Road Dogs

  Was he driving you fucking nuts, Foley said, before you told Madam Rosa about him or after?

  The first time he started in on me, like he could read my mind, was at the funeral home. Everyone had left and I was alone in the parlor with him, sitting by the casket.

  Mourning your loss.

  And, you might say, thinking of my own life, the rest of it, what could be the best part of it going to waste, if I don't make something happen.

  For the first time this evening Foley began to wonder how Danialle Karmanos saw him, the ghost expert in his free-falling sport coat and spotless jeans, one of the black shirts not buttoned to excess, and cowboy boots from a flea market, old boots, the toes curling up but they took a shine. Foley believed the way he dressed showed confidence, a nice guy being himself. Hi, I'm Dr. Foley, but you can call me Doc. In his own way a conservative ghost hunter.

  Tell me when you saw Rosa the first time.

  Months later. I mean from the time he died.

  You told her Peter had an unnatural hold on you.

  Rosa saw it right away. She said, 'You can't breathe, can you?'

  No matter how much you miss him, Foley said, you wish he'd stay in the spirit world

  And leave me alone, Danialle said. I refuse to play the grieving widow and wear black the rest of my life. I have de la Rentas in black, but give me a break.

  You want him to know how you feel.

  Even though he'll always be in my heart and I do think of him, I mean a lot. But I refuse to make a career of grieving, like an old Greek woman with worry beads, mourning my way through a boring life.

  But you haven't told him.

  Not yet, but I will.

  What are you waiting for, Foley said, his permission? She didn't answer. He saw she was looking at the rocking chair, no longer rocking. Now it was Danialle asking, How did you do that?

  Chapter EIGHTEEN

  LAST NIGHT ON THE WAY HOME DAWN SAID, THE NEXT time you want me to do the chores, let me know beforehand. I'll remind you I don't do house cleaning, even with a spiritual purpose.

  Foley said, I couldn't see myself smudging the house.

  Dawn had explained how Foley was to open all the windows and go through the Karmanos home with a bundle of dry sage burning in a smudge pot, To rid the house, Dawn said, of stagnant energies. Foley was to recite the words of expulsion, Begone, negative energies and the spirits responsible, swinging the smudge pot like an altar boy dispensing incense. This was the part that gave Foley trouble, reciting the incantation, talking out loud to a ghost.

  It's only been the accepted custom since the Middle Ages, Dawn said, cruising along Sunset Boulevard toward the 405, her tone only somewhat condescending. Dawn's irritation showed in the way she gripped the steering wheel, like you'd have to pry her hands from it. She didn't look at him when either of them spoke, not giving Foley, alone in the dark with her, even a glance.

  He told Dawn about the rocking chair and she said, Yes ?

  Who was doing it?

  Who do you think?

  She said it was Peter letting her know he was there.

  Or, Dawn said, was it the poor little rich widow?

  She asked if I thought she was making it move.

  Have you considered, Dawn said, she was, but didn't know she was doing it? How would you describe her state of mind?

  She's convinced Peter's making her miserable. I told her, let him know how you feel and he'll back off. She thought I was the one made the chair stop rocking.

  What did you tell her?

  I let her believe it.

  Good, Dawn said, you're catching on, still without looking at him.

  I feel sorry for her, Foley said. She's doing this to herself.

  It doesn't matter where the energy comes from, as long as you become her savior.

  I don't know, Foley said.

  Why? No sign yet of your charm working?

  I mean I don't like the idea of faking her out.

  That means you're confident, Dawn said, your charm is working. But you're just a humble bank robber, you don't want to sound conceited, toot your horn.

  What was she doing?

  A few days ago she'd make fun of him, but with a look of love in her eyes, and she was funny in an easy way. Foley and the psychic who'd found each other dreaming up a score. Even if it was making less sense to him now, he was curious, waiting to hear what Dawn had in mind.

  She said, It's eleven-thirty. Raffish Cundo Rey, the midget lover, will now be standing on his tiptoes waiting for me.

  Foley didn't say anything. A few days ago he would've thought it was funny.

