THE WAY FOLEY LOOKED AT HIS CHANCES WITH DANNY Karmanos, sitting on the patio waiting for her, if she wasn’t grieving for a whole year and it was clear her time was almost up, he was in.
If she was still grieving but would go along because she’d given him signs and she wasn’t a tease, he could take advantage of the situation.
Well, he could if he wanted to.
No, not if he felt that’s what she was doing, didn’t have her heart in it, was going along to get it over with. In that situation it wouldn’t be cool of him to press it—even if in the act she saw fireworks going off.
When she did come out in her bathrobe she was holding a pair of white underwear. She handed them to Foley standing now in his wet Calvins sticking to him and said, “Why don’t you change first? In the cabana.”
Foley thanked her for the underwear and walked to the cabana thinking, Why didn’t he change first? Before they did what? She’d said she was taking off her suit and putting on a robe, and that’s what she did, she was wearing a robe. Maybe just the robe. But she didn’t work her eyes on him as he thanked her. Then, when he got out of his Calvins and put on the brand-new pair, he had to pull them up over his stomach so they wouldn’t droop in the seat. He didn’t feel good in Peter’s underwear and wrapped a towel around his waist. He walked across the patio wondering if she’d ask how they were, if they fit all right.
She didn’t. He sat down with Danny at the table, Foley looking at the pool lights showing in the dark. She said, “I’ve been thinking. I might be rushing my return to the world.”
So much for his changing first.
He turned to look at her and said, “I know,” nodding, showing he was wise as well as patient. He thought he might as well continue once he started, get it all out, and said, “I understand.” He said there was no reason to hurry, it would work out or it wouldn’t. They liked each other and they’d get to it one day. The way he said it was, “We’ll express our love one day,” and thought he should have said “show our love,” but didn’t like that either. He should’ve said, they’d get to it, with a grin, and let it go at that. But, he explained, it wasn’t a good idea in the long run because his past would catch up with them and she’d see it wasn’t going to work. She could announce, “This is my dear friend, convicted felon and former bank robber…” but people close to her would already know he was an ex-con, they’d read about him in the National Enquirer. Bank Robber Steals Danny Tynan’s Heart.
She kept saying at first, “No one has to know.”
“You want to keep me a secret?” Foley said. “I think I’d stick out.”
That’s what it was about.
“I don’t see myself playing golf at the club every weekend. Or any of the members playing no-rules basketball with me. I might even rob another bank.”
She said, “But you wouldn’t have to.”
He said, “That’s a reason right there.”
He got home a little before midnight. He’d watched Born Again with Danny. It wasn’t bad. They talked some more, kissed good night and Foley said he’d call her. She said, “You promise?” He said he promised. She shined her eyes at him, wet with tears, he believed because it was expected of her, doing the scene. Or, she couldn’t help it.
Lights showed in the house across the canal, lamps on downstairs. He could go over and talk to Cundo, tell him he was sorry he missed dinner, he got tied up. Cundo would say yeah, with the widow. Foley would say they didn’t fool around, they watched a movie. Cundo would say yeah, you watching a porno flick? You watch them before—Foley could hear him—the girl saying oh, oh, oh, saying oh, daddy, the girl keeping it up for, oh, fifteen, twenty minutes. Oh, oh, breathing as hard as she could. Like that, Cundo would get onto something else, not interested in how he did with Mrs. Karmanos, and it would become the conversation. What was the best porno flick you ever saw? Foley would ask him what Dawn fixed for the dinner. Ask him who was there. Little Jimmy, who else? Cundo never went to bed before 2 A.M. He drank and made speeches. Sometimes he listened to the music of Cuba.
Dawn had waited eight years to shoot him, living on a hundred thousand a year. She had her own snub-nosed .38 bought and licensed for her protection. Tico came along with the Walther and she went for it in a second, a gun already used in a homicide. She fired two loads practicing—thank God for the silencer—and knew she could hit him down the length of the dinner table. When the time came she was tense, but picked the gun out of the serving dish and put three in him dead center. If Foley had been at the table, seated on her right, she would have shot him first. He was more of a threat. Shoot him twice, put the Walther on the little rascal and shoot him twice. Save three shots in case either of them gets up.
She would still have to do Foley.
Or have him done.
Put him in the freezer with his buddy.
She’d waited eight years. When Cundo told her about Foley she was sure he was her guy. Comes out of prison broke looking for a score. They talk about taking Cundo, cleaning him out but not how, Dawn expecting Foley to say, “Shoot him. How do you think?” She’d look at Foley with her psychic vision; he would not stand still. “When was the last time you took your clothes off with a woman?” Expecting him to say it’s been years and years. But had to change her mind fast as she looked at him and said, “It’s only been five days?” And he said, “Actually it’s been, four.”
Her psychic vision was out of whack. Why was he so fucking hard to read? She met Cundo for the first time and told him he was going back to Florida to stand trial for second-degree murder. Told him before he was even arrested. She told a man the day and time he would die. She was trying to give a talk and he was heckling her, called her a fraud. It flashed in her mind. She closed her eyes for effect and said, “March third, declared dead at three P.M.” Two months away.
They said he died at three-twenty. Dawn said, “By the time you looked at the clock it was three-twenty. But he died within thirty seconds of three o’clock.”
He died on the day she told him he would. Did that make her a witch? It’s what they called her in a feature story in the paper, trying to be funny with a straight face. She kind of liked being a witch, and simple people who believed in omens, bad luck and curses, became fans. It got her a lot more work—even among curious people with money who wanted to know about their future. She was Reverend Dawn to all comers from then on.
