Kitabı oku: «Out of Sight / Вне поля зрения», sayfa 2

Chapter Four

Foley watched the Pup creep up the aisle toward the front of the chapel, eyes on the floor, listening for sounds from below. Sure enough, he said, “I don’t hear nothing.”

“They’re not digging now, Pup, they’re done. Six of ’em in the tunnel as we speak, ready to go.” Foley thought of something he might need to know and said, “What do you say when you’re reporting a break?”

“That’s an amber alert⁸¹,” Pup said. “You sure they’re down there?”

“I saw ’em duck into the crawl space.”

“Where’s the tunnel come out?”

“Second fence post from the tower out there. Go on, take a look.”

Pup turned his back, walked up the aisle and across the front of the pews to a window.

“I don’t see nothing there.”

Foley, picking up his jacket with the two-by-four baseball bat, moving through the pews to the window aisle, said, “You will directly. Keep watching.”

Pup said, “They’s nobody in tower six this time of day – if they do come out.”

Foley said, “You think they don’t know that?” moving up behind Pup, seeing the guard shirt stretched tight across the man’s back. Foley let his jacket slip to the floor; he held the two-by-four in his left hand now, down against his leg.

Pup said, “There some car headlights out there …” Now he was pulling his radio from his belt saying “Jesus Christ…”

Saying into the radio, “Man outside the fence! By tower six!”

Foley edged in closer to see the car headlights in the parking lot shining on the fence, a dark-blue car and a white one behind it that had to be Buddy. Foley on his toes⁸² now looking at freedom, feeling it as the Pup was identifying himself, saying this was Officer Pupko and where he was, sending out the word too soon, before Foley was ready. He saw a figure by the fence now, as Pup was yelling into his radio, “I’m looking at him, for Christ sake!”

Foley took a moment to remind himself not to hold back. Hold back, you make a mess. He got the angle he wanted, stepped in and laid the two-by-four smack against the side of Pup’s head.

Dropped him clean⁸³ with the one swing, without a sound coming from him.

Foley took another look outside, saw two figures now by the fence, before he stooped down to get Pup undressed. Undo his shirt buttons and then roll him face down, the Pup alive but dead weight⁸⁴. Man, it was work getting the shirt off, Pup not helping any. Foley quick put it on over his T-shirt. He heard a car horn blowing now, maybe Buddy trying to tell him something. Like come on, move. He saw he wouldn’t have time for the pants; he hoped his prison blue wouldn’t be noticed in the dark. Foley pulled Pup’s cap, too small for him, tight over his eyes, picked up the flashlight and slipped out the front door into the bushes.

Karen had the court papers in her hand, ready to get out of the car.

She saw prisoners still coming in from the athletic field, passing left to right in her view, all of them some distance from the fence. She opened the car door…

Wait a minute.

One of the guys, a figure she hadn’t noticed before this moment, was right by the fence. Close enough to touch it. The guy crouched… or on his hands and knees. Karen popped on her headlights again and saw him clearly.

Not crouched.

The guy was coming out of the ground.

On this side of the fence.

Another one came out of the ground.

Right in front of her. Not yards from the car. Two guys breaking out and no siren or whistle going off, prisoners still crossing the compound, not even aware…

Karen pushed the horn, held it down and saw the two guys by the fence, both Latins, looking into her headlights, stopped there for a moment before taking off in the dark. By the time the third one appeared, came out of the hole followed by another convict on his heels, Karen was out of the car.

Buddy didn’t see them right away. The woman began blowing her horn and that got him sitting up. He still didn’t realize the break was on until the woman was out of the car. By the time he saw the two cons they were running away from the fence, cutting across the road, the guard in the far tower trying to gun them down as they ran for an orange grove and disappeared from sight.

When Buddy looked for the woman again she was right in front of him – her blond hair in his headlights, long slim legs, hell, a girl – at the trunk of her car raising the lid.

Buddy’s first thought, She’s gonna put a con in there, help him escape.

He watched her duck her head in the trunk and come out with a pistol, what looked like some kind of automatic.

But then she threw the pistol in the trunk, ducked in there again and came out this time with a pump-action shotgun.

Buddy watched her hurry to the front of her car and raise the shotgun, but the two cons were gone. Now a whistle was blowing inside the compound.

Buddy saw convicts in there gathering, looking this way, hundreds of them bunched in groups, but no hacks in sight. He told himself he’d better get out of the car, be ready.