  At half past ten the next morning a different Dawn spoke to him on the phone.

  Jack, I'm sorry if I woke you. Cundo would like you to come have breakfast with him. If you've already had it, come anyway, I'll make you an espresso. Dawn sounding breezy, Cundo nearby. She said, Guess what? Danialle Karmanos called. She wanted your address so she can send you a thank-you note. She said for solving her problem. She hasn't heard a word from Peter may he rest in peace and quit fucking around since our visit.

  All I told her, Foley said, was let him know how you feel.

  Well, evidently, she told him off. Wait a minute. Dawn came on again saying, Cundo wants to know if you told Peter to begone. He can't see you talking to a ghost. I said don't worry about Jack, he's sly, comes up with tricky ideas. She said, Listen, I told Danialle you're staying right across the canal, feel free to drop by whenever you want when she gets the wim-wams. She said, 'Oh, really?' I told her you were always home, you're writing a book on identifying signs of ghosts. How to tell when they're watching you take a bath. Dawn said, Jack, we have to stretch this one out a bit, not make exorcising a ghost look so easy. The next time we visit Danialle you'll have to spot Peter hanging around and talk to him. She said, Wait, here's Cundo.

  You coming over?

  I had breakfast two hours ago.

  You don't keep prison time no more? Listen, I told her, I can't see you talking to a fucking ghost, man.

  I don't think I've ever said 'begone' to anybody.

  No, now you say, 'Get the fuck out.' But listen, how does this broad Miz Karmanos look to you?

  She seems nice.

  Tha's what you want, a nice girl? Listen, I won't stick my nose in your business, you know, your private life, whatever you get going on the side

  And I don't stick my nose in yours? Foley said, something you're gonna spring on me? Can I tell you to get fucked if I don't like it.

  Cundo said, What? He said, The fuck are you talking about? You think I won't say to your face anything I want? Tell me what you think I said.

  I got the wrong idea, I'm sorry, Foley said. I'll be over in a few minutes.

  He said it, but couldn't help thinking she was up to something. Dawn. Dawn telling Cundo, Jack's sly. Comes up with tricky ideas, because she was still pissed off from last night.

  He phoned their house. Dawn answered and he said to her, Hold the espresso, I'm going for a walk.

  She said, Antsy, Jack?

  He went out the front and followed the walk toward Dell Avenue, a narrow street that humped in turn over all four canals. He wondered if he might see Tico hanging out. Two figures stood on the bridge that crossed the canal, one leaning on the low concrete wall, his necktie hanging over the side. Foley knew it was Lou Adams before Lou stood up and raised his hand. Foley wasn't sure about the guy with him, wearing a sport shirt with his sunglasses, relaxed, hands in his pockets, but took him to be a cop. He saw no problem with that and he went up the steps to the street. Lou Adams was leaning on the concrete wall again looking this way past his shoulder. Waiting. If you walk over, Foley thought, he'll think you're wondering what he's up to. Well, he was, so he walked over.

  Lou straightened, turning to Foley.

  Jack, this is Ron Deneweth, just recently retired after going on thirty years with the LAPD. Ron helped me sign Tico as my second in command. Works with me other ways t
oo.

  Deneweth said, How you doing? without stepping over to shake Foley's hand. I've been reading about you good stuff, going back to Angola, man, twenty-two months in that stink hole.

  I believe you were driving for your uncle Cully, the one got you started.

  Ron looked that up for me, Lou said, helping me with my book. Now I got notes on you go all the way back to your first communion.

  Foley said, You're writing a book?

  I thought I told you. I know I told Tico. I have your early life, your prison life, and what you're up to now.

  Deneweth was grinning at him. Lou says he's waiting for you to go down one last time.

  That's right, Lou said, as the most notorious bank robber in the history of our country, put away for good.

  Foley said, You're writing a book about bank robbers?

  I mention some others, but it's about you.

  The book's finished?

  I'm over five hundred pages into it.

  Deneweth said, I told him he ought to number his pages. You know, in case the wind blows 'em all over the floor.

