Road Dogs

FOURTEEN

THEY SWAPPED HOMES IN THE EARLY AFTERNOON, FOLEY moving his clothes slung in a blanket from the white house to the pink one, then went back and forth over the footbridge five times with Dawn's, a wardrobe of styles from buttoned-up to bimbo. He laid an armload of dressy dresses in plastic covers across the bed. Dawn came from the bathroom in her white-and-rose kimono hanging open.

"Is that it?"

"Everything."

"You know tonight will be our last time," Dawn said. "And you were just getting good."

"What time's he arrive tomorrow?"

Dawn looked at her watch. "About right now, on Northwest three-ten from Miami." She said, "Well, since we're not doing anything, you want to do it? Or wait till tonight." Dawn smiled. "Will you get mad if I tell you what you're thinking?" "No, go ahead."

"You're wondering, Why not both?"

He was and he wasn't. He was thinking about Little Jimmy all dressed up in his semibare office, the black-and-white Venice photographs, nothing on his marble desk but a laptop with the lid closed. Jimmy sitting by himself thinking. He had to be thinking. How could he break free of Cundo if making the move scared him to death? The little guy needed encouragement, a pep talk.

At one point during his visit Foley said, "How can you deal in a lot of money, millions, and you don't have even a scratch pad on your desk?"

Jimmy said, "I have a kid in the next office with three screens. He gets real-time numbers from the stock exchanges, New York, Tokyo, the ones that interest me. He's got bar graphs, charts, spreadsheets…He's twenty years old. What do you want to know? Ask Gregory."

"Do you want to or not?" Dawn said and looked at her watch. "It's half past two. Come on, if we're going to do it"-Dawn clearing the bed of her clothes-"let's get going."

"We make it a quickie?"

"Whatever your desire permits, Jack."

Cundo arrived in a Dodge pickup at ten minutes of four, a day earlier than Foley was expecting him. The idea, walk in the house after eight years and find Dawn busy with her laundry or watering plants, maybe sitting down with a cup of tea, reading. Or, he could catch her fucking Jack Foley.

The guy driving the pickup, Mike Nesi-a big guy six-four, two-forty-believed in white supremacy but would act as Cundo's bodyguard for five bills a day. At the airport Cundo brought out five hundred-dollar bills, handed Nesi three of them and put two back in his pocket. "The rest you get I see you do your job."

Mike Nesi stared at the little Cuban. He said, "Long as you got it." The sleeves of Mike Nesi's black T-shirt were cut off to show his tattoos, a crucifix on one shoulder, Jesus bleeding down his bicep, a swastika covering the other. On the short trip from the airport to Venice, the truck's dual pipes rumbling when they slowed down, Nesi said, "That's my three-forty-five Hemi clearing its throat."

Cundo said, "I had a Trans Am sound like that. Black with black windows. You couldn't read signs for shit, but I love that ride. Had a mean growl in idle. Gas it she howled and pressed you back in the fucking seat."

"When was this?" Nesi said. "In olden times?"

Cundo looked at Nesi, his shaved head, his beard shadow like dirt, the blue and red crucifix from his shoulder to his elbow.

"When I came from Cooba," Cundo said, "and began to make my fortune so I can hire guys like you to take me where I want to go…»

Nesi glanced at him. "I thought I was to watch some dink. Rough him up if you want me to."

"Keep him in one place so he don't move." "This is the bank robber?"

"The one I jail with almost three years. Foley, he's a good guy. He don't like to mix it up, get his hands dirty, so you won't have no trouble with him."

"I've heard of Foley."

"Robbed as many as two hundred banks. He's a professional, he shaves every day, but not his head. He keeps himself clean, he would never in his life have a fucking sacrilegious tattoo on his body."

Mike Nesi looked over at him. "You don't want your eyes swole shut, watch how you talk to me."

"You want my respect," Cundo said to this ignorant piece of shit, "or five bills a day? I don't have to give you both."

"Man, first day out the door you come on frisky, don't you? By the time it wears off, you better've settled down."

"Do what I tell you we get along."

"While I'm watching Foley, the fuck are you doing?"

"You find out," Cundo said.

Foley was in the kitchen having a beer, barefoot in his Levi's, no shirt on.

Dawn was upstairs in the shower.