Once he was out he saw the girl, still by the front of her car, had the shotgun on two more cons, both filthy dirty, standing by the hole they must’ve come out of, the girl telling them to get their hands in the air. She wasn’t here to help anybody escape. So who was she? Buddy could see the two cons making up their minds, couple of Latinos, already. They took off toward the road. Buddy saw the woman, this good-looking girl in a short skirt, put her pump gun on them and knew she couldn’t miss, but she didn’t fire. No, the hacks coming from the main gate, five of them with rifles and shotguns, opened up all at once and kept firing and Buddy saw the two convicts cut down as they ran.

The hacks were looking this way now; they couldn’t miss seeing the girl standing there in her headlights, but they didn’t bother with her – Buddy realizing they knew who she was. They were more interested in the hole the convicts had come out of. Now they were standing by it peering in, coming closer with their weapons ready, then all stepped back at once, bumping into each other.

A head appeared wearing a guard’s baseball cap, head and shoulders now coming out of the hole, the guy saying something to them, his face beneath the cap smeared with muck, shaking his head now, excited. One of the hacks was speaking into his radio. Another extended his rifle for the one in the hole to grab the barrel and get pulled out. But the one in the hole kept yelling and pointing out at the dark, toward the orange grove. Finally when the hacks moved off they checked the two convicts they’d shot, kicked at them to see if they were still alive and then kept going, and the one in the hole climbed out.

Buddy knew it was Foley, taking his time now to put on a show⁸⁵, standing with his hands on his hips like an honest-to– God hack, the cap down on his eyes. Buddy, raising his arm and waving at Foley to come on, saw the girl turn enough to put the shotgun on him. He raised the palm of his hand to her saying, “It’s okay, honey, we’re good guys.”

She said, “What’re you doing here?” Not so much asking, already pretty sure of what they were doing. She glanced around to include Foley. She knew, all right, that with the two of them to watch it was too late making her move. She saw Foley coming at her filthy dirty, giving Buddy time to take her around the neck. She fought him, jabbing him in the gut with the butt end of the shotgun, before Foley got in there to wrench it from her grip⁸⁶. They dragged her to the rear end of the Chevy, the trunk lid still up, and crouched there as some hacks came running along the fence past the dark gun tower and crossed the road toward the orange grove. Pretty soon they heard bursts of gunfire, then silence.

Foley said, “I bet that’s all the hacks they send out. Otherwise nobody’s left to mind the store.”⁸⁷

Buddy said, “Why don’t we talk about it later.”

He turned his head to see Foley and the young woman staring at each other in the Cadillac headlights, Foley saying to her, “Why you’re just a girl. What do you do for a living you pack a shotgun⁸⁸?”

She said to him, “I’m a federal marshal and you’re under arrest, both of you guys.”

Foley kept staring like he was giving the situation serious thought, deciding now what to do with her, Jesus, a U.S. marshal. But what he said was, “I bet I smell, don’t I?” And then he said, “Listen, you hop in the trunk and we’ll get out of here.”

Chapter Five

Karen thought they’d put her inside and leave and she felt around to find her handgun, the Sig Sauer, before they closed the trunk lid and she’d have to kick at it and yell until someone let her out.

There, she felt the holster, took the pistol out and closed her hand around grip ready to come around shooting if she had to. But now the one in the filthy guard uniform pushed her and was getting in with her bringing his arm around now to hold her to him, and she didn’t have room to turn and stick the gun in his face.

The trunk lid came down and they were in darkness, dead silent until the engine came to life, the car moving now, turning to the road that went out to the highway. Karen pictured it, remembering the orange grove, then farther along the road frame houses and yards where some of the prison personnel lived.

His voice in the dark, breathing on her, said, “You comfy?”⁸⁹

The con acting cool, nothing to lose. Karen was holding the Sig Sauer between her thighs, protecting it, her skirt hiked up around her hips⁹⁰.

She said, “If I could have a little more room.”

“There isn’t any.”

She wondered if she could get her feet against the front wall, push off hard and twist at the same time and shove the gun into him.

Maybe. But then what?

She said, “I’m not much of a hostage if no one knows I’m here⁹¹.”

She felt his hand move over her shoulder and down her arm.

