Out of Sight

TWENTY-THREE

Aren told her dad she couldn't sleep. He said, "Is that right? I was doing pretty good myself, till the phone rang. There was nothing on the news about my little girl, so I guess I dozed off.

Now I see I've missed Letterman. What's going on?"

She told about tracking down Glenn Michaels and getting him to tell what he was up to, her dad saying, "That's some deal you offered him.

You let him go?"

"I bring Glenn to the First Precinct for stealing a car in Florida,"

Karen said, "have to explain to a lieutenant or a sergeant what I'm doing here? He could look at me and think-I don't know what, but probably think he should take over. You know what I mean? Not only he's never seen me before, I'm a girl waving a marshal's star at him, a fed trying to tell a street cop about a planned home invasion. He'd have to check me out. There'd be nothing to charge the other guys with; all I've got is a stolen car. So I let him go and called Raymond Cruz."

"The one you saw the other day."

"Yeah, and told him the whole story. I was concerned with jurisdiction. If these guys are breaking into a home in Bloomfield Hills, Oakland County, should I get in touch with the police out there, the sheriff's department or what? I didn't see anything federal about it, so why would I call the FBI. Right?"

"Sounds logical."

"I told you Raymond's an inspector, he's over crimes persons, crimes property and sex crimes."

"I recall that."

"He also heads the Violent Crimes Task Force and they're hooked into all the local police around, the county sheriffs and the Bureau. The Bureau's involved, also aTF., because in almost all of the home invasions they're busting into dope houses after cash and guns. That's all, in and out."

"But this one's different," her dad said.

"As far as we know or can assume, yeah. This guy Ripley's home in Bloomfield Hills isn't likely to be a dope house, even if he has done time. You remember Ripley?"

"Dick the Ripper, the inside trader. Yeah, I think he's the land would have cash in his house."

"Anyway, Raymond said it wouldn't matter where the home was, the crime would come under the jurisdiction of the task force, and the feds would be involved because of the kidnapping in the plan."

"What kidnapping?"

"They pick up Ripley tomorrow coming out of the Detroit Athletic Club-it's downtown, right around here. One of them gets in the car with him and the rest of the guys follow. That's kidnapping."

"Would the cops alert Ripley? Tell him it's gonna happen?"

"Raymond said no, it could blow their surveillance. He said something like this, you had to make a judgment call. The ideal way, let the guys pick up Ripley and go through with the robbery, and then take them coming out of the house. But if you have reason to believe Ripley's life might be in danger, you'd have to move before that. I told Raymond it looked like these were the same guys who hit a house last night and killed three people. He said then they'd have to take them before they got to Ripley's home and he's brought inside."

"But get them for the kidnapping," her dad said, "as soon as Ripley's abducted."

"Right, and they can take them state or federal, either way.

But this involves another judgment call. If these guys are too dangerous to let one of them get in the car with Ripley, then you don't have a kidnapping case. All you've got are some guys in probably a stolen car and probably with guns. But to get them even two years on a gun charge it has to be during the commission of a felony. So, do you let them go through with the kidnapping or not?"

Her dad said, "What if Ripley, for some reason, doesn't go to the club tomorrow? Or these guys decide to go directly to the house?"

"Tomorrow morning they'll scout the house, the neighborhood, and set up a surveillance, be ready for a change in the plan."

"And what will you be doing?"

"Raymond said I can ride with him tomorrow if I want. Be on the scene."

"But stay in the background?"

"Why do you say that?"

"When they're putting the cuffs on Olufsson, you want him to see you?"

"You're a riot."

"I mean Foley. I get him mixed up with that guy in Stockholm."

"Foley might not be involved."

"You hope."

"No, Glenn said Foley didn't show up for the meeting tonight, at the fights."

"How were they?"

"I didn't stay. I went back in to get a look at Snoopy Miller, so I could ID him, and left."

"Foley could still be there tomorrow."

