Out of Sight

FIFTEEN

Her dad said, "He waved to you?"

"I won't swear to it," Karen said, "but I'm pretty sure he did. He raised his hand about as high as his head and it looked like, just as the elevator door closed, he waved."

It was Saturday now, seven in the evening. They had both been away from the house all day and were in the kitchen now, having a drink before going out to dinner.

"Maybe he was scratching his head."

"He was looking right at me the whole time."

"He knew you recognized him?"

"I'm sure he did. That's why I think he waved, he had nothing to lose.

You know what I mean? He couldn't pretend to be someone else, I'd already seen him in that dumb beach outfit."

Karen smiled just a little.

"He's a pretty cool guy. You know it?"

Her dad had to be cool, too, when he was with her.

"You wave back?"

"I didn't have time. The door closed."

"I imagine you would've though." Saying it in a matter-of fact way, going along straight-faced, not sure if he was serious or if Karen was, his darling little girl who tracked fugitives and took them to federal court.

"So what did you do next?"

"I used the radio to call Burdon. I told him Foley saw me, so he and Buddy were sure to get off the elevator. Burdon left one guy in the apartment and came down the stairs with the rest of his people to check the floors."

"What did you do?"

"Burdon told me to stay where I was. I radioed his guys outside and told them to get to the garage entrance. At that time, though, we didn't know if Buddy had a car, or if he did, what land and where it was registered."

"They might've still been in the building."

"It's possible, but they did get out and the chances are they made it before the two outside guys got to the garage. Burdon called the Broward sheriff's office and they contacted I think Autotrak and they made Buddy's car, an eight-nine Olds registered in California to Orren Bragg. It was too late by then to lay out a grid and have local police cover it. Burdon did send out an all-points, but was sure they'd already switched plates or picked up another car."

"Burdon leave surveillance on the building?"

"Yeah, but took it off this afternoon. I stopped by DEA to look at Glenn Michaels' case file again. They had him on possession with intent but couldn't make it stick. The interesting part of Glenn's statement, he said he went up to Detroit to visit a friend and look into job opportunities-if you can believe that. They wanted to know where he stayed and who the friend was. Glenn said a guy named Maurice Miller, also known as Snoopy, a former prizefighter. I looked him up, Maurice was at Lompoc the same time Glenn was. In fact they walked out of the prison camp together-for some reason I see them holding hands.

They were picked up and sent to USP Lompoc, the max prison, where Glenn met Buddy and Jack Foley. It ties in with Glenn telling me, when we were in the car together, he had a big score lined up. Then from something else he said, it had to be in Detroit. I called Burdon-you know what he said?"

"You'll have to tell me."

"

"What's this have to do with our bank robbers?" He says they're on their way to California because 'they always run to familiar ground to hide out."

" Her dad said, "They do, huh?"

"Buddy's phone bill was in the apartment. It shows he called a number in Los Angeles at least once a week. Guess whose it is."

"His sister."

"How did you know?"

"You said guess, I guessed."

"His sister Regina Mary Bragg, the ex-nun who turned him in. Burdon called her this morning, five a.m. in Los Angeles.

She said her brother was in Florida visiting a friend, but didn't know his name or have a phone number for Buddy. What I want to know," Karen said, "is why he calls his sister every week after she turned him in."

Her dad said, "Well, he doesn't seem to hold a grudge."

"I think he's basically a nice guy, does it out of kindness."

"Or maybe," her dad said, "she has some kind of nervous disorder from years of celibacy and his phone calls keep her stable."

"Foley said she drinks."

Her dad thought about it and said, "But not at five o'clock in the morning, when you say Burdon called her. If she's any kind of alcoholic she'd have been hung over and trying to think straight, careful about what she's saying."

"I guess the time to talk to her," Karen said, nodding, "is when she's into the sauce."

Now her dad was nodding.

"Sometime in the evening, but not too late."

They went to Joe's Stone Crab for dinner.

When they got back Karen stayed in the kitchen to call Regina Mary Bragg. Eight p.m. in Los Angeles.