“You aren’t a hostage, you’re my zoo-zoo⁹², my treat after five months of servitude. Somebody pleasant and smells good for a change. I’m sorry if I smell like a sewer, it’s the muck I had to crawl through.”

She felt him moving to get comfortable.

“You sure have a lot of shit⁹³ in here. What’s all this stuff? Handcuffs, chains… What’s this can?”

“For your breath,” Karen said. “You could use it. Squirt some in your mouth.”

“You devil, it’s Mace, huh⁹⁴? Where’s your gun, your pistol?”

“In my bag, in the car.” She felt his hand slip from her arm to her hip and rest there and she said, “You know you don’t have a chance of making it. Guards are out here already, they’ll stop the car.”

“They’re off in the cane by now chasing Cubans.”

His tone quiet, unhurried, and it surprised her.

“You’ve ruined a thirty-five hundred-dollar suit my dad gave me.”

She felt his hand move down her thigh, fingertips brushing her pantyhose, the way her skirt was pushed up.

“I bet you look great in it, too. Tell me why in the world you ever became a federal marshal, Jesus. My experience with marshals, they’re all beefy guys.”

“The idea of going after guys like you,” Karen said, “appealed to me.”

“To prove something? What’re you, one of those women’s rights activists? I haven’t been close to a woman like you in months, good-looking, smart… I think, man, here’s my reward for doing without, leading a clean, celibate life in there.”

“How would you know if I’m smart or not?”

“But, listen, just ’cause I’ve done without doesn’t mean I’m gonna force myself on you. I’ve never done that in my life.”

It amazed her, the guy trying to make a good impression.

“You wouldn’t have time anyway,” Karen said. “We come to a roadblock⁹⁵ they’ll find out in about five seconds who it belongs to.”

His voice breathing on her said, “Even if they get set in time, they’ll be looking for Cubans, little fellas with black hair, not a big redneck⁹⁶ driving a Chevy. I’m leaving this trip in the hands of my Lord and Savior⁹⁷ and my old pal Buddy. He’s pure redneck. You know how you tell? He never takes his shirt off.”

Feeling free and talkative. Karen kept quiet.

“I mean in the sun, like when we’re in the yard. Has one of those farmer tans⁹⁸. You see Buddy in the shower, his face and arms have color but his body’s pure white. Good guy, though, wrote to his sister every week without fail. He’d tell her what the weather was like. She’d write back and tell about her weather, which wasn’t that different. His sister used to be one of those nuns who never spoke. Buddy says she still doesn’t talk much, but now she drinks.”

Riding in the trunk of a car with an escaped convict, chatting, passing the time, the car bumping over back roads, the floor beneath them hard. Finally when they picked up speed and were moving in a straight line, Karen believed they were on 441 now, heading for West Palm and probably the interstate⁹⁹.

She felt his hand patting her thigh, inches from her hand gripping the Sig Sauer.

She said, “Buddy. That’s his given name?”

“One I gave him, yeah.”

“Well, what’s yours? It’ll be in the paper tomorrow anyway.”

He said, “Jack Foley. You’ve probably heard of me.”

“Why, are you famous?”

“The time I was convicted in California? They said, ’How about telling us some of the other banks you’ve done?’ This was the FBI. I started listing the ones I could remember. After I was done they checked and said I’d robbed more banks than anyone in the computer.”

“How many was it?”

“Tell you the truth, I don’t know.”

“About how many?”

“Well, going back thirty years, subtract nine years state and federal time served. I started out driving for my uncle Cully when I was eighteen, right out of high school. Cully and a guy used to work with him. When they went in a bank, the guy jumps the counter to get to the tellers and breaks his leg. All three of us went up. I did two months and learned how to fight for my life. Cully did seven years before he came out and died not too long after. My other fall, I did seven years, that was at Lompoc, federal prison camp, the one they used to call Club Fed. No fence, no guys with shanks or razor blades stuck in toothbrush handles. The worst that could happen to you, some guy hits you over the head with a tennis racquet.”

“You were in Lompoc USP, the federal penitentiary,” Karen said. “I’ve delivered people there.”

“Handcuffed to some moron?”

“We have our own plane. It still isn’t any fun.”

“So that’s nine years. Add county time awaiting hearings, and that hole we just left, that’s more’n a decade of correctional living. I’m forty-seven years old and I’m not doing any more time.”

Karen said, “You’re sure about that?”

“If I go back I do a full thirty years, no time off. Could you imagine looking at that?”

