”

  “If you want, or a parka.”

  “I don’t think I ever owned an overcoat.”

  “You’ve never been to Detroit. January, man, you freeze your nuts off.”

  Foley said, “You sure you want to go?”

  TWELVE

  * * *

  ADELE HAD THE CHAIN ON THE DOOR AND SPOKE TO KAREN through the narrow opening. “I’ve already told the FBI anything I know about it I saw on TV or read in the paper. I haven’t heard from Jack or have any idea where he is. Why would I? We’ve been divorced eight years.”

  “He talked about you,” Karen said, “in the car.”

  Adele hesitated. “You were with them?”

  “You might say I got in the way,” Karen said, “so they put me in the trunk of my car. Then Jack got in with me. I thought the FBI might’ve told you.”

  “You were both in the trunk?”

  “From Glades to the turnpike. But then as soon as I was in Glenn’s car he took off, left them standing there.” Karen watched Adele’s face in the opening, freshly made up, heavy on the eye shadow and lip gloss. “They didn’t tell you that, either?”

  “They didn’t tell me anything, they asked questions.”

  “But you know what I’m talking about? Glenn driving the second car?”

  Adele stared. She said, “I know a Glenn.” The door closed and opened again, all the way. “I’m getting ready to go out. You can come in if you want, sit down for a minute. Would you like a Diet Coke?”

  Karen said no thanks, looking around at the art deco resort-hotel decor. She turned a chair from the glasstop table and sat down as Adele came out of the kitchenette with a Diet Coke and a pack of cigarettes: Adele wearing a polyester makeup coat hanging partly open, panties but no bra, and clear-plastic mules. Karen saw her as a size 10, her body soft and white, a bit plump but good legs, dark curly hair . . . She said to Karen, “Those are cute shoes. The kind of jobs I get, I have to wear these killer spikes, they ruin your feet.” She walked away and came back with an ashtray. “When you were in the trunk with Jack . . .”

  Karen waited while she lighted a cigarette.

  “He didn’t hurt you or anything, did he?”

  “You mean, did he try to jump me? No, but he was kind of talkative.”

  Adele sat down at the other end of the table. “You mentioned, he said something about me?”

  Karen was ready. “He said the reason he came to Florida was to see you. So I guess you spent some time together.”

  “Well, yeah, before he was arrested.”

  “But you didn’t visit him in prison.”

  “He didn’t want me to.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. He was different after he was sentenced, looking at thirty years.”

  “But you spoke to him on the phone.”

  “He’d call every once in a while.”

  “He called the day he escaped,” Karen said.

  Adele stared at her. “He did? I don’t remember. What else did he say about me?”

  Karen had to think of something.

  “He said he wished the two of you could start over, live a normal life.”

  “Bless his heart. I’ll say one thing for Jack, he was never ugly or mean, or drank too much. His idea of a normal life, though, was robbing banks. It’s all he’s ever done.”

  “Did you know that when you married him?”

  “He said he was a card player, how he made his money. I could live with that. Or he’d come home with a bundle and say he was out to the track, Santa Anita, and I suppose sometimes he was, he liked to gamble. I never knew he robbed banks till he got caught with that car that wouldn’t start—if you can imagine something like that happening, comes out of the bank and the car won’t start. I did go see him at Lompoc—I guess you know he did time there—to tell him I was filing for divorce. He said”—Adele shrugged—“okay. Jack’s so easygoing. He was fun, but never what you’d call a real husband.”

  “He met Buddy at Lompoc,” Karen said.

  “Yeah, and Glenn, the creep.” She squinted at Karen through cigarette smoke. “Why isn’t there anything about him in the paper?”

  “They don’t know where he is,” Karen said, “and I guess they don’t want to have to admit it.” She said, “It looks like Glenn took off by himself.”

  “The weasel. You know what I wish? You coul
d put him away and forget about Jack. He doesn’t deserve thirty years.”

  “I’d give anything to find Glenn,” Karen said. “I had him in custody once; he sure loves to talk.”

  “Yeah, about himself, what a cool guy he is. He said he’s lined up a job and was gonna use Jack and Buddy. Fat fucking chance.”

  “What kind of job?”

  “He didn’t say.” Adele paused to smoke. “The only reason I met him, he was a friend of Jack’s at one time, and that’s all I’m saying.”

  “And I guess you met Buddy.”

  “You can guess all you want, I can’t help you. I have to finish dressing anyway, I’m seeing a man about a job. He claims he’s a magician, only he’s Latin and I have my doubts about him. You know I worked for a magician?”

  “Emil the Amazing?”

  “Yeah, the prick. This guy that called, he goes, ‘How do you do that sawing of the woman in half trick?’ I go, ‘Are you kidding?’ I should’ve said it’s not a trick it’s an illusion. He said he was testing me to see if I was experienced.”

  “What I can’t figure out,” Karen said, “is how the two halves of the box can be separated while you’re in it, and you see your head in one and your feet in the other, moving.”

  “It’s magic,” Adele said.

  “Or the one, the girl gets in the cage,” Karen said, “it’s covered, the cover comes off—”

  “You spin the cage around first,” Adele said.

  “You spin the cage around, the cover comes off and the girl’s gone and there’s a tiger inside.”

  “Emil does it with a lion.”

  “Get out of here.”

  “A male we’d rent for the evening. An old one, but still had a lot of teeth.”

  “How do you do it?”

  Adele shook her head. “I can’t tell you, it would be unethical.”

  “I’m just curious,” Karen said, “I won’t tell anybody.”

  Adele said, “Have you ever heard or read about how illusions are done? No, because it’s a secret. It’s the way they’re done, that’s what it’s all about. How isn’t that interesting.”