“I’LL COME OVER,” DAWN SAID. “I HAVEN’T BEEN ACROSS the bridge in weeks.” She said, “Are all the pictures of me still up? Cundo made me swear I wouldn’t touch them. You know I lived there almost a month but had to move. Everywhere I looked I saw myself and I never changed, the blonde with exotic eyes, so I moved to the pink house. It’s terra-cotta, but Cundo says it’s pink and he’s too macho to live in a pink house.” She said, “We could meet now if you want. It isn’t too early, is it? I love to sip Jack Daniel’s in the morning.”
Foley said, “You’re sure that’s what I have?”
“And Mexican beer, but I like the sour mash.”
“You must be psychic,” Foley said, “or you’ve been going through my trash.”
“Or I saw you shopping at Ralphs,” Dawn said, “and I thought, Why that must be Jack Foley trying not to look furtive, a former inmate in the world again. I got that from your body language, Jack. What I learned about you took place your first night here, getting smashed on Puerto Rican rum till you went to sleep. I thought, Well, that’s done. He’s celebrated his release, spent a day hung over and now he’ll call. I know you’ve been dying for us to meet, but had to settle in first. You’re still uneasy being out in public, going to stores.” She said, “Let’s see if I can get you feeling like yourself again.”
Foley said, “I always feel like myself.”
“You think you do. I’ll be over,” Dawn said, “let’s see, about twelve-thirty.”
“You need an hour to comb your hair?”
“I want to bathe and look nice for you. This is a big day for us, Jack.”
He watched her cross the footbridge over the canal, the dark-haired Dawn in a white sundress and pink heels, coming to visit in the early afternoon. He liked the way her hair came close to her eyes in a free fall to bare shoulders, this slim girl who could be a fashion model but told fortunes instead.
She took his hand and held on to it, both smiling, very pleased to meet each other. The sky gray but so what. Things were looking up for Foley, fresh out of stir. He couldn’t stop grinning at this confident girl who lived by herself and posed in the nude. He said, “Why don’t we go inside.”
They went through to the kitchen, Dawn saying, “I want to see what you have in the fridge.”
Foley got out the ice and made drinks, Jack Daniel’s and a splash of water, while Dawn poked around in the refrigerator, used a spoon to taste his cold butter beans and onions, seemed to like it, found a wedge of Brie and spread some on a stalk of celery. She said, “I know where we should talk. Bring the bottle and a bowl of ice.” Dawn running the show. Foley went along.
Up to the third floor, to the low table and red leather chairs in the alcove off the master bedroom, across from the painting of her by the bed. She said, “There’s another one of me dressed, reading a book. Jimmy has it in his office.”
“I like the one of you bare ass,” Foley said. “I did happen to mention the painting to Cundo. He said, ‘Wha’ painting?’”
“You tell him I’m naked?”
“I only said I liked it.”
“I haven’t told him,” Dawn said. “I wouldn’t be his little saint if I let you see me naked, even in a painting.”
“He wanted to know who did it.”
“Little Jimmy,” Dawn said. “Cundo has him watching over me. He calls Jimmy the Monk, because for twenty-seven years Cundo’s believed Little Jimmy’s gay. But the little fella himself has never been that sure. But which does he like better, pussy, or being one? Jimmy said he’s beginning to lean toward pussy.”
This girl who’d taken a bath and wanted to look nice for him talking about pussy in an offhand way that took Foley back to the yard. He said, “Cundo never called the Monk Little Jimmy.”
“It’s a name I gave him. He likes it.”
“I told Cundo I thought you did the paintings.”
It seemed to please her. “That’s not a bad idea.”
“He didn’t go for it. He said, ‘She don’t fucking paint.’” Foley giving her his Cundo Rey. “‘She only tell you your fortune.’”
“That’s not bad either. Give me your hand,” Dawn said. “Here, rest your arm on the table.” She moved the tips of fingers over his fingers and his palm. She said, “You don’t show it, but not having money is driving you nuts.” She said, “You know what you should’ve been doing all this time? I mean instead of robbing banks?”
Throws it out—like telling Foley she knew all about him.
“You were a boy you wanted to go to sea.”
“I thought of joining the navy.”