“I don’t have to,” Karen said, “I don’t rob banks.”

“If it turns out I get shot down like a dog it’ll be in the street, not off a goddamn fence.”

“You must see yourself as some kind of desperado¹⁰⁰.”

He said, “I don’t know,” and was quiet for several moments.

“I never actually thought of myself that way.” He paused again. “Unless I did without knowing it.”

“How’d you get the guard uniform?”

“Took it off a hack.”

“You killed him?”

“No, hit him over the head – the most ignorant man I ever met in my life.” He paused and said, “I better keep quiet¹⁰¹.”

She felt Foley’s fingertips moving idly on her thigh, his voice, quiet and close to her, saying, “You’re sure easy to talk to. I wonder – say we met under different circumstances and got to talking – I wonder what would happen.”

“Nothing,” Karen said.

“I mean if you didn’t know who I was.”

“You’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

“See, that’s what I mean you’re easy to talk to. There isn’t any bullshit, you speak your mind. Here you are locked up in the dark with a guy who’s filthy, smells like a sewer, just busted out of prison and you don’t even seem like you’re scared. Are you?”

“Of course I am.”

“You don’t act like it.”

“What do you want me to do, scream? I don’t think it would help much.”

Foley let his breath out and she felt it on her neck, almost like a sigh. He said, “I still think if we met under different circumstances, like in a bar…”

Karen said, “You have to be kidding.”

After that, for a few miles, neither of them spoke until Foley said, “Yeah …” and she waited for him to go on, but now the car was slowing down, then bumping along the shoulder of the road¹⁰² to a stop.

Karen got ready.

Foley said, “I don’t know anymore’n¹⁰³ you where we are.”

Still out in the country, Karen was sure of that. Maybe halfway to West Palm, or a little more.

She heard the other one, Buddy, outside, say, “You still alive in there?”

The trunk lid raised.

Karen felt Foley’s hands on her, then didn’t feel them and heard him say, out of the trunk now, “Where in the hell are we?”

And heard Buddy say, “That’s the turnpike up there. Glenn’s waiting with a car.”

Glenn.

Karen said the name to herself and stored it away.

As Foley was saying, “How do we get to it?”

“Over there, through the bushes.” Buddy’s voice.

“You have to climb up the bank.”

And now Foley, sounding closer this time, saying, “Come on out of there.”

Karen pushed off, rolled from her right side to her left bringing up the Sig Sauer in both hands to put it on them, both standing in the opening, in the dark but right there, close. She said, “Get your hands up and turn around. Now.”

They were moving as she heard Foley say, “Shit,” and saw the trunk lid coming down on her as she fired the.38 pointblank¹⁰⁴, fired again and fired again through the trunk lid slamming shut, locking her in with the deafening sound, again in the close dark.

They had moved so fast in opposite directions she didn’t think she’d hit either one. She listened, but didn’t hear a sound now, pretty sure they were getting her shotgun from the car and would be right back.

Chapter Six

Buddy said he forgot she had a piece¹⁰⁵ in there even saw her throw it back in the trunk when she brought out the shotgun. He said to Foley they may as well leave her, what was the difference where?

It was already set in Foley’s mind¹⁰⁶ she was going with them.

He wasn’t finished talking to her. He wanted to sit down with her in a nice place and talk like regular people. Start over, let her get a look at him cleaned up. Even if he had time he wouldn’t be able to explain why he wanted to talk to her some more, that wasn’t clear in his mind, so all he said was, “She’s going with us.”

Buddy gave him a funny look, a frown. He said, “Jesus Christ, what were you doing in there? I can understand you need to get laid, but you have Adele, don’t you?”

“Get the shotgun,” Foley said, “and her purse. I’d like to know who she is.”

“I already looked,” Buddy said. “Her name’s Karen Sisco.”

Headlights would come at them from the direction of West Palm and they’d keep to the narrow space between the car and the overpass. A sheriff’s green and-white car went screaming past, then another one and another, a string of green-and-whites in the space of a minute, going out to chase after escaped convicts.

When the road quieted down Foley stepped up to the Chevy’s trunk, keeping to the side of it, and banged on the sheet metal once with his fist.

“Karen? Be a good girl now, you hear? I’m gonna let you out.”

Foley jumped at the sound of a pistol shot, the bullet ripping through metal.

