They got on a court and warmed up shooting jump shots, Foley swishing half of his from outside the circle, Mike Nesi dribbling in with a heavy hand, pounding the ball on the concrete before pulling up to take a shot. They flipped a coin. Foley took the ball out and swished a three-pointer, Mike Nesi's hands in his face.
Mike Nesi took it out, fired his ponderous jumper and missed.
Foley took it out, head-faked Nesi on his way to the basket and got caught from behind, Nesi hanging on to his back pocket and Foley lost the ball.
Nesi took it out. Foley saw him getting set to drive and gave the big skinhead room coming straight at him, Foley staying close and stuck himself to Nesi going up to stuff the ball, Foley reaching to swat it off the backboard and got hold of Nesi's wrist, held on and brought it down on the metal rim of the basket, Nesi screaming in pain as they fell with Foley on top, Nesi hitting the concrete floor on his shoulder, his arm under his body. It brought out another awful scream of pain.
He lay on the concrete now looking up at Foley.
"You broke my fuckin' arm."
"I didn't break your fuckin' arm," Foley said, "you broke it." "And broke my fuckin' collarbone."
"I think you separated your fuckin' shoulder," Foley said. "Gimme your arm, I'll yank on it, see if we can put it back in place."
"Don't touch me," Nesi the Nazi said, holding up his broken arm, nasty-looking, to keep Foley away from him.
He was inhaling now and letting his breath out trying to settle down, his compound-fractured left arm resting on his stomach, Mike Nesi trying not to move his fucking shoulder that must hurt like a son of a bitch.
He said to Foley, "Jesus, who you been playing basketball with?"
"You said no ref, no rules," Foley said. "That's what we were playing."
He felt better than he had in a while. He felt a lot better, acting in a familiar way now, his old self once again. Or maybe a new version of the old self looking at where he was.
He said to Mike Nesi, "What do you want me to do with you?"
SIXTEEN
LATER IN THE EVENING FOLEY SAT WITH CUNDO IN THE front room of his white home, alone with him finally, photos of Dawn in lamplight watching him from three walls. Cundo had hugged him saying, "We made it, we got out with our lives, the way we want to be, to do what pleases us." They raised their glasses of table-red from Australia Foley had bought at Ralphs and Cundo said, "What's that bad boy Mike Nesi doing?"
"I had to take him to UCLA Medical," Foley said, "in Santa Monica. We were fooling around shooting hoops and he injured himself."
Cundo grinned. "You faked him out and he twist his ankle trying to catch you. I can see it."
Foley said, "Actually he's out of action for a while, couple of months."
Cundo wasn't grinning now. He said, "You decide I don't need him, uh?"
"Not anymore," Foley said. "I'll give you the parking ticket for his truck, at the hospital. I told them you were his employer and would take care of the bill. I asked if the white-power brotherhood had group insurance and he said he didn't think so."
Now Cundo was grinning again. "You still a smart-ass. You stop talking for a time looking at the thirty years, but now you back to life with the smart-ass things you say, but very quiet. I already tole you that. Miss Megan brought you back from the living dead. Listen, I hire the dum-dum because I don't know what you going to do."
"You knew you were gonna hit her. The painting had nothing to do with it. You came home to put on a show, hit Dawn in the gut and forgive her-what a sweet guy-but forgive her for what?"
"See, you don't want to start talking about that," Cundo said. "Tha's why I forgive her and is done. No more talking about it, okay? Ever again. Or thinking about it. Thinking too much can fuck you up."
"How's Dawn, she all right?"
"In good spirit now, very entertaining, yes, showing her love for me. Everything," Cundo said, "is now as it should be. Am I right? Tell me how you think about it."
"I'd like to know what you're gonna do with the white-power freak, Nesi."
"Can he drive?"
"I don't know. If both his arms are in casts it might be hard."
"Man, what did you do to him?" Cundo said, but didn't seem to care. "I'm not going to worry about him. I'll fire him, let him pay the fucking hospital. Listen, Dawn has an idea, how you can be in one of her skits."
"That's what she calls them?"
"Her shakedowns. Get a woman's dead husband's ghost to leave her alone, kick him out of the house and charge a lot of money for it."
"She mentioned it to me."
"I was going to be the ghost expert, but Dawn say you be better at it. Good-looking guy, the woman falls for you, she's happy again and pays whatever Dawn says."
"After that, I don't see her again?"
"The woman? No, is done, is over."
"She's back where she started."
"Yes, you broke her fucking heart."
"How old is she?"
"I don't know, I think she's middle age. Listen, you can't pull off this kind of grif', man, and feel sorry for the woman. This one I know has all kind of money to make her happy."
"But you say I break her heart."
"It can happen, yes, but she can find another guy. Her money, she attracts guys like flies."
"You ever work this with Dawn?"
"Man, where was I until today? We only talk about it. The woman was Cuban, Puerto Rican, sure, I could be the guy knows about ghosts, throw in some Santeria shit. This one Dawn say is tall. I forgot her name, very rich woman."
"I don't care much for the idea," Foley said. "I get her to like me and walk out on her?"
"You don't know," Cundo said, "she gonna fall for you or not. Maybe she's glad you don't come back."
"After I spent time being nice to her?"
"Man, you got some opinion of yourself. You believe the only thing can happen, you going to break her heart?" Foley kept quiet this time, but shrugged. "Your wife divorce you, didn't she?" "Yeah, but she's still, you know, fond of me."
"Man, what you need is a woman to leave you flat. Be good for you."
"You ever have one walk out on you?"
"One time, yes," Cundo said, "when I was fifteen years old. But I think it was her old man made her stop seeing me."
"Her father," Foley said.
"No, man, her husband."
"Now I'm your straight man," Foley said.
"When you want to be," Cundo said. "You listen to what I'm saying, and then you tell me something I have to think about. Is why I like you, you keep me thinking. My friend, is my pleasure to be with you again. You always make me feel good."
Cundo nodded his head.
Foley nodded his, thinking, Shit.
Thinking, You got to get out of here.
He took the VW to Ralphs to buy provisions for a few days, a bottle of Jack Daniel's and a case of beer. A fifth would last him three days, almost. He'd need another one or two if he had company, if he ever saw Dawn or Cundo, or if Tico happened to stop by. Or Lou Adams-have a talk with him, if he had to go out and find him. Tell Adams he'd be leaving soon and not say where he was going, since he had no idea. Or maybe tell him he was going back to Florida.
What Foley did, he picked up three fifths of Jack Daniel's he'd bring out for company. How about a glass of Old No. 7? He felt at home with it.