Out of Sight

"He hands the teller the note, she looks at it and says, "You have a gub? What's a gub?" That's par, because most bank robbers are fucking morons. You've heard some of the nicknames they get? The B.O. bandit, the Chubby Cheeks bandit, Mumbles, the Laurel and Hardy bandits? A guy they call Mr. Pleats? Another one, the Sheik, guy wears something that looks like a turban? The Vaulter? Guy always jumped the counter for no reason. Robby Hood?"

She said, "What were you known as?"

"I don't think I had a nickname. But the point I'm making: to go to bed with a bank robber so you can say you did, you'd have to be as dumb as they are. I know you're not dumb, I know you're not looking for lanky thrills, as you say. So why would I think that? Why would you think I might think that?"

She said, "You're not dumb."

"You can't do three falls," Foley said, "and think you have much of a brain." He waited a few moments, lying there holding her, before he said, "If you get serious on me, it's over. You have to stop thinking."

Now Karen took time, holding on to him. She said, "I don't want to lose you."

"That's part of the feeling we both have. It's how we got here.

But there's nothing we can do-you know that. You're not gonna give up the life you have and it's way too late for me. I couldn't if I wanted to. Change my name and look for work? You say 'work' to a con he'll go out the window, not even bothering to see what floor he's on. Look, we knew going in," Foley said, "when the time's up, it's up. I say that knowing I love you with all my heart, I sincerely do."

Her face came up to his; they began to kiss and touch again, Foley with a tender feeling he had never experienced before.

Looking at her eyes he thought maybe she was crying or was about to.

She said, "I can't go with you." She kissed him again, and in a voice so quiet he could barely hear her she said, "I want to know what's gonna happen."

"You know," Foley said.

When Karen woke up, lying on her side facing the bathroom, she didn't open her eyes right away. She wanted to; she wanted to look at the radio clock next to the bed and she wanted to turn her body enough to reach with her hand and, if he was there, touch him. As long as she didn't open her eyes or move he was still there. She could take her time, creep up on him and they'd make love again and she would hear his name coming out of her in the dark. So she lay there with the stale taste of whiskey in her mouth. All that was left. Until she said, Oh, for Christ sake, grow up.

And opened her eyes.

It was ten-fifteen. The bathroom door was open, the light off.

She rolled to her back and turned her head. His side of the bed was empty; the room silent, the windows dark. She remembered looking at herself in the bathroom mirror and coming out to say things that were so fucking stupid now, hearing herself, her tone, and remembered him saying, "Why are you mad?" And later saying, "If you get serious on me, it's over." And that's what she did, became emotional and blew it because she was thinking too much, wanting to know how it would end.

She thought, Well, now you know. And got out of bed.

Karen walked out to the sitting room with a sense of expectation. Foley was gone, but maybe he'd left a note. She looked around, at the desk, the coffee table. The newspaper photo he'd laid there was gone. But something wrapped in a napkin was lying by the half-empty bottle and the ice bucket.

She picked it up and knew what it was as she unfolded the napkin.

Her Sig Sauer.38.

TWENTY-ONE

Drop you off," Buddy said, "give the valet guy the car, Glenn and a black kid by the name of Kenneth are waiting in the lobby. This is three o'clock in the afternoon, the snow's coming down, they want us to take a ride with them. I said you were buying a pair of shoes, and if they want to go look for you over there, good luck. We come out, White Boy's waiting in the car.

What time did you get back?"

"About ten."

"It took you, what, seven hours to buy a pair of shoes?"

Wednesday morning now, Buddy had come to Foley's room frowning, wondering where he'd been.

"I saw Karen Sisco," Foley said.

"She's staying at the Westin."

Buddy didn't say anything right away. First he sat down at the table to look at Foley across his room service tray, Foley having the Continental breakfast in his socks and underwear, a bottle of Jim Beam close by.

"And she saw you?"

"Yes, she did."

Buddy said, "Oh, my," and watched Foley pour a shot of Beam into his coffee.

"Well, we're sure casual about it, aren't we? You talk to her?"

Foley nodded.

"Buy her a drink?"

"We had a few."

"She knew who you were."

Foley nodded again, sipped his coffee and raised the cup.

"You want some? You can use the glass in the bathroom."

Buddy shook his head.

"Have a nice visit and then you left?"

Buddy waited but didn't get an answer, Foley biting into some land of Danish.

"How's that work, a wanted felon socializing with a U.S. marshal?"

Foley said, "You know how I felt about her." He put his cup down.