Elmore Leonard - Out of Sight

"The next thing I knew, the paramedics were taking me out of the car."

"And nobody else saw him," Burdon said, "that we know of."

Milt stepped in again.

"That's all. Leave her alone now."

Burdon raised his hand to the marshal without looking at him.

"There a couple of points I keep wondering about have to do with the two guys that grabbed you. Buddy is it? And this fella Jack Foley. I looked him up, I swear the man must've robbed two hundred banks in his time."

Karen said, "Really?" Impressed, but sounding tired.

I asked him how many, he said he wasn't sure. He's been doing it since he was eighteen."

"You talked to him, uh?"

"In the trunk, yeah."

"What'd you talk about?"

"Oh… different things, prison, movies."

"This fella has you hostage, you talk about movies?"

"It was an unusual experience," Karen said, looking right at Burdon, the dude Bureau man in his neat gray suit, pale blue shirt and necktie.

"But I wasn't a hostage."

"What were you then?"

"I was his treat after five months of servitude."

Burdon frowned.

"He assaulted you, sexually?"

"I wasn't that kind of a treat," Karen said.

Now Burdon was studying her lying there in her hospital gown, sheet up to her chest, something dripping from the IV into her arm. Maybe he didn't know where to go with it now, and Karen felt no desire to help him.

"Wanted to be close to a woman, so he crawled in the trunk with you."

"I don't know," Karen said, looking up at Burdon, standing ten feet tall by the bed.

He said, "Foley made me think of that fella Carl Tillman, the one you were seeing, it turns out the same time he was doing banks. You recall that? I said at the time it was a highly unusual situation, find out a U.S. marshal's fucking a bank robber." He smiled, just a little.

"See, then you let this guy Foley get away, I couldn't help but wonder, you know?"

"What?"

"If bank robbers turn you on."

"You're serious."

"Maybe. I'm not sure I am or not."

"When I was seeing Carl Tillman, I didn't know he robbed banks."

"Yeah, but I had enough reason to believe he did, and I told you. So you had to at least suspect him."

Karen said, "And what happened to Carl?"

Burdon smiled again.

"The time came, you shot him. But you didn't shoot Foley or the guy with him. They're unarmed, you had a shotgun and you let them throw you in the trunk.

Okay, now you got your Sig in your hand. You say in the report you couldn't turn around, he had you pinned down. But when the trunk opened, how come you didn't cap the two guys then?"

Karen said, "Is that what you would've done?"

"You say in the report Glenn didn't have a gun, but you let him get away."

Karen said, "Daniel, you're not carrying, are you?"

He hesitated.

"How do you know that?"

"What do you work on most of the time, fraud? You go after crooked bookkeepers?"

"Karen, I've been with the Bureau fifteen years, on all lands of investigations."

"Have you ever shot a man? How many times have you been primary through the door?"

"I have to qualify, is that it?"

"You have to know what you're talking about."

She watched him shrug and start to turn away, smoothing the front of his gray double-breasted suit. He paused and said, "We'll talk another time, Karen. All right? I'd like to know why Foley put you in that second car when he didn't need you anymore."

"You'll have to ask him," Karen said.

"Sounds to me he liked having you around. I'll see you, Karen." Burdon turned and walked out.

A few moments later her dad came in as Milt Dancey was saying, "The white man's Burdon. That's what we call him in Miami."

Her dad said, "That's what everybody calls him in Miami, Miami Beach, the Metro-Dade guys. He's got a knack for pissing people off."

"Yeah, but he's got style," Karen said.

"You notice that suit he had on?"

"That combination," her dad said, "it reminded me of the way Fred Astaire used to dress, the shirt and tie the same shade. There was a guy with style, Fred Astaire." He said, "How you feeling? You hungry, you want something to eat?

How about a beer? I can go out and get some."

"Tomorrow," Karen said.

"I'm not supposed to do anything for at least a week. I was wondering, how about if I stay with you a few days? We'd finally have time to talk."

"About what?" Her dad cocked his head looking at her.

"These guys you let get away? You want to use me, don't you?

Get me to work for nothing."

"You're my dad."

"So?"

Foley held in his hand a credit application brochure that said on the cover in bold letters:

LOOKING FOR MONEY? YOU'VE COME TO THE RIGHT PLACE.

There were headings inside the piece that mentioned auto loans, home loans, lifestyle loans, but nothing about getting out-of-town loans.

Foley folded the brochure and put it in his pocket. Now he continued to study the bank layout, standing at the glass top counter in the middle of the floor, where the forms were kept. There were tellers at three of the five windows, cameras mounted high on the wall behind them, no security guard in sight, a customer leaving and one coming in, a guy in a suit with an attache case. Foley watched him move through the gate into the fenced-off business area at the front of the bank, where one of the executives rose from his desk, shook the guy's hand and they both sat down. As the guy began opening his case, Foley, wearing a brand-new Marlins baseball cap and sunglasses, crossed to the teller window where a nameplate on the counter said this young woman with a pile of dark hair smiling at him was Loretta.

She said, "How can I help you, sir?"

Foley said, "Loretta, you see that guy talking to your manager, has his case open?"

She said, "That's Mr. Guindon, one of our assistant managers.

Our manager is Mr. Schoen, but he's not in today."

"But you see the guy," Foley said, "with the attache case?", Loretta looked over.

"Yes?"

"That's my partner. He has a gun in there. And if you don't do exactly what I tell you, or you give me any kind of a problem, I'll look over at my partner and he'll shoot your Mr. Guindon between the eyes. Now take one of those big envelopes and put as many hundreds, fifties and twenties as you can pack into it.

Nothing with bank straps or rubber bands, I don't want any dye packs, I don't want any bait money. Start with the second drawer and then the one over there, under the computer. Come on, Loretta, let's go. Don't be nervous, the key's right there next to you. No bills off the bottom of the drawer. That's the way, you're doing fine. The twenties go in if there's room. Smile, so you won't look like you're being held up.

Here, give me the twenties, I'll put 'em in my pocket. Okay, I haven't had to give my partner a sign; that's good. Now, he's gonna wait thirty seconds till after I'm out the door, make sure you haven't slipped me a dye pack or set off the alarm. If you have, he's gonna shoot Mr. Guindon between the eyes. Okay? I think that'll do it.

Thank you, Loretta, and have a nice day."

Foley walked out the front entrance with his head lowered and his knees bent. Some banks put a mark on the doorway at six feet, so the teller, watching the guy go out, can estimate his height.

Buddy was waiting for him across Collins Avenue in a black Honda. Foley got in and as they drove off Buddy said, "You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din. Bust out one day and back to work the next."

"Lompoc," Foley said, "you picked me up and we did the bank in Pomona the same day." He was quiet then, looking out the window at pink hotels, white ones, yellow ones, all past their prime but still doing business. He said, "I always feel a letdown after."