  Lou said, I'll have a girl do that when I'm done, and type me a clean copy. I got a lot of notes written along the margins.

  Deneweth said, And get her to double-space it.

  You say this book, Foley said, is about me?

  You've robbed more banks than anybody else, haven't you? By the time I finish you'll be the most famous bank robber in history. I compare you to John Dillinger and Willie Sutton

  Willie Sutton you're kidding.

  Today he's more famous'n you, but when I'm done don't worry about it. I ask my agent and he said yeah, put Willie in it.

  You have an agent?

  Jack, you don't have an agent you're fucked. How do you think all these writers who don't know shit about dirty guys doing crimes get their stuff sold? My agent once had movie studios bidding on a book not one of 'em had read. The publishing business isn't about writing, Jack, it's about selling books.

  But the book's about me, my career?

  Most of it's about your life of crime, with a big finish I'm looking forward to.

  But you don't know anything about my life.

  What're you talking about, I got your sheets.

  They don't tell you anything personal, how I wanted to have a charter fishing boat someday, but went to work for my uncle instead, driving for him. You know Cully did twenty-seven years and died in Charity Hospital? I can tell you what it's like to get caught finally. Here I was leading a life of, well, crime and thought I could get away with it, Foley said, shaking his head. Lou, when you're young, you never think of making a mistake.

  You learned your lesson.

  Going down for thirty years opened my eyes.

  But a little late, huh? I'd like to put that statement in the book, I think near the end. Have it come right after I tell how I busted your ass back to federal prison, I imagine for life.

  Foley said, Lou, the day you die of being a failure, I'll do one last bank in your memory. I'll say to the teller, 'Sweetheart, this one's for that dumb but dedicated Special Agent Lou Adams.'

  Lou said, Jack, if it isn't a bank He said, Let me think a minute. You're the houseguest of the Cuban jailbird who's back of any number of homicides, the kind of heavy-duty ex-con he is. He looked at Ron Deneweth and said, Tell Jack what you did last night.

  I followed you and the fortune-teller up to Beverly Hills, Ron Deneweth said, to the home of a Mrs. Karmanos. Her husband died this past winter leaving her a pile of money. Lives up there off Benedict Canyon in a house used to be owned by Lou, what's the movie star's name?

  Ingrid Bergman, Lou Adams said. Ron thinks you're trying bunco now, out to swindle the poor woman in some kind of deal. She puts up the money and you disappear on her. I said well, maybe. But if I know Jack Foley he's gonna hit a bank. He can't help it.

  The phone rang in the water closet part of the bathroom, the toilet, with the quickest flush in Foley's experience, and a bidet, the two fixtures in there side by side. Foley, out of the shower drying himself, reached in and picked the phone off the wall.

  She didn't say hi, this is Danialle Karmanos, she said, You're home. I tried you a little earlier

  Foley said he was out taking a brisk walk for an hour, covered about five miles. Danialle said that's what she did, but liked to run. Foley said, Jog? No, she'd run it, sometimes six, seven miles. I could tell you're in good shape, Foley said, and you watch your diet.

  Oh? You can tell by looking at me?

  Now she sounded like she was coming on to him.

  Foley said, Miss Navarro told me.

  She told me, Danialle said, I could drop in and see you. She said anytime, but I don't want to interrupt your writing.

  His writing. He and Lou Adams both at it and wondered for the first time if Lou was actually writing a book, and had an agent. He said to Danialle, I've been practicing more than I've been writing lately, as you know. How're you doing?

  That's what I'd like to talk to you about. Can I stop by, if you're free?

  Anytime you want.

  I'm in the car. I'll see you in a few minutes.

  They were on the sofa now among the throw pillows, a bottle of red on the glass-top table, Danialle sipping hers, saying, Mmmmm, Foley feeling good, hair combed still damp, Foley smelling of Caswell-Massey No. 6, but not too much, Foley knowing when he felt good he looked good, but was not in a hurry. He'd let Danialle, widowed eight months, show the way.

