Elmore Leonard - Out of Sight

Oley saw himself playing out the end of his life and was quiet, watching it happen scene by scene: in Maurice's living room, a half-gallon jug of vodka on the coffee table, watching Maurice duck and weave, telling how crafty he'd been in the ring; listening to White Boy's dumb remarks and the annoying way he laughed; listening to Kenneth speaking a language that seemed all hip-hop sounds, rhythmic, but making hardly any sense;

Foley listening to sociopaths offering their credentials, misfits trying not to sound like losers, Foley realizing, shit, here was just a little more of what most of his life had been. He would hear Buddy make quiet comments that were meant to zing but fell flat, the same old same old, that stand-up talk you heard in the yard, but nobody here bothering to listen, busy thinking of what they'd say next. All us tough guys, Foley thought.

In the living room with the vodka, Maurice passing out knit ski masks before they left. Now in the back end of the big van full of plastic pipe and equipment: Kenneth driving, flying up Woodward Avenue past miles of dark storefronts and lit-up used-car lots, snow piled in the median, the road wide-open to them this time of night. Twice, Buddy told Kenneth to slow down. Kenneth grinned at the mirror. Buddy got out the.38 and touched the back of Kenneth's head with the stubby barrel.

"Get ready to grab the wheel," Buddy said to Maurice, "when I shoot this asshole." Kenneth looked up at the mirror to find Buddy in there as Maurice told him, "Do like he says, man; slow down."

They came to Long Lake Road, took it over to Vaughan and crept up and down the road twice, looking for security service cars or any kind of surveillance, before turning into Richard Ripley's circular drive.

All five of them were in the back end of the truck now, bumping into each other until Maurice let White Boy out the rear end and left the doors open enough so he and Foley could watch.

"He's ringing the bell," Maurice said.

"They open the door, we're in. They don't open it but ask what he wants, White Boy says he's the heating man come to fix the furnace went out. They say they didn't call any heating man, White Boy asks can he use the phone, call his boss as he must've been given the wrong address.

They look out the window, see the truck. Yeah, he must be telling the truth, he's a heating man, all right, and he's white."

They watched him ring the bell again. This time not a half minute passed before coach lights on either side of the entrance came on.

"Get ready to go skiing," Maurice said, pulling his mask down. Now the door was opening and he said, "Here we go."

Foley had time to see a young guy in the doorway, his shirt hanging unbuttoned over jeans, in the moment before White Boy gave him a push and stepped inside the house with him.

Maurice was out of the truck and Kenneth, with a shotgun, was scrambling to be next. Buddy caught him by his jacket collar and held him squirming until Foley was out. But then the moment Kenneth's feet hit the driveway he turned the 12-gauge on Buddy, still in the truck.

Foley took the barrel in one hand and shoved it straight up in Kenneth's face, seeing the guy's eyes freaked with speed. Foley said,

"Go on in the house before you get hurt." Kenneth had to put his face up close to Foley's and stare at him good before going inside.

Buddy said, "What're we doing here?"

Maurice had the young guy backed against a table in the foyer the size of a living room: good-looking young guy about eighteen with hair down on his shoulders; the pants and shirt he must've thrown on hearing the doorbell, but no shoes, barefoot on the marble floor. He looked scared and had to be, facing five guys in ski masks holding guns. Foley saw him trying to act natural, shaking his head.

"Honest to God, he isn't here."

Maurice said, "Out for the evening?"

Now the young guy looked surprised.

"He's in Florida, Palm Beach."

Maurice hesitated.

"When's he due back?"

Foley said, "Jesus Christ, what difference does it make? You want to wait for him?"

"Mr. Ripley's down for the season," the young guy said, "Christmas to Easter."

"Now tell me who you are," Maurice said.

"I'm Alexander."

Maurice said, "Boy, I don't care what your name is. I want to know who you are to the man, what you're doing here."

"I'm house-sitting."

"You by yourself?"

He seemed to hesitate before saying, "Yeah, just me."

Foley caught it and glanced at Buddy.

Maurice said, "What are you to the man, Mr. Ripley?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"How'd he come to hire you, watch his place?"

"Oh, he's a friend of the family. Him and my dad are old buddies."

"Your daddy a crook too?"

"No-I don't know what you mean."

"Where's Ripley's safe at, he keep his valuables in?"

"His safe? I don't have any idea."

"Let's go upstairs," Maurice said, and nodded to the house sitter to lead the way.

Alexander said, "You know what? I think the safe's downstairs, in the library."

Maurice pushed him toward the wide staircase that took one turn on the way up to an open section of the hall with a railing.

"You just said you had no idea where it was."

"I mean I think that's where it would be."

"Yeah, and I think you don't want us to go upstairs. Go on, take us to the man's bedroom." On the stairway Maurice said, "Alexander?" and the young guy paused and looked over his shoulder.

"You set off any kind of alarms, or how you turn on all the lights outside? You're a dead house-sitter. Understand?"

He said, "Yes sir."

"They any guns in this house?"

"Not that I know of."

In the wide second-floor hallway-lined with paintings of horses and fox hunts on dark oak paneling, upholstered chairs and lamps on bombe chests-Maurice said to Foley, "All right now, you and Mr. Buddy go on check the other rooms. Look at the wall behind any pictures hanging on it. Look at the wall in the closets, behind the clothes."

Foley said, "You check the walls, huh?"

"The man has a safe," Maurice said, "it's gonna be up here somewhere."

"How about his place in Florida?" Foley said.

"If you'd called we could've checked his walls down there before we left.

This is if you'd checked to see where he was. You follow me?"

Maurice took his time now. He said, "Jack, don't fuck with me.

Understand? I don't have time right now to be fucked with." He turned to Alexander.

"Where's the man's bedroom at?"

"This one," Alexander said.

"Yeah, it could be in here," sounding eager. But just as Maurice gave him a shove toward the door, Foley saw Alexander look right at him, scared, worried-wanting to say something? Foley waited while Maurice and his guys filed into the bedroom. A light went on in there and he heard Kenneth's voice, Kenneth saying, "Hey, shit.

Man, look at this."

As soon as they were alone Foley rolled his mask up on his head.

"You ever wear one of these?"

"I don't ski," Buddy said.

"What do you bet," Foley said, "somebody else's up here?"

They opened the door to the next room, felt for a light switch and turned it on. A white satin spread covered the king-size bed.

Foley started for the next room and Buddy said, "You don't want to check the walls?"

"You bet I do," Foley said.

"Nothing I like better than checking walls. We'll come back. First I want to see where Alexander sleeps."

"He could be using Ripley's bedroom."

"I don't know, he could," Foley said.

"He seems like a nice kid, huh? Trying like hell to act natural."

The beds were made in the next two rooms.

"Guy lives alone," Buddy said, "what's he need a house like this for?"

In the first bedroom they came to on the other side of the hall, the bed was turned down.