Road Dogs

TWENTY-FIVE

LAST NIGHT FOLEY WALKED UP TO THE KID ON THE DELL Avenue bridge, a black kid about fourteen, and asked him, "You know who I am?"

He wore a baseball cap set two inches crooked to shade one eye, a white T-shirt and black jeans slung low, belted around his skinny butt. The T-shirt hung out to cover what Foley believed was a piece stuck in his waist, the boy wanting him to notice it.

He said, "Hey, you the bank robber?"

"That's right, the guy you're supposed to be watching. You know I could go out the back, you'd never see me."

"They somebody be there," the kid said. "How many banks you rob?"

"Couple hundred. What do they call you?" The kid said, "T.B."

"I knew a T.G. in the joint, grown up but still called Tiny Gangsta. But T.B. What's that, Tiny Babe, Tiny Boy?" Foley said, "No, I bet it's Tiny Banger. Still a kid but made it as a gangbanger. You shoot somebody?" The kid was nodding and Foley said, "You're almost grown, you don't mind being called Tiny? Or there's nothing you can do about it."

"Was O.G. gimme the name."

"Old Gangsta. There was an O.G. the fall I took up at Lom-poc. That Old Gangsta was twenty-five. He and I shot baskets and pushed each other around. He was pretty good. Tell me how come you're packing."

"So no cholo try and jack me. He step up in my face I smoke him."

"Has Lou Adams been around?" "Don't know a person that name."

"He'll take the piece away from you," Foley said. "Son, you're working for the FBI and don't know it. Who's your shot caller, Tico? Where's he?"

"How do I know. Wha' chew mean I'm working for the fucking FBI?"

"It's how it is," Foley said. "Lemme have your piece." "For what?"

"Keep you out of juvie hall," Foley said. "So you can grow up to be a famous bank robber."

"You teach me?" the kid said, bringing out his cell and then a Glock he handed to Foley.

In the morning Foley had his breakfast and at ten went over to the big house-the way he thought of it-to have a cup of coffee with Cundo. If he called it the White House he'd see President Obama cleaning up Bush's mess. He didn't see Cundo all day yesterday and missed talking to the little Cuban. It surprised him, a feeling he'd never had before.

Dawn told him Cundo was still sleeping off a killer hangover. Foley said that was something new. Cundo claimed he'd never had a hangover in his life.

"He's been lying to you," Dawn said. "He has a cold beer and then opens his eyes. But this is heavy, diarrhea and he keeps throwing up. It might be the dinner last night."

Foley said he'd stop by later.

Dawn said, "I'm still thinking of a party, a big blowout on the roof. My darling said it was okay with him if he didn't have to do anything. I told him I'd get Tico to hang the balloons and string the party lights."

Foley looked at his watch. He said, "I still have the keys to the VW. Mind if I use it?"

She told him no, go ahead. "See if it needs gas."

Foley said, "I'm not going far."

She watched him go out, thinking of the Walther in the drawer again, but now was not the time, there were neighbors outside, a guy washing the windows of the cool, all-glass house next door. Meanwhile the little Cuban had to be taken out to sea and deep-sixed. Tico's job. Have him stop at the lumberyard and pick up a few cement blocks, and make sure he had rope. What else? She had to see Little Jimmy today. Have him sign the houses over to her and she'd put them up for sale. Take care of Foley. Get him to disappear. It would be so simple if he wasn't hanging around watching. She didn't think he was suspicious. He comes back later she'd tell him Cundo's still throwing up, the poor little guy. She gave him Kaopectate but it didn't seem to be helping. It was that fucking Cuban dinner. But how long could she keep Foley from seeing the man who wasn't there? It sounded like a movie.

It came to her in the next few moments, a way to remove Foley from the picture without shooting him, without endangering herself, and it was brilliant.

Get him up on the roof, with Tico.

She phoned him at his aunt's.

Tico said, "I call the guy has a boat at Marina del Rey. He say I can use it, yeah, for five hundred dollar." "Hon, that's cheap."

"I think he believes I want to throw something overboard."

"Don't worry, I'll give you the money. You think this guy would do the whole job, dispose of Cundo?"

"Cost about five thousand, then you got the marina guy to worry about."

"You mind taking care of it, hon? You could do it tonight. Roll him up in that horrid orange and brown rug in the guest bedroom, tie on a few cement blocks-all there is to it."

"I never dropped a guy in the ocean before."

"Be sure to bring a fishing pole and bait. Come back with tomorrow's dinner while you're at it. If you know how to clean fish." Dawn said, "Hon, one other thing you might do. I told Foley we're getting ready to have a party up on the roof."

"You serious?"

"For Cundo, to welcome him home." "Yeah…?"

"Foley, I know, will come back this afternoon to see Cundo. You're here, you tell him I've taken Cundo to see a doctor. And you have to go up and measure the roof so I'll know how many balloons to buy, party decorations."

"You want me," Tico said, "to get him up on the roof."

"And push him off."

"Push him off the roof," Tico said, "in the daylight and somebody sees me?"

"Both houses," Dawn said, "are higher than any others on the canal. Trust me, you won't be seen. And, Tico?"

"Yes?"

"Push him off the back end, so he lands in that brick patio. The bamboo trees give it privacy."

"Then what do I do?" Tico said, "take Foley out in the boat with Cundo?"

"You might as well," Dawn said. "Save you making an extra trip."