He tilted the bottle up, took a swig of Dos Equis, and there was Cundo crossing the bricked yard from the garage, Cundo looking at upstairs windows; the guy behind him, a redneck Nazi with big arms hanging free, was looking past Cundo at the open doorway. Foley stepped into it.

"What're you doing home? You're not supposed to be here till tomorrow… " Went through all that, Cundo reaching up to hug him, Foley looking at the Aryan Nazi Brotherhood guy staring at him.

"Where is my dream girl?"

Foley said, "Who, Dawn?" kidding with Cundo the way he used to. Foley said, "She must be upstairs." He said, "We didn't swap houses till today. She's probably putting her things away, straightening up…»

And thought of the painting.

Cundo was moving around him now, into the kitchen. Foley said, "Wait," and Cundo stopped and looked back at him.

"Is it all right you stay here while I go see my wife I haven't seen in eight fucking years and we talk later?" Cundo walked through the kitchen and down the hall to the stairway.

It was in Foley's mind not to make anything out of the painting. Admit he saw it, yeah, since he'd already told Cundo that on the phone. He told himself to forget about it and turned to the redneck.

"I'm Jack Foley."

Mike Nesi said, "I know who you are. I had a buddy was up at Lompoc the same time as you. He kept saying how he liked talking to you. I said, 'What about?' He said, 'Robbing banks, the hell you think?' He said you were pretty good shooting hoops. I said I bet he wouldn't swish any I was guarding him. I took up basketball the time I was at Huntsville, down in Texas."

"The guy at Lompoc," Foley said, "was that Johnny Evans?"

"The same," Mike Nesi said. "Uptown Johnny-or was he Downtown Johnny? Yeah, he grew his hair out and got work in the music world. His first job, playing tenor sax behind poetry readings at a bookstore. You ever see that?"

"I don't recall," Foley said, "but I doubt it. You know he wanted to start a rock band at Lompoc, but your Brotherhood hard-ons wouldn't let him. They'd only allow him to play if it was Nazi death metal."

"Yeah, he got out, grew his hair, he's playing with the Howling Diablos now in De-troit. I saw Kid Rock with the band one time, was before he gained international fame with 'Devil Without a Cause.' Now he's got another hit, 'Rock N Roll Jesus.' You heard it?"

"I doubt it."

"The Diablos are still playing those grunge joints in the Motor City. You listen to 'em kick out their fuckin' jams you want to be on reefer or E. Or that other one, Salvia. Chew it or smoke it, it rounds off your edges. 'Less you start laughing and can't stop. That's the only trouble with it I know of."

"What're you doing with the little Cuban?" "Watching you." "In case I what?"

"I don't know you have to do anything." "He surprised us, a day early."

"He's known he's getting out today. He wanted to sneak up and surprise you. He did too, didn't he?" He looked past Foley. "Here he comes, bringing his wife along."

By the arm.

Dawn in her white-and-rose kimono, holding it together. Foley had turned in the doorway. He started toward them and Cundo, across the kitchen, held up his free hand to hold Foley there with his beer bottle, Cundo's other hand in a fold of sleeve gripping Dawn's arm, Cundo standing almost shoulder to shoulder with her, nothing in Dawn's eyes staring at Foley.

"You saw the painting," Foley said.

"/ saw it, you saw it," Cundo said, "every time you went to bed. You tole me she's wearing a bathing suit." "I didn't know what you'd think-"

"If you tole the truth? I would think you looking at my naked wife whenever you come in the room. I say to Dawn, 'You never tole me of this painting.' She say she want to surprise me. I say, 'Oh, but you leave it here to tempt my friend Jack Foley? Show him your pussy so he gets the idea?' She say, 'Oh, no, I just hung the painting in there today to surprise you.' Yes, but Jack Foley knows the painting very well, he's been sleeping by it."

Foley said, "I'm not gonna tell you I haven't admired it, as a painting."

"You think is good, uh? Very real-looking. What do you like

best, Jack, the breasts or the pussy? No, tell me instead who painted her naked like this?"

"Little Jimmy," Dawn said, "so you don't have to worry."

Cundo took a half step away from Dawn to look at her. "You right, the Monk don't worry me. You show yourself to my friend, it don't worry me either. It disappoints me, you thinking if you show yourself you can make him love you." Cundo looking at Foley now, said, "I ask her is she being a saint for me. She say, 'Oh, yes, for you always.' But she hangs her naked picture next to the bed where my friend is sleeping."

