Elmore Leonard - Out of Sight

Inside at a table they signed their names, the time, and wrote «boxing» in the last column. Glenn could hear kids' voices, basketballs beating on a wood floor, in there where auditorium doors were closed, as they walked past to a stairway, went down to the basement and along a hallway that brought them to KRONK BOXING, lettered on a door painted yellow across the top and the rest of it a bright red, with more words on it that said THIS DOOR HAS LED MANY TO PAIN & FAME.

"More the one than the other," Maurice said, waiting for White Boy to edge past them and open the door. Going in, Maurice said to Glenn,

"You feel the heat, uh? Hits you smack in the face." Maurice slipping off his pea jacket now, getting down to his black silk shirt and pleated trousers a shade of taupe.

"Even how much they sweat in here, it don't smell bad, does it? Go sit over there on those benches. I be with you in a few minutes."

Some were like park benches, along the near wall facing the ring, a big one flat on the floor, its size taking up most of the gym. Four young guys, three black and one who looked to Glenn like an Arab, were in there shadowboxing, weaving, ducking, throwing jabs with their taped hands. Glenn had noticed a body bag over where they came in, pictures of fighters all over the walls, a sign above the ring on the other side that said TURN UP THE HEAT. Another one, THE BIGGER THE REWARD THE BIGGER THE SACRIFICE. Glenn stared at it a few moments thinking it should be turned around, lead with The bigger the sacrifice… In the space to the left of the ring were workout machines, a speed bag, a training table, athletic bags in jazzy colors on the floor.

There were old black guys over there in yellow T-shirts with KRONK in red, the trainers, talking to kids working out, watching the ones shuffling around in the ring. Maurice and White Boy were over there now, Maurice approaching the trainers one at a time, faking jabs, rolling his bony shoulders, jiving with them, but not getting any kind of cordial response, no smiles; a trainer would shake his head and Maurice would move on to the next one. White Boy was on a workout machine now, shirts off, popping his muscles.

Glenn brought a cigarette out of his shirt, looking at another one of the signs. NO PAIN NO GAIN. No shit. He reached in for his lighter, the cigarette in his mouth, as one of the trainers, a big heavyset guy, came along from the other side of the gym where the door was-shaking his head at him and pointing to a NO SMOKING sign. Glenn held his raincoat open to slip the cigar rette back into the pack, chin on his chest to see what he was doing.

When he raised his head again he was looking at two white guys in overcoats coming this way, the two guys looking right back at him.

Christ. Jack Foley and Buddy.

Buddy the one saying, "Hey, Studs, how you doing?" as they walked up, Foley with kind of a mild expression, neither one acting like a hard-on, except they sat down on either side of him, close. It gave Glenn only a few moments to deal with his nerves.

He said, "Jesus Christ, what're you guys doing here?" and it didn't sound too bad. Surprised, but not overdoing it, almost like he was glad to see them.

Foley said, "Weren't you expecting us?"

Getting to it right away. Glenn said, "Listen, I'll tell you what happened." It was awkward the way they were sitting, the three of them facing the ring, only two guys in there now. He said to Foley, on his right, "That broad you picked up-did you know she was a U.S. marshal, for Christ sake?" He turned to Buddy as Buddy stood up, took off his overcoat and sat down again.

"She knew me, from that bullshit dope bust. She drove me to court.

Twice. You know what she said, we're in the car on the turnpike?

"I never forget anybody I've cuffed and shackled." Foley said, "Yeah?

She said that to you?"

Glenn turned to see Foley, still with a mild expression, almost smiling. Glenn said, "She asked me if I had a gun," and saw a little more of the smile, not much, just a hint, but like Foley thought it was funny.

"She told me to drive, leave you there, or I was going down for the rest of my life."

Foley said, "Then what happened?"

"I drove. What would you do?"

Foley didn't answer, his face close, deadpan now. Glenn turned his head and was looking at the two guys in the ring sparring, dancing around each other, ducking, throwing jabs, smacking each other's gloves.

"What happened after that?"

"She wanted me to get off the turnpike so she could take me in. No thank you, I had it on the floor. The next thing I know she wigged on me, grabbed the wheel and we spun out and piled up."

"What'd you do then?"

"Got out of the car and ran."

"She try to stop you?"

"She was out cold."

"How do you know she wasn't dead?"

"She was breathing."

"But she could've been hurt."

"What was I supposed to do, get help? She wakes up, she's gonna fucking put me away. I got out of there, man, I ran. I picked up a ride, drove to Orlando and hung around Disney World, in crowds, man, I hid in crowds of people till I figured out what to do."

Foley said, "You hid out with Mickey Mouse, huh?"

"Yeah, Mickey and Minnie, that whole crowd. I thought about it and decided I could kill two birds, hide out up here and do the job I told you about at Lompoc. You know the one I mean?"

Foley nodded.

"So I called Maurice."

"Who's Maurice?"

"Snoopy," Buddy said, leaning over now to get his suitcoat off.

"Snoopy Miller."

Glenn-it was weird-felt a sense of relief come over him hearing the name Snoopy. For some reason he thought of Snoopy the dog, saw him in his mind the way Snoopy appeared in the comic strip, before thinking of the other Snoopy who wasn't Snoopy anymore-the one over there with the trainers; no, talking to White Boy now and they were coming this way, White Boy carrying his shirts. Glenn had to wonder why only a few moments ago he'd felt cornered.

Leaning against Foley he said, "Here comes Snoopy now.

You recognize him?"

Foley wasn't sure. He had seen him fight only a couple of times at Lompoc, about the same time they began calling him Snoopy instead of Mad Dog and he quit the ring; and had seen him once in a while with Glenn, in the yard. Glenn got up and Foley looked over at Buddy.

"The guy in the do-rag."

"Yeah?"

"That's Snoopy."

"Little squirt," Buddy said.

"What's he do now, tell fortunes?"

He was walking up to Glenn when Foley said, "Hey, Snoopy, how you doing?" and he stopped and looked over.

Standing at the edge of the ring apron, he looked from Foley to Buddy and back again, pretty serious about it. He said to Foley, "I'm suppose to know you?"

"Lompoc," Foley said, and waited for Glenn to say something, it was his party. But he didn't.

"Yeah, Lompoc," Maurice said, like he was remembering it now, picturing some part of it.

Now the big guy with him moved in closer saying, "We have a problem here?"

It took Foley back to the yard, guys sizing each other up, making judgments that could mean somebody's life. Foley didn't look at the big white guy, but kept staring at the Snoop he remembered as all show, had the moves, the weaves, the head fakes when he wasn't even near his opponent, doing that little jive skip and touching a glove to his head.

He stared at the Snoop till he saw the man's face begin to relax and now he was smiling.

"Jack Foley. Am I right?"

Foley nodded.

"And Buddy. Yeah, I can see you two now in the yard, sure.

Jack Foley, famous bank robber. It seem to me I been reading about you in the newspaper. Busted out of some joint in Florida, huh?"

"Low class of people there, Snoop. I got out with a little help from my friends." He saw Glenn about to speak.