“Now you wouldn’t mind owning a deep-sea fishing boat. Operate out of Biloxi?”
“Costa Rica,” Foley said. “How long have you been reading palms?”
“When you’re a Sagittarian,” Dawn said, “born with a Grand Trine in the center of your natal chart, you know you have a gift. You can call me Reverend Dawn, if you’d like. I’m an ordained minister of the Spiritualist Assembly of Waco, Texas, though I started out doing nails.” She sipped her drink, still looking at him. “I went to beautician school, ran around acting crazy, did drugs, almost bit my nails off I was so fucked up. That was my Sagittarius rising with Mars on aspect. I got it together and now I’m a licensed psychic, clairvoyant, astrologer—what else—spirit medium. I interpret dreams and do past-life regressions. I can cite events in your personal life and tell you what they mean…your involvement with a woman, a federal officer, who was hot on your trail”—Dawn’s eyes holding his—“you took to bed…Wait, and the next day she shot you?”
Foley said, “Cundo told you about that, uh?”
Dawn smiled now. “Yes, he did. What’s her name, Karen Sisco? She sounds like fun.”
His zoo-zoo, in his mind for only a moment, bumped out by Dawn Navarro playing with him, letting him know that right now she was more fun than Karen.
Foley said, “You ever use hypnosis?”
“Now and then. Would you like to be hypnotized?”
“It doesn’t work on me.”
“Will you let me try?”
“I know it won’t work.”
“Close your eyes, Jack, not too tight, and let your breath out slowly. That’s it…I’ll count down from three, all right? We’ll take our time. Three, Jack. Your muscles are relaxing, your whole body is going limp. Two, you feel safe with me, you know you can say whatever you want.” Dawn paused. “And one. Are we ready, Jack?” She reached for his hand on the table and pinched his skin.
“Jack?”
“What?”
“Did I hurt your hand?”
“No.”
“You’re willing to talk to me? Yes or no.”
“Yes.”
“You’ll let me take you back to the prison, where you knew Cundo Rey? Yes or no.”
“Yes.”
“Is Cundo Rey a friend of yours? Yes or no.”
“Yes.”
“Do you trust him?”
Dawn waited.
“No.”
Now she paused. “Would you say he’s worth a lot of money, Jack? Yes or no.”
“Yes.”
“In properties,” Dawn said, “and a partner in Little Jimmy’s investment service. Did you know that?”
“No.”
“Did you know Little Jimmy runs a sports book for him?”
“No.”
“Do you know if Cundo has bank accounts?” Foley hesitated again and Dawn said, “Let’s skip that one. Do you think he has money the IRS doesn’t know about? Money he’s never declared as income?”
Foley turned his head resting against soft red leather to open his eyes and look at Dawn. He said, “I think he’s got a shitload of money that’s never been close to being declared. What do you think?”
She smiled shaking her head, Foley grinning at her, Foley saying, “Are we getting to it now?”
Dawn said to her neighbor the bank robber in his clean white T-shirt, his hair parted and combed, “Well, aren’t you the tricky motherfucker. I’ll have to watch my step with you, won’t I?”
“Reverend Dawn,” Foley said, “you’re asking me to conspire against my friend, aren’t you?”
“I saw you coming,” Dawn said. “I said to myself, This jailbird’s too good to be true. But my God, you’re the real thing, aren’t you? You’re into Cundo for over thirty thousand waiting for him to call it in, let you know it’s payback time. With the vig it could more than double. You don’t trust him, you don’t respect him, but he’s loaded, he’s sitting on a fortune, and the way things are, you know you’d better get Cundo before he gets you.”
Jesus, reading his mind.
“But it’s all in Little Jimmy’s name,” Foley said.
“That’s the next question. What keeps Little Jimmy from selling the homes and stealing away in the night?”
“You tell me,” Foley said, “you’re the psychic.”
“I want to know what you think.”
“Cundo saved Little Jimmy from getting cornholed eight or nine times a day.”
“But that was twenty-seven years ago, in Cuba. Why do you suppose Little Jimmy’s still loyal all these years?”
“I don’t know if he is or not,” Foley said, “but I’m pretty sure he’s the key to the money.”