He yelled at her, “You’re putting holes in your car!” and looked up to see Buddy, with the shotgun and a black leather handbag, staring at him.

Foley took a moment to settle down before saying, “We’re not leaving you. I’m gonna open the trunk enough for you to throw the gun out. Okay? You shoot – Buddy’s got your shotgun, he says he’ll shoot back if you do and I can’t stop him. So it’s up to you.”

Foley put his hand out and Buddy, still looking at him funny, gave him the keys.

They heard a voice yell “Hey!” Not from the trunk, a clear sound coming from somewhere above them.

“It’s me, Glenn.”

They looked up to see a figure, head and shoulders against the evening sky, leaning on the rail.

“Hey, Jack, good to see you, man. The fuck’re you guys shooting at?”

Buddy raised his voice saying, “We’ll be there in a minute.”

“I don’t mean to complain,”¹⁰⁷ Glenn said, “but you know how long I’ve been here? Florida Highway Patrol comes by and I’m fucked.”

Foley looked at Buddy.

“Do we need him?”

“Three green-and-whites saw us,” Buddy said. “One of ’em starts thinking, What’s that car doing there? Ties it to the break and turns around… We got to get out of here.”

Foley walked back to the Chevy and banged on the trunk.

“You coming out?”

He stuck the key in the lock, standing right in front of the trunk, and turned to Buddy. Buddy walked up to the trunk and racked the pump on the shotgun¹⁰⁸. Foley said, “You hear that?”

He turned the key and raised the trunk lid.

Karen, hunched in there, extended her arm, her hand holding the Sig Sauer.

She said, “You win, Jack¹⁰⁹.”

Buddy gave him another funny look.

If he leaned out over the rail Glenn could see part of the open trunk, Foley reaching a hand in to help someone get out.

Jesus, a girl. Standing by the car now smoothing her skirt, touching her hair.

Now they were crossing the ditch; he wouldn’t see them again until they came up the slope. Or, she worked at the prison and Foley grabbed her, used her as a shield going out.

Glenn thought about it returning to the car he’d left on the grassy side of the road, trouble lights¹¹⁰ blinking just in case.

Or, Buddy brought her for Foley and he couldn’t wait, gave her a jump¹¹¹ in the trunk of the car. Not in the backseat with Buddy watching. It was a possibility.

Glenn had gotten to know them at Lompoc USP. Buddy asked him what he was doing and Glenn said networking, trying to find out who he should know and who he should stay away from. Buddy said he meant how much time was he doing. Oh, two to five, Glenn said, for grand theft auto. What he told them was he stole Porsche and Mercedes top of-the-line models he picked up on special order and delivered anywhere in the U. S. with clean titles¹¹². See if that impressed them.

Foley said between him and Buddy they’d boosted three to four hundred cars in their time, but never sold any or kept them for more than a couple of hours.

These were cool guys, both fairly tall and stringy, Buddy with dark curly hair that was always slicked back – he kept a comb in his pocket. Foley’s light-brown hair was short and thick enough he could do okay combing it with his fingers. They didn’t seem in great shape – they’d rather watch than work out¹¹³ – but both had that hard-boned look, like they’d worked construction or in oil fields all their lives instead of robbing banks. Easygoing but looked you right in the eye when you spoke to them or they had something to say.

Glenn stayed close to them and was never seriously approached by any perverts or butt fuckers¹¹⁴. Foley said, “Don’t take it up ’less you think you might like it.” Buddy said, “What you do, just say no, then kill the guy.”

Glenn believed they let him hang around because he was from L. A., West Hollywood, he knew what was happening. He’d tell them stories about when he was in the car-dealing business and got laid a lot: how he’d work on cars at these multimillion-dollar homes in Beverly Hills and wait for the lady of the house to make the move¹¹⁵. Get asked in for a cold drink, a dip in the pool? It happened, man, more often than you’d think, couple of times even with movie stars.

This was when they started calling him Studs¹¹⁶.

One day in the yard Glenn said, “I’m gonna tell you guys something only one other person here knows about. I was originally at FPC, the camp over there? And was transferred here with another guy for trying to escape.”

“You know Maurice Miller in the boxing program they call Snoopy¹¹⁷? Fights lightweight? He was at FPC¹¹⁸ doing a gig¹¹⁹ for fraud, I think credit cards. Anyway, we went out one night jogging, like Snoopy’s doing road work and I’m his trainer. We made it almost all the way to Vandenberg and got picked up by air base MP¹²⁰ s. They thought we were awol¹²¹.