Her dad went to his chair in the screened-in room to watch television, a cognac next to him on the lamp table. He moved through channels with the remote, looking, until he came to Robert Redford and Max von Sydow in the library of someone's home, the man seated at the desk. Redford is pointing what looks like a Colt.45 at him. But Max, with a Walther PPK, a much more intelligent gun, has the drop on Redford and tells him to put his gun on the desk. It reminded him of Karen having lost the Sig Sauer he gave her three Christmases ago. The day she spent in the hospital he told her if she was a good girl she might get another one for her birthday, in April. She said, "I'll get my gun back when I find Jack Foley. What I need are shoes. But don't get me anything, okay? Really." Which was what she said every year. And every year she would be his little girl again unwrapping presents, eager, taking great pleasure in it, while his pleasure was watching her. Watching Max von Sydow now walk over to the seated man and shoot him in the right temple, to Redford's amazement, and place the Walther in the man's hand. Forty years as a private investigator Marshall Sisco had never carried a gun or kept one in his office or home. None of his investigators did either, or Karen when she worked surveillance jobs for him: the cute girl following slip-and-fall and whiplash cheaters looking for insurance payoffs. They had talked about those times at dinner, Marshall trying to sell his little girl on the idea of returning to private investigating, run the office, make some real money representing big companies being sued-supermarkets and restaurants, hospitals, bike and car manufacturers… She wouldn't have to carry a gun or load her trunk with all that law enforcement stuff. She'd meet lawyers, doctors-nothing wrong with them necessarily if they were divorced. Why settle for some cowboy cop who drank too much and cheated on his wife? That's the way those hotshots were, all of them. Karen was a nice girl, well behaved in her own way; she listened to him at dinner, nodding a few times while picking her crab claws clean, and asked him if he thought Buddy and Foley would stick together.

"Wouldn't they be better off if they split up?" He thought, What're you gonna do? His little girl was preoccupied. She'd mention Buddy, but it was Foley she had on her mind. He said to her yeah, they'd have a better chance of making it if they split up. But if Buddy had something he wanted to do and needed Foley, and since Foley owed him..

Max von Sydow and Bedford are coming out of the house now.

Max turns to Bedford, who has just watched him commit a murder, and says, "Can I drop you?"

Coming into the room Karen said, "Three Days of the Condor, I love that movie. Do you know the title of the book it was based on?"

"Tell me."

"Six Days of the Condor. I spoke to Begina Mary. She has a very quiet voice-like this, barely above a whisper.

"Yes? May I help you?" E-n'n-cia ting so I think she was definitely a little ripped. I took a shot, I said, "Begina, this is Karen, Buddy's friend in Miami?" I said, "He told me where he'll be staying and I wrote down the address, but now I can't find it." I think it confused her. She said, "Oh," in that voice, "I don't have any idea." And I thought, well, that's it. But then she said-Karen dropped her voice, getting a hushed tone-"He called just a while ago to let me know he's all right."

I couldn't believe it. I said he only left last night and he's there already? She said, "Oh, no, he's in Lexington, Kentucky."

" Karen said to her dad,

"Are you ready? And then she said, "He won't be in Detroit till tomorrow."

" Her dad was smiling at her.

"Beautiful."

"I said, "Buddy's awfully thoughtful, isn't he, to call you." And you know what she said?

"He'd better, if he wants to save his immortal soul." What do you suppose that means?"

"Like she's his ticket to heaven," her dad said, "so he'd better keep in touch. Regina may be out of the habit, but still has a lot of old-time nun left in her. What else did she say?"

"That was about it. I asked if the next time Buddy calls she could find out where he's staying, maybe get the phone number.

She said it wasn't necessary for her to know that, he was on his honor to report to her."

"Well, nuns weren't all sweethearts," her dad said.

"Regina sounds like the kind, they'd make you hold your hand out and then whack it with a ruler. Hurt like hell."

Karen sipped her drink, quiet for several moments.

"You have to tell Burdon," her dad said, "and you'd rather not. Am I right?"

Karen looked up. She said, "The FBI has warrants right now for over six thousand fugitives. What do they need two more for?"

Her dad said, "You're kidding."

Karen sipped her drink.

Her dad said, "Aren't you?"

Sunday, it was halftime at the Super Bowl by the time Karen got home.

She saw her dad trying to act like it didn't bother him.

"I'm sorry I'm late. What's the score?"

Her dad, with his beer and a bowl of peanuts, said, "Thirteen to seven, Dallas. It's still a game, but not as close as it looks. The Cowboys had to lack a couple of field goals when they should've gone in."

"So they can't be acting too arrogant."

"Give 'em time."

Karen said, "I went to see Burdon."

Her dad turned his head to look at her now.

"He wasn't watching the game?"

"He wanted to, but had to get rid of me first." Karen started out of the room and stopped.

"Thirteen to seven, that's a total of only twenty so far. What's your bet, sixty?"

"Sixty-one, based on a final score of forty-four to seventeen, the Cowboys in control all the way."

"So they'll have to score thirty-one points for you in the second half."

"I'm not worried," her dad said.

"Last year, the 49ers and the San Diego Chargers scored a total of seventy-five points.

The year before, Dallas over Buffalo, they scored a total of sixty-nine. Where you going?"

"Get a beer. I'll be right back."

It gave her dad time to think about their bet. The sports book money line had the Dallas Cowboys favored over the Pittsburgh Steelers by 13V2. They both wanted the Steelers to win, so they were betting on the total number of points scored, whoever came closer, Karen with 45-she had to be dreaming-her dad 61.

If Karen won, she could pick out a pair of shoes at Joan & David. If her dad won, she had to come here for a week and cook dinner, all his favorites-pot roast, Swiss steak, chicken paprikash. Her dad told everybody he knew Karen cooked like a grandmother.