“Sometimes he’ll visit,” Dawn said, “and sound like he’s out of La Cage aux Folles, he loves to put it on. But when we talk about Cundo, Little Jimmy shuts down part of his mind, always careful of what he says.”
“I imagine he likes you.”
“He adores me.”
“But doesn’t trust you.”
“He tells me what we’d do in bed.”
“Yeah…?”
“In detail, trying to turn me on.”
Dawn shrugged and took a sip of her drink. “It wasn’t that outrageous. But the little guy will not say one fucking word about Cundo’s money. I put him under hypnosis and asked if he was skimming from the investment business and the sports book. He said Cundo doesn’t know enough about business to pay him what he’s worth, so he skims to make up for it. He said he lifted a hundred and fifty thousand to buy himself a Bentley, used. I said, ‘Why not a Rolls while you’re at it.’ He said, ‘I am not one to exhibit myself.’ But he is, he’s a little show-off, in his Cuban heels maybe an inch taller than Cundo. I asked if he’s ever thought of selling the houses and taking off with about seven million. He said no, never. I asked the key question, why he’s dedicated his life to serving Cundo Rey. I said, ‘Is it because you’re in love with him?’ He said, ‘Yes, of course, always.’ But I can’t ask one question about Cundo and money. I say, ‘I’m asking as his wife.’ But he knows Cundo and I aren’t actually married.”
“You’re not?” Foley said, surprise giving way to another feeling, glad to hear it. “He told me you exchanged vows.”
“In the hotel room with rum and Coke. He said the vows we make to each other is what counts, not some guy in a cheap suit asking if we take each other forever and ever.”
“How’s it been having to wait eight years to score off the little guy?”
“How’s it been taking free rides?” Dawn said. “The chick lawyer who didn’t cost you a dime. While you find out all you can about him. I’m doing all right, Jack. I have clients, I do readings. Cundo said, ‘Watch over my properties for—how you think about seven hundred a week?’ I said, ‘How you think about a thousand?’ He said okay. I said, ‘For each home?’ The little guy said, ‘Yes, of course.’ He said it was what he meant.”
“A hundred grand a year ain’t bad,” Foley said. “You manage to get by on it?”
“You’re a little smarty, aren’t you?” Dawn said. “It’s part of your disarming charm. Yes, I can manage on two grand a week, and I bet the horses with Little Jimmy. He makes sure I win more than I lose.”
“A psychic can’t pick winners?”
“Isn’t that curious?” Dawn said.
“We’ve been talking about Cundo’s money,” Foley said. “You haven’t asked how the little fella’s doing in stir. You don’t worry about him?”
Dawn said, “Jack,” in a lazy kind of voice, “how much time do we have, a couple of weeks?”
“He’s out the end of next week.”
“You want to know if I worry about him—doesn’t he have bodyguards, little Latino guys with cute little mustaches?”
“He had me in stir,” Foley said, “and guys he could always call on. I didn’t see anybody mess with him. He said if they did, he’d have them burned alive.”
“The inmates believed him?”
“He killed a Russian in Cuba, the mozo working at the hospital. Another one, a guy who came looking for him he called Uncle Miney.” Foley paused. “There was one more. Yeah, the boatlift skipper, Cundo pushed him overboard. The kind of thing prisoners all knew about.”
“He’s killed four times?” Dawn said, not so much surprised as thoughtful.
“Reverend Dawn,” Foley said, “you’re smarter than the little Cuban, and I’m counting on you reading his mind. But—”
She said, “I don’t know him as well as you do?”
“You don’t think the way he does. He has a gift too, he makes crime pay, a lot. How to go down but stay on top. How to win friends and influence convicts.”
“I know he pays for what he wants,” Dawn said.
“With money Little Jimmy’s making for him. Cundo Rey keeps his eyes open. He knows what’s going on. Little Jimmy told you Cundo won’t notice his skimming a hundred fifty grand for a car. You want to bet?”
“Yeah, but Cundo needs Little Jimmy,” Dawn said.
“And Little Jimmy knows how Cundo thinks, so I’m not gonna worry about Little Jimmy. I’m gonna worry about you, Reverend Dawn.”
“Jack, you’re not funny.”
“You’ve already looked through both houses for money stuck away and have come up empty.”