“I knew if we didn’t make it Snoopy and I’d get sent here or some other joint. But at the time I didn’t worry about getting caught. See, what happened, I got next to a guy over at FPC doing three years on a felony conspiracy¹²² thing, strictly white collar. He got the three years and was fined fifty million dollars and wrote ’em a check. Like that, fifty mil, signed his name.”

Foley said, “One of the Wall Street scammers,” and he was right. He said, “I remember reading about the guy. Went up for insider trading¹²³. Paid off snitch brokers to give him information on stock deals before they went down.”

“That’s basically what he did,” Glenn said, “made a fortune¹²⁴.”

“Everybody thought the guy was a genius,” Foley said, “till they found out he made it the old-fashioned way, he stole it.”

“Anyway,” Glenn said, “here’s a multimillionaire making eleven cents an hour mopping floors, sweeping the tennis courts. Guy that used to be on the phone he said eighteen hours a day, had over a hundred extensions in his office, now has to stand in line to make a call. But the thing I’m getting at, the guy loved to talk.”

“Yeah, to the U. S. attorney,” Foley said.

“He blew the whistle on all the snitches¹²⁵ he was doing business with and got ’em brought up¹²⁶. I can’t think of the guy’s name.”

Glenn waited.

And Foley said, “Ripley. Richard Ripley. Called Dick the Ripper¹²⁷ on account of how he ripped off the stock market. Big good-looking guy.”

“He was vain, though. What he talked about most of the time, was himself, and I listened. I was all ears.¹²⁸ See, my bunk was right above his. I was polite, I played kiss-ass to a degree, I’d stand in the phone line for him; we’re out gardening I’d do the stoop work¹²⁹…

All this time he’s talking about what a high roller¹³⁰ he is and I’m taking it all in. I learn he’s got money in foreign banks, plus, around five mil in hard cash, plus, loose diamonds and gold coins. The man actually told me, five mil in cash. Nothing to it.”¹³¹

Foley said, “He keeps it at home?”

Buddy said, “Yeah, where’s the guy live?”

Glenn hesitated and Foley said, “He must’ve been getting out soon.”

“He’s out now. It was in the paper.”

“But you didn’t make it,” Foley said, “you and Snoopy.”

“Maurice happens to live in Detroit, the same place Ripley has his home. And he knows the Motor City.”

“So does Buddy,” Foley said, “if a guide’s all you need.”

Neither one of them showing much interest, that time in the yard at Lompoc USP¹³², five years ago.

Glenn got his release and moved to Florida, second only to California in the number of cars stolen.

He tried to keep in touch with the bank robbers, still at Lompoc, wrote to them a few times but never heard back, not a word. So when Buddy called a few weeks ago it came as a total surprise.

Buddy saying it was a small world: he’d just arrived in Florida and Foley was here, at GCI¹³³ the past five months. The way Buddy put it, “He don’t like it there and sees a way to bust out. If you aren’t doing anything, you want to drive one of the cars? Take a few hours of your time is all.”

Glenn said, well, he’d been up to Detroit on a deal, but at the moment was free. He said, “Yeah, I think I can make it.”

You had to be as cool as these guys.

“How about if I go see Foley?” Glenn said. “You talk to him, see if he remembers Dick the Ripper. I’d still like you guys to go in with me. You think you might be interested?”

Buddy didn’t comment right out and say if they would or not.

Glenn had seen him three times since that phone call. At a bar in West Palm near Glenn’s apartment. A hotel in Miami Beach where Foley’s ex-wife lived. Adele. About forty but not bad looking. And the third time when Buddy drove him out to Glades Correctional, showed the route he’d take once he had Foley in the car, and where Glenn would be waiting with the second car.

Right here with the Audi parked off to the side of the turnpike, trouble lights blinking, a note stuck in the side window that said GONE TO GET GAS¹³⁴, Glenn waiting now among pines and palmettos a good fifty feet from the car. If any approaching headlights turned out to be a trooper, Glenn would be out of there, through the trees and down the grade¹³⁵ – about where they should be coming up now, with the girl Foley must’ve used as a hostage. But what good was she doing him now? He should’ve left her in the trunk of the car.

A few more minutes passed before he heard them coming.