Elmore Leonard - Out of Sight

Karen sipped her drink.

Her dad said, "Aren't you?"

Sunday, it was halftime at the Super Bowl by the time Karen got home.

She saw her dad trying to act like it didn't bother him.

"I'm sorry I'm late. What's the score?"

Her dad, with his beer and a bowl of peanuts, said, "Thirteen to seven, Dallas. It's still a game, but not as close as it looks. The Cowboys had to lack a couple of field goals when they should've gone in."

"So they can't be acting too arrogant."

"Give 'em time."

Karen said, "I went to see Burdon."

Her dad turned his head to look at her now.

"He wasn't watching the game?"

"He wanted to, but had to get rid of me first." Karen started out of the room and stopped.

"Thirteen to seven, that's a total of only twenty so far. What's your bet, sixty?"

"Sixty-one, based on a final score of forty-four to seventeen, the Cowboys in control all the way."

"So they'll have to score thirty-one points for you in the second half."

"I'm not worried," her dad said.

"Last year, the 49ers and the San Diego Chargers scored a total of seventy-five points.

The year before, Dallas over Buffalo, they scored a total of sixty-nine. Where you going?"

"Get a beer. I'll be right back."

It gave her dad time to think about their bet. The sports book money line had the Dallas Cowboys favored over the Pittsburgh Steelers by 13V2. They both wanted the Steelers to win, so they were betting on the total number of points scored, whoever came closer, Karen with 45-she had to be dreaming-her dad 61.

If Karen won, she could pick out a pair of shoes at Joan & David. If her dad won, she had to come here for a week and cook dinner, all his favorites-pot roast, Swiss steak, chicken paprikash. Her dad told everybody he knew Karen cooked like a grandmother.

She came back with a long-neck Bud.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing, it's still the half. The experts are telling, us what we just saw." He waited for Karen to sit down on the sofa and then offered the peanuts.

"So you broke down and told Burdon they're in Detroit."

"Yeah, and he said, "You mean it's possible Buddy is." He's sure they've split up. Burdon's theory, Buddy knows Detroit, he used to live there, so he could've gone back to hide out. But look at Foley's record, the banks he's robbed by his own admission are all in the South, the Southwest and California."

"Burdon," her dad said, "is trying to watch the game while you're talking?"

"Standing at the door, he wouldn't let me in the house. We could hear the game… I asked if he'd send me to Detroit.

Absolutely not. Out of the question. For what? He's already put out an all-points, the Detroit office knows who to look for. I said all I want to do is give them a hand. I know the guys we're looking for better than anyone on the investigation. You could pass them on the street and not know them, but I would.

All you have to do is tell your office I'm coming."

"Meanwhile," her dad said, "dying to get back to the game"

"Right, he said okay to get rid of me. I leave in the morning, probably stay at the Westin."

Her dad was frowning a little, shaking his head.

"You report to the FBI office up there, you know how they'll treat you.

A girl walks in-she's gonna tell them how to find a couple of fugitives?"

"If I walk in," Karen said.

"I've been there, remember?

Twice I had to pick up prisoners."

"So they know you."

"Not the Bureau guys," Karen said, "the Detroit cops. I have a friend now in Major Crimes, an inspector, I know will help me out."

"Married?"

"They're all married."

They watched most of the Super Bowl at Galligan's, a bar on Jefferson that was a block from the Omni, where they were staying.

Foley had turned the game on in his room, Buddy brought a bottle of Jim Beam and they watched the first quarter from the chair and the bed until Foley said they should go to a bar, see the game with a crowd of people making some noise. So they walked to Galligan's, Foley hunching his shoulders in his new overcoat, and joined four other guys from out of town, stuck here over the weekend, and a woman who said she lived in Greektown but didn't look at all Greek. Blond, somewhere in her fifties. She said her name but Foley forgot it right away and she left at the half saying she had an appointment.

The only reason Foley and Buddy liked the Steelers was that they didn't like the show boating Cowboys, though they had little to strut about today. It wasn't much of a game. Final score, 27–17, Dallas.

Foley left the table to talk to the bartender.

Buddy ordered a couple more Jim Beams with a splash, for the road.

Foley came back and sat down.

"They have fights at Cobo Hall sometimes, the Palace, he says where the Pistons play, and the State Theater on Woodward Avenue. He says you can walk from here. He's never heard of Maurice Snoopy Miller. I asked him how come they don't have fights at Joe Louis Arena. He said they do, it's where the Wings play hockey. Then he said yeah, they've had title fights at the Joe, but no regular program. That's what they call it, the Joe."

"You know Louis is from here," Buddy said, "the old Brown Bomber. They have like a statue-it's just his right arm and the fist-out there on Jefferson."

"The Brown Bomber," Foley said, "it sounds racist. You have to be careful these days, you can sound like a racist without even trying.

Anyway, the guy said if Snoopy Miller's in the fight game we might find him at the Kronk gym, it's where Thomas Hearns trained. I saw the Hit Man get the decision over Benitez in New Orleans, I happened to be home. I asked him where the Kronk gym was, he said he didn't know.

Somewhere on the west side."

"I was an east sider Buddy said, turning to the window.

"Look out there. You ever see so much glass in your life? All those buildings over there, like giant tubes of glass. The tallest one's the hotel, the Westin. There's a restaurant and cocktail lounge on top, something like seventy floors up, turns around real slow-you don't even feel it. You're looking out at the Motor City, have another drink, you're looking across the river at Canada. You want, we could go up there, get a good look at the city."

"From what I've seen," Foley said, "it looks deserted, like everybody left town."

"It's Sunday, Jack, everybody's home watching the game.

You want to go over to the Westin, see what's there? Maybe go up to the top?"

"If we didn't have to go outside."

"It's not that cold. You know what you do? Relax your body.

Don't hunch up, swing your arms, keep your blood moving and it doesn't seem as cold."

"Who told you that?"

"I think it was my sister. She knows things like that."

"Living in sunny California. That's where we oughta be, 'stead of here at the fucking North Pole."

"Wait a minute," Buddy said, "we don't have to go outside.

That glass thing that goes across Jefferson, it's like a bridge you walk across from our hotel to the RenCen."

"What's the RenCen?"

"The Renaissance Center, those glass tubes over there. Tell me what you want to do."

"I don't know," Foley said.

"What do you do in Detroit on a Sunday when you can't think of anything and the banks are closed?"

Foley sipped his drink.

"I know where I want to go tomorrow."

"Yeah, where?"

"The Kronk gym."

The first thing Maurice said to Glenn was, "Uh-unh, you don't call me Snoopy. I don't answer to that Snoopy shit no more." Later on in the car he said, "I let White Boy call me Maury sometime if I'm in the mood. White Boy Bob's my all-around man, my bodyguard when I feel I need one, and my driver."

Right now he was driving the '94 Lincoln Town Car Glenn had brought from Florida and Maurice had fixed up with a Michigan license plate and what he said were clean papers, Glenn not sure now if it was his car or belonged to this dude wearing a lavender do-rag bandanna, this ex-con who used to be known as Snoopy.