She said, “I’m the psychic, okay? Why’d you hang out with him for two and a half years?”
“He told good stories.”
“About himself.”
“Always. They were still good.”
“But you don’t trust him.” She took a sip of her drink and said, “Let’s put little Cundo and Little Jimmy on hold for the time being, if it’s all right with you, and give some thought to pleasing ourselves this lovely overcast afternoon. See how much we like each other.”
Foley said, “Plumb the depths of our compatibility,” grinning at her, having fun again.
“It must seem like an eternity,” Dawn said, “since you’ve taken your clothes off with a woman. Watched her undress…”
He saw her eyes turn soft, dreamy, but now, the way she was staring at him, her eyes seemed out of focus and Foley would swear at that moment she was looking into his mind. Now she blinked and seemed, not confused, but less sure of herself.
She said, “It’s only been five days?”
“You’re close,” Foley said. “Actually it’s been four.”
Now she’d have second thoughts. Who was he with, some hooker? But then realized, no, with her gift she’d know he was with his ex-wife the morning he left Florida, so they’d stay with the program, and they did, Dawn saying:
“I’m going to take my dress off.”
Foley said, “And your undies?”
Dawn said, “I’m not wearing any.”
So then all Foley had to do was pay attention and be tender, not rush into this and get carried away. It got him to grin as they looked each other over, the grin working all right here as they made it to the bed. Foley did not want to be as ready as he was and set his mind to picture the crowd at Venice Beach, the girls with long legs flying by on Rollerblades and it didn’t help but didn’t matter, Dawn came up like thunder, couldn’t wait, Dawn the one dying to get it up to speed, and Foley revised his approach—put the tender moves away until they did it again, Foley believed after a cigarette and a few sips of Old No. 7 and that was pretty much what happened when they settled down to restore their lust. But by the time they were at it again, getting into what he thought would be slow love, sail for a while kissing and grinning at each other, but they found themselves stepping it up and this act of love turned feverish, as wild and perspiring as the first one, Dawn sounding like she was dying but putting up a good fight, Foley, Foley in there performing, feeling himself into it and they finished in a dead heat, Foley believing he was in love again.
He held her, kissed her hair, her ear, did all that, watched her breathe as she came back to earth, her lips parted, this innocent-looking girl with green eyes drawing him in as her little helper, knowing it was what he wanted before he did. She was psychic, clairvoyant…better than that, this girl was everything an ex-con like Jack Foley could pray for. Thank you, Jesus. A girl you had to subdue to reach where you were going. But once she opened her eyes there she was, she was aware, she was with it, back in her skin. He turned her on and they were closer now.
Intimate. She got out of bed and went in the bathroom, left the door open to sit on the toilet and smile at him.
“Did you have a good time?”
“My heart,” Foley said, “soared like a hawk.”
“You weren’t bad yourself,” Dawn said. “You surprised me.”
She got back in bed with a cigarette to lie against the headboard now, Foley rubbing an ice cube over his chest, feeling male, satisfied. Dawn said, “Did he tell you about the bank Little Jimmy runs, with the numbered accounts?”
“Not much. It didn’t sound like a bank.”
“It is, Jack. It’s a bank.”
“This is only my second week outside, I’m still pure, clean, and you want to pull a bank job?”
There was a silence before she said, “Jack…?” and he turned his head to her.
“When Cundo was in prison he’d call and the first thing he’d say, he’d ask me if I was being a saint. Cundo believed saints never had sex. ‘Are you being a saint for me?’ ‘Yes, I’m being a saint.’ ‘For me?’ ‘Yes, for you.’ Finally I told him if he didn’t stop asking if I was a fucking saint I’d disappear and he’d never see me again. And he did, he stopped saying it. Until last week, the day before you got here, he called and asked me again, after years of not asking, if I was being a saint. I said, ‘All this time I’ve been alone?’ I said, ‘For more than seven years I’ve been waiting for you, and you ask me that all over again?’”
“Did you ask him,” Foley said, “why he doesn’t trust you?”
“That’s not the question,” Dawn said. “If he doesn’t trust me, why did he invite you to come here?”
“Fresh out of the joint,” Foley said.
Dawn nodded, looking at him.
“That’s the question.”