"It wasn't like that," Foley said. "I never thought of it that way."

"I don't worry about you," Cundo said, "we good friends, Jack. I know you would cut off your dick with a butcher knife before you ever dishonor me, commit the adultery with my wife."

Foley stood rigid. He could feel Mike Nesi close behind breathing on him, the redneck Nazi saying, "You move, I'll put you down."

Foley said, "Cundo-"

"You going to tell me is my own fault," Cundo said. "I make her wait so long by herself, a good-looking guy comes along… Okay, I take some of the blame. But she lie to me, Jack. I see she can't still be a saint when she makes a promise. Man, what am I suppose to do?" Cundo said, "Remember at Glades, Jack, there was a homeboy sold joints for me, machine-rolled, man, perfect, one joint for a pack of king-size cigarettes. Only instead of the cigarettes the homey is getting the dust knocked off his joint. I say to him, 'You getting a blow job, the fuck am I getting?' Here he is smoking my ganj he suppose to be selling. I tell him, 'Homes, you owe me some packs of smokes.' He say yeah, okay, don't worry about it. Oh, I don't have to worry? Thank you."

Cundo let go of Dawn. He turned to the kitchen table next to him and slipped a paring knife from the block of knives at the end of the table. He took hold of Dawn's arm again, the knife in his right hand now.

"Why would I worry about it? I pay one of the dum-dums to see the homey in the yard. 'Hey, how you doing?' Puts his hand on the homey's shoulder like this"-Cundo laying his hand on Dawn's shoulder-"and came around to shank him in the gut like this," Cundo said, coming around with the knife in his right fist and plowed the fist hard into Dawn's belly, Dawn collapsing to her knees hugging herself, her forehead pressed against the tiled floor.

Cundo raised the paring knife, telling Foley, "The homey got what was coming to him. He lives, no problem, but wasn't so smart after this." Cundo tossed the knife in the air, underhand, and turned to Dawn as the knife made a single loop and came down to stick straight up in the kitchen table.

"You see blood on the knife? Of course not. I struck her, yes, as a man has a right to strike his wife she needs to be punished. All right, and I forgive her for what she did. So now we can show the love we have for each other and never speak of this again." He said to Foley, "You wish us a happy life?"

Foley didn't know what he wished him or what to say, Jesus, feeling like a dummy standing there facing the guy. Cundo didn't seem to care if he said anything or not. He had Dawn on her feet, his arm around her, going down the hall now holding her against him and not looking back.

Mike Nesi said, " ' The only thing different between sinners and saints'-you know that one?"

Foley said, "Ole Possum," without having to think.

" 'One is forgiven,' " Nesi said, " 'and the other one ain't.' But it didn't sound to me like she was trying to get you to fuck her. I saw you're already at her-why you couldn't yell nothing at Cundo. What're you suppose to tell him, 'Yeah, shit, I was fuckin' your wife but I didn't mean to?' I never saw this painting that got him worked up. He was already worked up coming here, before he ever saw it. Like he knew you was fuckin' her, not needing any picture. He had in mind what he'd do and was talking tough to me, this little banty fella working himself up to it. I said to him, 'I'm watching Jack Foley, what're you doing?' He goes, 'You find out,' with his spic way of talking. I bet he already knew he was gonna put on a show, get us thinking he stabbed her, we're going 'Oh, no,' but only punched her."

"That was for me," Foley said. "Hits her and waits to see what I'll do about it."

"You went for him, I'd have you on the floor, my foot on your neck. I don't know if I'm through here or not. I think it depends on what you're gonna do. You need a ride I can drop you someplace. You're staying, I think he'll want me around." Nesi said, "You got a basketball? We could shoot some hoops."

"I'm not leaving her here," Foley said.

"So take her with you. She wants to stay-I don't know why but she might-kiss her good-bye when Cundo ain't looking."

This guy was the only skinhead Foley had ever known doing time who came close to having a sense of humor.

"I don't see she's your problem," Nesi said. "Cundo's the one keeping you from fuckin' her, if that's your pleasure. I don't care for the man myself. You heard him refer to the one shanked the homey as a dum-dum? He's talking about a guy in the Brotherhood. You want, I can pop Cundo for you. It'll cost you, but I'll make you a deal."