Out of Sight

There were old black guys over there in yellow T-shirts with KRONK in red, the trainers, talking to kids working out, watching the ones shuffling around in the ring. Maurice and White Boy were over there now, Maurice approaching the trainers one at a time, faking jabs, rolling his bony shoulders, jiving with them, but not getting any kind of cordial response, no smiles; a trainer would shake his head and Maurice would move on to the next one. White Boy was on a workout machine now, shirts off, popping his muscles.

Glenn brought a cigarette out of his shirt, looking at another one of the signs. NO PAIN NO GAIN. No shit. He reached in for his lighter, the cigarette in his mouth, as one of the trainers, a big heavyset guy, came along from the other side of the gym where the door was-shaking his head at him and pointing to a NO SMOKING sign. Glenn held his raincoat open to slip the cigar rette back into the pack, chin on his chest to see what he was doing.

When he raised his head again he was looking at two white guys in overcoats coming this way, the two guys looking right back at him.

Christ. Jack Foley and Buddy.

Buddy the one saying, "Hey, Studs, how you doing?" as they walked up, Foley with kind of a mild expression, neither one acting like a hard-on, except they sat down on either side of him, close. It gave Glenn only a few moments to deal with his nerves.

He said, "Jesus Christ, what're you guys doing here?" and it didn't sound too bad. Surprised, but not overdoing it, almost like he was glad to see them.

Foley said, "Weren't you expecting us?"

Getting to it right away. Glenn said, "Listen, I'll tell you what happened." It was awkward the way they were sitting, the three of them facing the ring, only two guys in there now. He said to Foley, on his right, "That broad you picked up-did you know she was a U.S. marshal, for Christ sake?" He turned to Buddy as Buddy stood up, took off his overcoat and sat down again.

"She knew me, from that bullshit dope bust. She drove me to court.

Twice. You know what she said, we're in the car on the turnpike?

"I never forget anybody I've cuffed and shackled." Foley said, "Yeah?

She said that to you?"

Glenn turned to see Foley, still with a mild expression, almost smiling. Glenn said, "She asked me if I had a gun," and saw a little more of the smile, not much, just a hint, but like Foley thought it was funny.

"She told me to drive, leave you there, or I was going down for the rest of my life."

Foley said, "Then what happened?"

"I drove. What would you do?"

Foley didn't answer, his face close, deadpan now. Glenn turned his head and was looking at the two guys in the ring sparring, dancing around each other, ducking, throwing jabs, smacking each other's gloves.

"What happened after that?"

"She wanted me to get off the turnpike so she could take me in. No thank you, I had it on the floor. The next thing I know she wigged on me, grabbed the wheel and we spun out and piled up."

"What'd you do then?"

"Got out of the car and ran."

"She try to stop you?"

"She was out cold."

"How do you know she wasn't dead?"

"She was breathing."

"But she could've been hurt."

"What was I supposed to do, get help? She wakes up, she's gonna fucking put me away. I got out of there, man, I ran. I picked up a ride, drove to Orlando and hung around Disney World, in crowds, man, I hid in crowds of people till I figured out what to do."

Foley said, "You hid out with Mickey Mouse, huh?"

"Yeah, Mickey and Minnie, that whole crowd. I thought about it and decided I could kill two birds, hide out up here and do the job I told you about at Lompoc. You know the one I mean?"

Foley nodded.

"So I called Maurice."

"Who's Maurice?"

"Snoopy," Buddy said, leaning over now to get his suitcoat off.

"Snoopy Miller."

Glenn-it was weird-felt a sense of relief come over him hearing the name Snoopy. For some reason he thought of Snoopy the dog, saw him in his mind the way Snoopy appeared in the comic strip, before thinking of the other Snoopy who wasn't Snoopy anymore-the one over there with the trainers; no, talking to White Boy now and they were coming this way, White Boy carrying his shirts. Glenn had to wonder why only a few moments ago he'd felt cornered.

Leaning against Foley he said, "Here comes Snoopy now.

You recognize him?"

Foley wasn't sure. He had seen him fight only a couple of times at Lompoc, about the same time they began calling him Snoopy instead of Mad Dog and he quit the ring; and had seen him once in a while with Glenn, in the yard. Glenn got up and Foley looked over at Buddy.

"The guy in the do-rag."

"Yeah?"

"That's Snoopy."

"Little squirt," Buddy said.

"What's he do now, tell fortunes?"

He was walking up to Glenn when Foley said, "Hey, Snoopy, how you doing?" and he stopped and looked over.

Standing at the edge of the ring apron, he looked from Foley to Buddy and back again, pretty serious about it. He said to Foley, "I'm suppose to know you?"

"Lompoc," Foley said, and waited for Glenn to say something, it was his party. But he didn't.