Now she’d have to shoot Foley.
This was not like her at all, to be thinking about shooting somebody. She was a true psychic, she engaged in bunco schemes once in a while or she’d be living in a one-room apartment on La Cienega above her storefront shop. If one of them told her she’d be shooting people before too long, she’d say don’t be ridiculous. Well, she’d do one, yes, Cundo, a hard-core criminal who showed moments of being a fun guy, but somebody was bound to shoot him, say, over a busted deal. And Foley was the same, an incorrigible ex-convict. It wouldn’t surprise anyone to find them dead. Better though if they were never found.
Unless he goes to Costa Rica.
No, she’d come this far. She knew the second day after they met Foley was wavering, not convinced he was willing to score off Cundo, not after three years of a buddy act. He was in it as her partner but still in the center of things. She would have to shoot him. Do it without thinking about it too much. He comes across the footbridge—it’s night—she steps out of the tropical cover pointing a gun at him and says…“So long, Jack,” and plugs him. Something on that order, but so-long-Jack wasn’t bad. Keep it short.
It was eleven, no lights on across the way. She placed the loaded Walther in the drawer of the table where the CD player sat. Now she picked out a few numbers, starting with some Cundo liked, cueing up “Candela,” “El RincÓn Caliente,” and everyone’s favorite, “Chan Chan.” She turned up the volume to use the old Cubans as lures.
It worked.
She said to Foley, “He was listening to the Buena Vista Social Club and fell asleep. I woke him up and made him go to bed.”
They were in the sitting room where the CD player sat on a small table. She went to the player to lower the volume. “Too bad you missed dinner. You want to know what I served?”
Foley said, “Can I guess?”
“If you want.”
He thought, Cockroaches and rice…and it came to him and he said, “Macaroni and cheese.”
Her face went blank. “How did you know?”
“Cundo hates it.”
“I was being funny.”
“Then what did you serve?”
“That was it, macaroni and cheese.”
“You were being funny.”
“It got a smile, that’s all.”
“He’s not mad?”
“Maybe disappointed. He settled into himself again.”
“You and I haven’t talked,” Foley said, “since Cundo came home. What’s going on? Have you figured it out?”
“Not yet,” Dawn said. “I’m going to live with the little darling and be nice to him till I see a harmless way to walk out, hopefully a rich girl. Maybe all I’ll have to do is ask. What are you up to?”
“Well, I’ve got ten thousand—”
“You kept the check. I knew you would.”
“And I’m going to Costa Rica.”
She jumped on it. “When?”
“When I have enough to buy a house on the beach.”
“You couldn’t give it back, could you?”
“Danny Karmanos said, ‘If you don’t want it, tear it up.’ I told her I can’t do that and offered her the check. I said, ‘If you want to destroy ten thousand dollars, here.’ But she wouldn’t take it.”
“That was close. But then you’re lucky, aren’t you? You knew she wouldn’t tear it up. So now,” Dawn said, “you’ve got a stake. Maybe someday, if you don’t fuck up, you’ll get to Costa Rica. But I kinda doubt it.”
“Concentrate,” Foley said. “You don’t see a sandy beach in my future?”
She paused to stare at him and said, “No…” and made a face, a frown, that Foley took to mean she was having a tough time reading him, not sure of what she saw. Dawn smiled and said, “Not tonight, I’m tired. You want to hear the old Cuban guys? What’s your favorite?”
Foley said, “I think you’ve got ‘¿Y tú qué has hecho?’”
She turned to the table saying, “Yes, I’m sure. Why don’t you go out in the kitchen and pour a couple of Old No. 7’s while I find it?”
“I’m gonna pass,” Foley said. “I’ve had enough for one day.”
“I’ve got ‘Y tú’ right here.”
“No, I’m going to bed.” Foley started for the open door and stopped. “Who was at your dinner party?”
“Just Tico, Little Jimmy and myself.”
“And Cundo.”
She said, “And Cundo, the guest of honor,” staring at Foley like she was trying to read him again.
“Tell him I’ll see him tomorrow.”
Foley let her stare a few moments more and left.
Gone by the time she got the Walther from the drawer, a full load and the silencer in place ready to fire and went after him to shoot him and push him in the canal, Jesus, get it over with.
Then talk to the police as they fished him out of the canal. It could be done. She’d say she barely knew the man. He was only here a few days. Since Mr. Rey came home. Don’t mention prison, but they will, they’ll know and try to trap you. Tell them you’re Mr. Rey’s housekeeper. Then why are those photos of you on the walls? Jesus, it was harder to make up an alibi than read minds. And thought, Why didn’t you see Foley lying dead, in the canal or the morgue? In her vision he was in the sitting room of her house, where they were moments ago when she was trying to read him. But he looked different. Something about him…They would have to get Cundo disappeared for good. Tomorrow. Tico lines up a boat and takes the little fella to sea tomorrow night.
No, Officer, I can’t imagine where he could be. If it came to that.
This was in her mind as she stepped outside the house. By now he should be across the footbridge on his way home, almost to the pink house. But he wasn’t; or not in plain sight, foliage holding the walk in darkness. She moved along the walk on her side of the canal to place herself opposite the pink house. She squinted in the darkness feeling she was wasting time. Where was he?
She looked toward the footbridge, then the other way and saw him on Dell Avenue where it began to rise over the canal. Foley was on the bridge—Dawn sure that’s who it was. Now another figure appeared, coming over to the rail, she watched Foley approach him.