Cundo took a half step away from Dawn to look at her. "You right, the Monk don't worry me. You show yourself to my friend, it don't worry me either. It disappoints me, you thinking if you show yourself you can make him love you." Cundo looking at Foley now, said, "I ask her is she being a saint for me. She say, 'Oh, yes, for you always.' But she hangs her naked picture next to the bed where my friend is sleeping."
"It wasn't like that," Foley said. "I never thought of it that way."
"I don't worry about you," Cundo said, "we good friends, Jack. I know you would cut off your dick with a butcher knife before you ever dishonor me, commit the adultery with my wife."
Foley stood rigid. He could feel Mike Nesi close behind breathing on him, the redneck Nazi saying, "You move, I'll put you down."
Foley said, "Cundo-"
"You going to tell me is my own fault," Cundo said. "I make her wait so long by herself, a good-looking guy comes along… Okay, I take some of the blame. But she lie to me, Jack. I see she can't still be a saint when she makes a promise. Man, what am I suppose to do?" Cundo said, "Remember at Glades, Jack, there was a homeboy sold joints for me, machine-rolled, man, perfect, one joint for a pack of king-size cigarettes. Only instead of the cigarettes the homey is getting the dust knocked off his joint. I say to him, 'You getting a blow job, the fuck am I getting?' Here he is smoking my ganj he suppose to be selling. I tell him, 'Homes, you owe me some packs of smokes.' He say yeah, okay, don't worry about it. Oh, I don't have to worry? Thank you."
Cundo let go of Dawn. He turned to the kitchen table next to him and slipped a paring knife from the block of knives at the end of the table. He took hold of Dawn's arm again, the knife in his right hand now.
"Why would I worry about it? I pay one of the dum-dums to see the homey in the yard. 'Hey, how you doing?' Puts his hand on the homey's shoulder like this"-Cundo laying his hand on Dawn's shoulder-"and came around to shank him in the gut like this," Cundo said, coming around with the knife in his right fist and plowed the fist hard into Dawn's belly, Dawn collapsing to her knees hugging herself, her forehead pressed against the tiled floor.
Cundo raised the paring knife, telling Foley, "The homey got what was coming to him. He lives, no problem, but wasn't so smart after this." Cundo tossed the knife in the air, underhand, and turned to Dawn as the knife made a single loop and came down to stick straight up in the kitchen table.
"You see blood on the knife? Of course not. I struck her, yes, as a man has a right to strike his wife she needs to be punished. All right, and I forgive her for what she did. So now we can show the love we have for each other and never speak of this again." He said to Foley, "You wish us a happy life?"
Foley didn't know what he wished him or what to say, Jesus, feeling like a dummy standing there facing the guy. Cundo didn't seem to care if he said anything or not. He had Dawn on her feet, his arm around her, going down the hall now holding her against him and not looking back.
Mike Nesi said, " ' The only thing different between sinners and saints'-you know that one?"
Foley said, "Ole Possum," without having to think.
" 'One is forgiven,' " Nesi said, " 'and the other one ain't.' But it didn't sound to me like she was trying to get you to fuck her. I saw you're already at her-why you couldn't yell nothing at Cundo. What're you suppose to tell him, 'Yeah, shit, I was fuckin' your wife but I didn't mean to?' I never saw this painting that got him worked up. He was already worked up coming here, before he ever saw it. Like he knew you was fuckin' her, not needing any picture. He had in mind what he'd do and was talking tough to me, this little banty fella working himself up to it. I said to him, 'I'm watching Jack Foley, what're you doing?' He goes, 'You find out,' with his spic way of talking. I bet he already knew he was gonna put on a show, get us thinking he stabbed her, we're going 'Oh, no,' but only punched her."
"That was for me," Foley said. "Hits her and waits to see what I'll do about it."
"You went for him, I'd have you on the floor, my foot on your neck. I don't know if I'm through here or not. I think it depends on what you're gonna do. You need a ride I can drop you someplace. You're staying, I think he'll want me around." Nesi said, "You got a basketball? We could shoot some hoops."
"I'm not leaving her here," Foley said.
"So take her with you. She wants to stay-I don't know why but she might-kiss her good-bye when Cundo ain't looking."
This guy was the only skinhead Foley had ever known doing time who came close to having a sense of humor.
"I don't see she's your problem," Nesi said. "Cundo's the one keeping you from fuckin' her, if that's your pleasure. I don't care for the man myself. You heard him refer to the one shanked the homey as a dum-dum? He's talking about a guy in the Brotherhood. You want, I can pop Cundo for you. It'll cost you, but I'll make you a deal."
FIFTEEN
HE TOOK HER UP TO THE BEDROOM AND THEY MADE LOVE and then again in the late afternoon. The first time Cundo got her on the bed was like the first time in her life, in the backseat of the boy's dad's Buick, the boy breathing hard in her ear for a minute and it was over. She couldn't think of his name, this boy with a reputation for being hot, but remembered saying to him, "That's it?
All there is?"
When Cundo was on her again, holding himself up on his arms, he said, "I keep my weight off" your poor little tummy." Dawn believed her poor little tummy had nothing to do with his hovering over her; Cundo's game now was to stare at her face to see what she was feeling.
"Baby girl, are those tears I see?"
You bet they were. Dawn could get her eyes to shine with tears in twelve seconds or less, offering a sad little smile that worked with tears, sorrow showing signs of hope. In a few moments she would be timing her breathless gasps and cute grunts to the little killer's thrusts, hoping he wouldn't cause her to break wind and disturb the performance. She loved the idea of clearing the decks with the first one and let the little guy rest before throwing himself into the next one. What she hoped to give him would be the most unforgettable fuck of his life and what happened earlier today would be shoved to the back of his memory.
Actually the little go-goer wasn't bad; he was hung for a little guy and had some nice moves. She believed she could help him ease out of his male dominator role and think of them as a couple of kids having fun in bed.
If he had Foley's looks, if he was anything like Foley, she could sit still, forget about the job. She remembered telling Foley she'd get him feeling like himself again, and he said he always felt like himself. It could be true. He didn't play any obvious roles, he stuck to the part he was playing and it seemed to be who he was. She knew from the moment she saw him he was the guy, and was still here, ready for action. But he didn't have his heart in the job, separating Cundo from a few million bucks.
The little guy wasn't bad-looking, he had a way about him, relaxed but very sure of himself. She liked his strut, the way he moved. She did wish he was taller; she could not see herself in flats the rest of her life. She thought Foley would at least yell at Cundo, show some fucking emotion, for God's sake, his lover being treated like a whore. He did try to say something and Cundo cut him off. She was surprised the way Cundo played the condemnation scene fairly straight, knowing what he was going to say, certain she must have fucked somebody in the past eight years. Couldn't believe his eyes when he saw the painting. It gave him a direct shot at Foley, sleeping in the same room with the little guy's naked wife on the wall.
But then what Cundo did, he made a guy thing out of it with the prison-buddy bullshit, knowing his pal would cut off his weenie before giving in to temptation, Foley standing there with a dumb look on his facing thinking, I would?