  She started in: I asked an artist I know, Richard Guindon, if he thought I should wait a year before I start seeing anyone. Richard said, 'What are you, Sicilian?' I said no, but I'd be that kind of Old World widow if I didn't get Peter, God love him, off my back. She raised her glass. And you made him disappear. It was amazing, and I didn't even see how you did it.

  He said, I thought you were paying attention, and stopped. Foley threw out what he was going to say about his approach to the paranormal, communicating with spirits, and said, You put his ghost out of your mind and that did it.

  She said, I did it? sounding doubtful maybe but not worried or especially concerned.

  Foley took a chance, still looking right at her, and said, I think you're tired of pretending there's a hex on you, put there by a ghost.

  It took her only a moment. She smiled saying, You caught me, and said, No, I liked the idea of the hex. It was Madam Rosa I got tired of almost immediately, setting me up to give to her church. For ten thousand she'd get the gypsies praying for me and the hex would be lifted. I sent Rosa on her way and hung on to the hex and Peter's ghost. I'd think of his grandmother and become a scared little girl when I had to play that part. She said, Are you mad at me, Jack?

  See how easy it was? Foley smiled, he liked her.

  Dawn said you wanted to give my house a spiritual cleansing. I told her the house is clean, Peter's given up pestering me. She said she'd speak to you about it. Danialle raised her glass and said, Would you like to clean my house, Jack? looking at him over the rim.

  Any time you say, Foley said, but I don't do windows, and saw her taken by surprise.

  You're not as serious about it as Dawn, are you?

  She's real, she's psychic.

  And sort of spooky, Danialle said, talking about the reality of the unseen world. It exists on a higher vibrational frequency than ours. The temperature's a constant seventy-eight degrees, and there aren't any insects, but there are animals, pets. Everything in this world, you and I, are all made up of vibrations. Did you know that?

  I wasn't sure, Foley said.

  You believe in heaven?

  As my reward, Foley said, for changing my life in time.

  You'll have to handle this with Dawn, tell her I'm a fake, but I'll pay for her time. She said, Unless you want to keep it going. It's okay with me. But I will pay you, now, for dealing with Peter, you were great. She said, You're not into the paranormal at all?

  Foley said no and watched her turn a hip to bring a chec
kbook out of her slacks. He said, That was on the house. I hope Peter wasn't watching. Now she was leaning over the table writing a check. I mean it, Foley said. My first time running ghosts there's no charge. She didn't smile or maybe wasn't listening. He watched her sign the check and turn it facedown on the glass top.

  She said, If you aren't into the occult, what are you into?

  He watched her face.

  I'm a bank robber.

  Her lips parted.

  You aren't.

  Sitting up straight now in the pillows.

  I don't believe you.

  Yes, you do.

  They stared at each other, a few feet between them.

  I've robbed more banks

  Yes

  Than anybody in America.

  More than Willie Sutton?

  Willie Sutton, Jesus Christ

  She said, I believe you.

  Sounding awed.

  How many have you robbed?

  A hundred and twenty-seven. The chances are I won't do another one, but you never know.

  Amazing.

  Can I ask you one? Foley said. How did you get the rocking chair to rock?

  I didn't get it to rock, you did didn't you?

  They had a second glass of the Australian red, Danialle wondering if they should ask Dawn about the rocking chair; Foley wondering if they should switch to Jack Daniel's, speed things up while that warm feeling came over them. But thought, No, you better wait.

  He said, Dawn thinks you make the chair rock without knowing you're doing it.

  How could I?

  I have no idea.

  But I was making the whole thing up. Peter never once yelled at me.

  You sounded sure he was rocking the rocker.

  Because I couldn't explain it.

  Maybe he was.

  You think it's possible?

  There's no way of telling, Foley said, so I'm not gonna worry about it.

  I think you're right. Peter used to say, 'Don't worry about anything you can't do something about.' She said, Why don't you call me Danny, since we're conspiring together, and might want to play this out? She looked at her watch. I have to go, I'm meeting with our lawyers again, and again.