"I don't know," Karen said, "he might."

"But you don't have to be there."

Karen said, "No," and paused.

"What would you do?"

"It wouldn't bother me any to see him busted. I look at his picture in the paper, I can't say I'm impressed."

"Yeah, but he doesn't look like that. It's an old mug shot."

"Well, does seeing, him cleaned up wearing a suit," her dad said,

"change the fact he's a loser? A guy who's wasted his entire life?

Yeah, I'd be there. I'd personally cuff his hands behind his back. And I'd make sure he hit his head getting in the police car."

"Thanks a lot.

"You asked."

Moselle watched from an upstairs window. She saw the Lincoln Town Car turn into the drive and pull up far enough for another car-an Olds, it looked like-to pull in behind it. The street had been plowed and cars left at the curb were buried in snow. She saw Maurice and White Boy come out of the Lincoln, and two white guys who looked like cops come out of the Olds. Where was Kenneth? Where was this Glenn?

Maurice came upstairs and turned the light on in the bedroom, acting like she wasn't there till he got down and pulled the suitcase out from under the double bed, where he kept his guns. Without looking at her he said, "The one in the dark overcoat's the jailbird with the ten gees on his head. I don't know it's gonna work or not, but I been thinking about a way to collect."

"Where's my brother?"

"Getting us a ride."

"Where's Glenn at?"

"Decide he don't want to go."

"You hide the body good?"

"Shame on you." Maurice brought pistols out of the suitcase, Moselle watching him, and laid them on the bed, the pistols and a box of 9-millimeter hollow points, "Glenn decide he don't want any parts of this business, so he left."

"And you let him?"

Maurice shoved the suitcase under the bed and stood up saying, "You keep talking you gonna risk getting hit in the mouth. Keep asking me questions. The one in the dark overcoat, has all that reward on his head and still talks like a con in the yard. You know what I'm saying?

Like he's a man you don't mess with. Yeah, well, what I say to Jack Foley is buuull shit.

What I'm thinking is you gonna call the police. Say you heard him talking to his friend at the fights, sound like they going out to rob a man's house."

"How would I hear that?"

"You did, don't matter how. You say you believe it's the jailbird escaped from the place in Florida you read about and you want the reward."

"Where they gonna find him?"

"At the man's house he robbed."

"Dead," Moselle said, "from gunshot."

"It would look like it, yeah."

"What about his friend?"

"Same thing."

"Who killed them?"

"Nobody knows. Maybe the man from the house they tried to rob. Or the man's butler. Yeah, maybe the butler done it."

"They dead, too?"

"Imagine it looks like Jack Foley shot them the same time they shot him and his friend, Mr. Buddy. Something like that. I get back I'll tell you how it took place."

"I have to say who I am," Moselle said, "to collect any reward. I do, it's like giving them your name, too. Don't you know that?"

"You like your grocery money, you like to weed out on that polio pot and become paralyzed, but you don't like to work for it." Maurice came over to the window to stand there looking out.

"I thought I heard him. Yeah, there's Kenneth. Got a plumbing and heating truck. Look like we going out on this emergency call. Man's furnace quit on him."

Moselle watched him move back to the bed and pick up two of the guns.

She said, "They three white men in the house. I try to collect this reward you talking about, they gonna be more white men in this house'n you ever saw before."

Maurice turned to her with a.38 Smith snub-nose and a Beretta nine. He said, "This one's for Jack Foley," handing her the Beretta.

"And this one's for his friend Mr. Buddy. I like you to see they get them while I change my clothes. Would you do that for me?"

"I ain't calling any police," Moselle said.

"We talk about it when I get back."

"I don't care you beat me up, I ain't doing it."

"Honey," Maurice said, "getting beat up would be nothing."

Moselle had her hands in the pockets of her green silk robe, one of her hands holding the card Karen Sisco had given her, the hotel phone number written on it.