She came back with a long-neck Bud.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing, it's still the half. The experts are telling, us what we just saw." He waited for Karen to sit down on the sofa and then offered the peanuts.

"So you broke down and told Burdon they're in Detroit."

"Yeah, and he said, "You mean it's possible Buddy is." He's sure they've split up. Burdon's theory, Buddy knows Detroit, he used to live there, so he could've gone back to hide out. But look at Foley's record, the banks he's robbed by his own admission are all in the South, the Southwest and California."

"Burdon," her dad said, "is trying to watch the game while you're talking?"

"Standing at the door, he wouldn't let me in the house. We could hear the game… I asked if he'd send me to Detroit.

Absolutely not. Out of the question. For what? He's already put out an all-points, the Detroit office knows who to look for. I said all I want to do is give them a hand. I know the guys we're looking for better than anyone on the investigation. You could pass them on the street and not know them, but I would.

All you have to do is tell your office I'm coming."

"Meanwhile," her dad said, "dying to get back to the game"

"Right, he said okay to get rid of me. I leave in the morning, probably stay at the Westin."

Her dad was frowning a little, shaking his head.

"You report to the FBI office up there, you know how they'll treat you.

A girl walks in-she's gonna tell them how to find a couple of fugitives?"

"If I walk in," Karen said.

"I've been there, remember?

Twice I had to pick up prisoners."

"So they know you."

"Not the Bureau guys," Karen said, "the Detroit cops. I have a friend now in Major Crimes, an inspector, I know will help me out."

"Married?"

"They're all married."

They watched most of the Super Bowl at Galligan's, a bar on Jefferson that was a block from the Omni, where they were staying.

Foley had turned the game on in his room, Buddy brought a bottle of Jim Beam and they watched the first quarter from the chair and the bed until Foley said they should go to a bar, see the game with a crowd of people making some noise. So they walked to Galligan's, Foley hunching his shoulders in his new overcoat, and joined four other guys from out of town, stuck here over the weekend, and a woman who said she lived in Greektown but didn't look at all Greek. Blond, somewhere in her fifties. She said her name but Foley forgot it right away and she left at the half saying she had an appointment.

The only reason Foley and Buddy liked the Steelers was that they didn't like the show boating Cowboys, though they had little to strut about today. It wasn't much of a game. Final score, 27–17, Dallas.

Foley left the table to talk to the bartender.

Buddy ordered a couple more Jim Beams with a splash, for the road.

Foley came back and sat down.

"They have fights at Cobo Hall sometimes, the Palace, he says where the Pistons play, and the State Theater on Woodward Avenue. He says you can walk from here. He's never heard of Maurice Snoopy Miller. I asked him how come they don't have fights at Joe Louis Arena. He said they do, it's where the Wings play hockey. Then he said yeah, they've had title fights at the Joe, but no regular program. That's what they call it, the Joe."

"You know Louis is from here," Buddy said, "the old Brown Bomber. They have like a statue-it's just his right arm and the fist-out there on Jefferson."

"The Brown Bomber," Foley said, "it sounds racist. You have to be careful these days, you can sound like a racist without even trying.

Anyway, the guy said if Snoopy Miller's in the fight game we might find him at the Kronk gym, it's where Thomas Hearns trained. I saw the Hit Man get the decision over Benitez in New Orleans, I happened to be home. I asked him where the Kronk gym was, he said he didn't know.

Somewhere on the west side."

"I was an east sider Buddy said, turning to the window.

"Look out there. You ever see so much glass in your life? All those buildings over there, like giant tubes of glass. The tallest one's the hotel, the Westin. There's a restaurant and cocktail lounge on top, something like seventy floors up, turns around real slow-you don't even feel it. You're looking out at the Motor City, have another drink, you're looking across the river at Canada. You want, we could go up there, get a good look at the city."

"From what I've seen," Foley said, "it looks deserted, like everybody left town."

"It's Sunday, Jack, everybody's home watching the game.

You want to go over to the Westin, see what's there? Maybe go up to the top?"

"If we didn't have to go outside."

"It's not that cold. You know what you do? Relax your body.

Don't hunch up, swing your arms, keep your blood moving and it doesn't seem as cold."

"Who told you that?"

"I think it was my sister. She knows things like that."

"Living in sunny California. That's where we oughta be, 'stead of here at the fucking North Pole."

"Wait a minute," Buddy said, "we don't have to go outside.

That glass thing that goes across Jefferson, it's like a bridge you walk across from our hotel to the RenCen."

"What's the RenCen?"

"The Renaissance Center, those glass tubes over there. Tell me what you want to do."

"I don't know," Foley said.

"What do you do in Detroit on a Sunday when you can't think of anything and the banks are closed?"

Foley sipped his drink.

"I know where I want to go tomorrow."

"Yeah, where?"

"The Kronk gym."