Road Dogs

THIRTEEN

FOLEY CALLED LITTLE JIMMY ABOUT THE PAINTING THAT needed to be fixed before Cundo arrived, walked in the bedroom and saw Dawn on the wall bare naked. "It's where I've been sleeping," Foley said, "since I got here."

Little Jimmy said there was time. Didn't they have a week or so?

"He'll be here tomorrow," Foley said. "They're letting him out early."

It caused an alarm to go off in Jimmy, wanting to know, Jesus Christ, why nobody told him.

"What'll it take you," Foley said, "three minutes. That gives you a minute a dab. Or, you decide to paint a one-piece suit on her I think you'll have time."

Little Jimmy told Foley to fuck the bathing suit-why didn't somebody tell him Cundo, Christ, was almost here?

"I'd like to come over and see you," Foley said. "You can show me your office, what you do."

Ten years ago Cundo told Jimmy to buy the three-story building on Windward, a block from the beach, and fix it up. Before this the property had been a youth hostel. Jimmy had walls removed and rearranged and now his offices took up the second floor and his apartment was directly above: a big one he did with an art deco look, lots of color and round corners. There were also rooms on the third floor for Zorro, who lived here and was always close if Jimmy needed him. The street floor was occupied by Danny's Venice, a cafe with smart red-and-white-striped awnings in front, where Jimmy had his lunch every day.

Foley went up the stairs to find Little Jimmy waiting for him, Jimmy in his realm, his life here. He brought Foley into his office done in a pale gray for business, no distracting colors. Even the photographs on two of the walls were black-and-white shots of Venice Beach: tourists crowding the walk, street performers, the drummers' circle, homeboys hanging out, while the wall behind Jimmy's marble desk was bare, with nail holes showing.

"Dawn used to hang there," Foley said, "looking over your shoulder?"

Little Jimmy sat in his black velvet throne in shirtsleeves, black stones in the French cuffs. He said, "She's gone from my life. I have nothing to do with her now he's coming. You understand? I see she's paid every month, tha's all. Take that painting of her and destroy it."

"He knows about it."

"You tole him?"

"I said she's wearing a swimsuit."

"Jesus Christ-man, I don't have no paint here. I have to get some, come by the house later."

"She wants to look modest," Foley said, "if that's possible."

Jimmy got up from his chair but didn't seem to know where he wanted to go, got to the end of his marble-slab desk, nothing on it, and stopped. "Cundo call me yesterday morning, I'm still in bed sleeping. He say, 'I hear your car was stole.' I ask him what he's talking about. It's in back, where Zorro keeps an eye on it. He say, 'Oh, is that right? Take a look.' I go downstairs, my fucking car is gone. Stole while I'm sleeping, the Bentley, man. Zorro shakes his head no, he don't hear a sound. I talk to Cundo again. He say he can get the car back but it will cost me two hundred thousand. He say, 'From your account, not from Rios and Rey Investment Company or the sports book.' Or the account I pay guys out of for things he wants, like guards at the prison."

"Letting you know," Foley said, "your skimming days are over."

"I tole him I don't have no two hundred-k to give him. He say okay, then I don't get no more pay for a year."

"Giving you a break," Foley said, " 'cause he needs you."

"He say I do it again he has to get another bookkeeper. Jesus Christ, like all I do is accounting for the real estate and the investing, the number accounts we keep. He don't know how to do any

of that."

"I tried to tell you," Foley said, "Cundo isn't dumb. He can't add figures, but always knows what the balance is. How long you been skimming on him?"

"Now and then only, not much."

"This time you dipped too deep and somebody told on you." Foley sat down and lighted a cigarette and Jimmy got an ashtray from a drawer in the marble desk.

"Was there a big Z," Foley said, "cut in the wall in back?"

"What're you talking about?"

"I wondered if it might've been Zorro boosted your car."

"You think is a joke-man, I could get whacked."

"I see two ways you can look at your situation," Foley said. "Cundo's fond of you, Jimmy, he's brought you along through good times and piss-poor ones, hasn't he?"

"He would get upset," Jimmy said, "and lose his temper-this was during the time of the drug business-and would let me use my way to soothe him and he would become calm. At Combinado del Este and when we first came to La Yuma, he would let me soothe his nerves."

"Well, now he's got Dawn," Foley said, "to do the soothing while you keep working your tail off for him, scared to death of his wrath. He gets the idea you're skimming on him again-"

"I promise him I won't."

"Or thinks you're fucking him some other way-" "He'd have me whacked."

"He's too fond of you," Foley said. "He wouldn't kill you, Jimmy, he'd slam a car door on your fingers. The left one, so you can still work the calculator."

"Jesus Christ-"

"Or break your legs with a Jose Canseco bat. He won't admit it, but he knows he needs you. You can stick around and put up with his arrogance if you don't mind being his slave." Foley said, "Jimmy, there's another way to look at it. Make out a check to 'cash' from every account you can, and deposit the checks in a bank in Costa Rica. I'll give you the name of the bank in San Jose, the capital, and show you how to send the money by wire. Or, you could send it in care of my account and I'll hold it for you. I get down there I'm moving to a spot on the Pacific side I've picked out."

Jimmy said, "I know how to wire money."

"What account did you skim the Bentley out of?"

"One for guys Cundo tells me to pay. I transfer money to it from other accounts." Jimmy moved to his throne behind the desk but didn't sit down. "You said when we drinking, I become tired of how he treats me, I could clean out the accounts and take off. You remember?"

"What I meant," Foley said, "if you ever felt like taking what you have coming and make a run for it, I wouldn't blame you." "How much money you thinking?"

"I won't tell you how I reached this figure," Foley said, having taken it out of the air, "but I'm thinking you can write checks for upward of two and a half million."

"You way off," Little Jimmy said. He closed his eyes for a few moments, opened them and said, "Out of four accounts I can draw six hundred-k. Maybe six and a half."

Foley said, "That's it? With all the ways you have of making money?"

"You ask me what I can write checks on." "No savings accounts?"

"I'm counting one we have," Jimmy said. "Listen, I already been to prison. I won't do nothing is illegal and go back inside again."

"I would never ask you to," Foley said. "How about a way that's legal but might take some setting up?"

"Cundo finds out," Jimmy said, "he don't kill me, no. You said he break my legs with a baseball bat."

"A Louisville Slugger," Foley said. Shit. He stubbed out his cigarette and got up.

"You're gonna come by, fix the painting?"

"After work."

Foley looked at Jimmy, his hand on the high back of his chair. "You own the houses free and clear. He told me that more'n once, saying how much he trusts you."

"Now you want me to sell his fucking homes and they evict Cundo? Throw him out in the street?"

"It would be in the canal. No, you don't sell the houses," Foley said, "you finance 'em for loans, get a few mil to play with."

"You crazy," Jimmy said. He sat down in his chair, put his crocodile loafers on the desk, then brought his legs down and leaned on the desk to say to Foley going to the door:

"Where would I keep the money so he don't know? Do I make payments on the loans or what?"

Foley said, "You'll figure out how to do it," and walked out.