Elmore Leonard - Out of Sight

Or go over to the Westin and call her room. She's not there, watch for her to come in the lobby. She had to come back sometime from whatever she was doing here. Unless she was through and she'd already left.

"But let's say you have the transmission on the hoist and the engine has moved past and it's already out of reach. You had to pick the transmission up in your two hands-honest to God, you pick up this fucker weighing close to two hundred pounds-hump it over to the engine and run it on to the shaft."

Foley saw her crossing the lobby, coming toward him. She looks up. She sees him and stops and they stare at each other and it would be up to her if there was such a thing in this kind of situation as taking time to talk, taking a time-out, and he thought of making the sign for it, one hand flat on top of the raised fingers of the other hand, whether it made sense or not, letting it happen.

"While I was working there the one-millionth car rolled off the line, a Chrysler Newport, buy one for forty-one hundred. It sounds like a deal, but that was a lot of dough then."

Foley listened to the wipers whacking back and forth.

"Man, it's coming down," Buddy said.

"You can barely see the RenCen, just the lower part."

"There stores in there, shops?"

"Yeah, different ones."

"I think I'll go over and look around, maybe get a pair of shoes for this weather, some high-tops."

"It's easy to get lost in there. You have to watch or you're walking around in circles without knowing it."

"The hotel's right in the middle, huh?"

"Yeah, the tallest one there. The cocktail lounge I told you about's on top. Revolves around. You can eat up there. Or there're fast-food joints all around inside. You hungry?"

"I may just get a drink."

"I got to call Regina," Buddy said.

"She's not praying for the Poor Souls since you don't hear that much about Purgatory anymore. She's still saying rosary novenas I don't fuck up.

Twenty-seven days petition, what you're saying the beads for, and twenty-seven days thanksgiving, whether you got what you're praying for or not. I call, it means I haven't been arrested. I called her one time on the twenty-seventh day, she goes, "See?" Regina's way of thinking, if I haven't been busted I must not've done any banks. In other words her prayers have been answered and I'm not going to hell.

So, as long as she knows I'm out it gives her something to do. Hey, but who knows? Maybe what she's doing is saving my ass, or I should say my soul. Even though I'm not sure if there's a hell anymore or not. You think there is?"

"Just the one out in Palm Beach County that I know of," Foley said.

"I doubt anybody's saying novenas for me, but I'm sure as hell not going back there."

"You can't be that sure," Buddy said.

"Yeah, well, that's the one thing I've made up my mind about."

"They put a gun on you you'll go back."

"They put a gun on you," Foley said, "you still have a choice, don't you?"

Three in the afternoon, a snowstorm blowing outside, the restaurant on top the hotel was nearly empty, only one waitress, it looked like, on duty. Karen was ready to bet anything the waitress would seat her at a table near the three men in business suits having lunch, and she did: the young executive-looking guys talking away, laughing at something one of them said until Karen walked past, and then silence. Karen glanced over as she sat down next to the outside window wall of glass; for a moment she thought of asking for another table, not so close. But they were finishing with coffee and cognac, or something like it, and she was only going to have one drink.

"Jack Daniel's, please, water on the side." She turned to see her reflection in the glass against an overcast sky, snow swirling, blowing in gusts, seven hundred feet above the city, down there somewhere. She heard one of them say, "Why not," and then to the waitress, "Celeste, do us again, please, and put the young lady's drink on our bill."

Karen remembered her dad reading a book, years ago, called Celeste, the Gold Coast Virgin. She turned to see them raising snifter glasses to her, smiling, pleasant-looking guys thirty-five to forty in dark business suits, two white shirts, the third one blue, as deep blue as his suit. She said, "Thanks anyway," and shook her head.

The waitress drifted back to Karen's table.

"They want to buy you a drink."

"I got that. Tell them I'd rather pay for my own."

"They're okay," the waitress said, getting girl-to-girl on her,

"they're celebrating a business deal."

"I'm not," Karen said.

"But listen, make it a double while you're at it, Celeste. Water on the side."

She watched the three guys looking up at the waitress delivering the message. Now they were looking this way.

Karen gave them a shrug and turned to watch the snow, thinking it was like the snow in a globe you shake and it swirls around, except that here you're in the globe looking out. Ten minutes passed before her drink arrived. She splashed it with water from a small carafe, took a good sip and the one with the shirt as dark as his suit and a pale, rust-colored tie was standing at her table.

He said, "Excuse me."

She liked his tie.

"My associates and I made a bet on what you do for a living." He smiled.

Not his friends or his buddies, his associates.

"And I won. Hi, I'm Philip."

Not Phil, Philip. Karen said, "If it's okay with you, Philip, I'd like to just have a quiet drink and leave. Okay?"

"Don't you want to know what I guessed? How I know what you do for a living?"

"To tell you the truth," Karen said, "I'm not even mildly curious.

Really, I don't want to be rude, Philip, I'd just like to be left alone." She turned again to the snowstorm.

"You're having a bad day, aren't you? I understand," Philip said, "and I'm sorry."

She watched his reflection turn and leave. The gentleman, polite, concerned, understanding-all she'd have to say is let's go and they'd be out of here.

The next one said, "I think I know why you're depressed-if I may offer an observation."

So fucking sure of themselves.

"You called on an account today, asked for the order and they said well, they were going to have to think about it."

It was her black suit; she had to be here on business, but didn't look too happy about it.

"I have a hunch you're the new rep and your customer isn't exactly knocked out by the idea of a young lady, even one as stunning as you, handling the account."

Yeah, it was the black suit.

"Am I close?" Smiling.

"Hi, I'm Andy."

Like that commercial on TV. Do you suffer the embarrassment of wetting your pants a lot? Hi, I'm June Allyson.

"By the way, we're simple ad guys. We flew in from New York this morning to pitch a major account." Andy hunched over to look out at the storm, maybe to get closer, be able to see through it.

"Hiram Walker Distillery, it's right across the river, if Canada's in that direction. There's no way to tell, is there? Anyway, we presented a test-market campaign for their new margarita mix. We show this guy who looks like a Mexican ban dido the big Chihuahua hat, crossed bullet belts, and the headline says, "You don't need no stinkin' bartender." The client flipped. So, we're having a little celebration here before going back tomorrow."

Karen listened. She said, "Andy? Really. Who gives a shit?"

He frowned, and it was kind of a sympathetic expression, as he asked,

"Why are you on the muscle? Want to tell me what happened?"

With these guys it had to be about business.

Karen said, "Beat it, will you?" and stared at Andy until he turned away. All she had to do was give in and they'd ask her to join them and she wasn't in the mood. Sit there and smile.