When Kenneth came in, not paying any attention to them in the living room, White Boy got up and followed him through the foyer to the back part of the house, maybe the kitchen. Right after that the woman appeared, handed them each a gun and left. Foley said, "How come nobody wants to sit and chat with us?"

Buddy checked the.38, stood up from the sofa to stick it in his waist, and looked down at Foley holding the Beretta.

"You know how to work it?"

"I ought to, I've seen it used in enough movies."

Buddy took the pistol from Foley, checked the magazine, racked the slide to load the chamber and handed it back to him.

"It holds fifteen rounds. You have fourteen in there."

"You think that's enough?"

Buddy sat down again.

"These guys are wacko."

Foley nodded.

"I've noticed."

"They're gonna try to set us up."

"I believe it."

"Leave us dead at the scene. Look at the shit in the fireplace."

"I saw it."

Maurice came in the living room wearing white coveralls that looked custom tailored, a white sweatshirt showing at the neck.

Foley said, "That what they're wearing these days to break and enter?"

"Take it and git, how it's done," Maurice said.

"Don't waste any time. Stick a gun in the man's mouth and give him a count of three. Where's it at?"

Buddy said, "How's he gonna tell you with the piece in his mouth?"

"That's his problem," Maurice said.

"Y'all want a drink?

There ain't any hurry. I'd as soon wait here a couple hours."

He looked at his watch.

"Half-past twelve already. We wait and be sure the people snug in their beds. We come, they all sleepy-eyed. You know what I'm saying?"

Foley said, "You're not worried about Glenn?"

"If he told on us," Maurice said, "the police'd be here by now."

"Or they're waiting at the guy's house."

"Don't worry, we gonna check it out. Look around good before we go in."

Buddy said, "Maybe he's dead."

And Maurice said, "Yeah, got run over by a car. Or slipped on the ice and cracked his head. Glenn's gone on his own, that's all I can tell you."

Buddy said, "Well, we got to pick up another car. That Olds is fairly clean."

"No need," Maurice said.

"We all go in the truck Kenneth got us. Man called us don't have any heat in his house. We come back, your car's here waiting."

Foley looked at Buddy. Buddy shrugged. Maurice watching.

He said, "Y'all have your ways of doing banks. I have my ways of doing this type of business. We in the house, we go right upstairs. Anything worth taking's gonna be in the man's bedroom, nine times out of ten. I tell you to do something, like check the other rooms first? See if they any guests in the house? It's on account I know my business.

Understand? It ain't 'cause I want to boss you around. See, my boys know what to do, so I won't be telling them much. But I may have to tell you to go here, go there. Understand? What else? You say you want the cut to be down the middle. Well, even though we been doing all the work so far, I'm gonna agree to that, so we don't sit around here arguing about it. We move fast, in and out, and it's done. Y'all have any questions?"

Buddy said, "Where your guys at?"

"Imagine they in the kitchen. You want to stir up White Boy again? Try to shame him and get him cross at you? For what? Think a minute. What good would that do us?"

"I just wondered," Buddy said, "if they were shooting up or what."

"Yeah, well Kenneth has some meth to keep him all the way live. Some beer, that's all. Anything else you want to know about?"

Foley looked at Buddy. Buddy shrugged and Foley said to Maurice, "You have any bourbon?"

Maurice smiled.

Moselle watched from the bedroom window: watched them get in the big commercial van that had a company name on the side; watched until the van's red taillights were way up the street and gone. She went to the phone looking at the card Karen had given her, the card saying Karen Sisco, Deputy United States Marshal, sounding important, nice-looking card with a silver star on it in a circle. The clock by the bed was on 2:20. They'd been down there almost two hours talking and having drinks, Moselle waiting for them to leave. She knew what she wanted to ask this Karen Sisco, but didn't know what she'd say after, or how she'd answer any questions, knowing she'd be asked some. She had her hand on the phone. Then took it off, wanting to think about it some more. Get her words right in her mind. Have some weed first.