Out of Sight

"Karen, you fuck up and I get sent to White Fang, Alaska as resident agent…"

"I'll go with you," Karen said.

"You bet your skinny ass you will."

Karen said, "Okay, then…"

She should have said, "You're hoping I do fuck up, aren't you?" She didn't believe she had, yet; because she didn't think of the time spent with Foley as morally wrong, and if it wasn't, and if she wasn't technically aiding or abetting but only violating a code of conduct, she could live with it and not feel guilty. When she was much younger she would go to confession and say, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I stole a lipstick from Burdine's and I let a boy touch my breast but we didn't do anything." If she felt a need to tell more, she might add that she had smoked cigarettes after promising her mother she wouldn't. The priest would give her ten Our Fathers and ten Hail Marys, absolve her, she would be sorry for her sins, sort of, and whatever degree of guilt she had felt would be gone. Since then, for the past fifteen or so years, Karen hadn't been to confession because she seldom felt guilty about anything. If she had doubts, she would talk to her dad about it. Or, she would imagine talking to her dad, which to Karen was much the same thing.

Karen: I spent about seven hours with Foley.

Her Dad: Don't tell me everything.

Karen: Don't worry. Do you understand our taking a timeout?

Her Dad: The way you tell it, yeah.

Karen: There was no time limit specified.

Her Dad: But now you're back in play, out of time-outs.

Karen: I guess so.

Her Dad: You have to do better than that. You have to accept the fact.

Karen: Okay.

Her Dad: What are your options?

Karen: If I find him? Place him under arrest.

Her Dad: What else? What if he tries to get away? What if he pulls a gun on you?

Karen: He doesn't have a gun.

Her Dad: You want to do this or not?

Karen: I'm sorry.

Her Dad: What if he resists arrest, tries to get away, puts you in a position where you're trained to use your gun? Could you doit?

Karen: I don't think so.

Her Dad: What if he wants you to take off with him?

Karen: I wouldn't go. I told him that.

Her Dad: Would you let him get away?

Karen: No.

Her Dad: Then you'd have to shoot him, wouldn't you?

Karen: I don't know.

Her Dad: Would he shoot you, if he had to?

Karen: I don't know.

Her Dad: He told you he's not going back.

Karen: Yes.

Her Dad: So whose choice is it, really, if you have to shoot him?

Karen: Is that supposed to make it easier?

Her Dad: Why did you join the marshals?

Karen: Not to shoot people.

Her Dad: No, but the possibility is a fact you have to abide by. Can you do it?

During the afternoon Karen stayed in and watched a movie on television she had seen at least a couple of times before, Repo Man, because Harry Dean Stanton was in it and he reminded her of Foley. Not his looks-they didn't look anything alike-his manner: both real guys who seemed tired of who they were, but couldn't do anything about it.

Stuck, putting up with their lives the way people find themselves in jobs they care nothing about, but in time have nowhere else to go. She wondered if Foley ever had goals. Or if his idea of living was anything more than lying around the house, watching movies.

Buddy said he was going out, see if there were any whores around, maybe bring one up to his room. Foley imagined some poor girl standing in the snow in her white boots, bare thighs and a ratty fur jacket, shivering, getting hit by slush as cars went by; but doubted she'd be there in real life. He wished Buddy luck and pressed buttons on the TV remote until he found a movie. Repo Man, a winner he'd seen a few times before. Old Harry Dean Stanton getting the short end as usual.

Fun to watch, though. This was the one, they open the trunk of the car and you see a strange glow. Like in Kiss Me Deadly, the strange glow in the case inside the locker, and they used it again in Pulp Fiction.

Mysterious glow movies-some kind of radioactive material, but what it's doing there is never explained; if it was, Foley missed it. He liked this kind of movie. You could think about it after, when you had nothing to do, try to figure out what the movie was about.

TWENTY-TWO

Aurice would get up from the table and walk along the apron of the stage yelling at one of the fighters, telling him, "Stick and jab, stick and jab." Not in the way of the audience, the ring up on the stage, but it was annoying and Glenn wished he'd shut the fuck up.