Adele said, "Don't trust him." This was even before he told about Cundo putting up thirty grand for his appeals lawyer, another few thousand for his ID and the plane fare to the Coast.
This time Adele said, "Why, because you're pals? Come on."
"I'm staying in one of his homes," Foley said, "while I work on an idea. I'm thinking of moving to Costa Rica."
"And do what?"
"Get into something. Game fishing…I don't know, maybe land development, real estate."
"Move to Costa Rica and sell condos."
"It's the new place to go," Foley said, "when you aren't making it at home. Get in on the ground floor."
Adele said, "You want me to tell you what you're gonna be doing sooner or later?"
"I've had jobs," Foley said. "I sold cars one time."
"That you stole?"
"You want to nag," Foley said, "or have a nice time?"
They stopped in front of the Normandie and got into another conversation. Foley had to see a guy and wanted to take Adele's car. Drive up to Dania, not far, have his picture taken and meet Cun-do's guy who was making him a driver's license.
"Instead of taking the time," Adele said, "to do it the right way. What's the hurry? You went to Lompoc I said that's it, I'm getting a divorce. You said, 'Honey, I can do seven years standing on my head and I'm out.' Remember saying that?" Yes, he did. "Remember what I said?"
"You said you weren't getting any younger."
"I was twenty-nine going on thirty. My husband is about to miss the best fucking years of my life standing on his head. But you can't wait a few weeks to get your own license. You do it the hard way because you've learned to think like a convict. Get it from some guy around back when you can walk in the front door. But you can't help it, can you?"
"I don't think like a convict."
"You don't?" Adele said. "Look at the people you've been living with the past ten years. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. He gives you money too?"
"I'm getting a prepaid credit card."
"For how much? Like it's any of my business."
"Three thousand. He's paying a grand for the license I'll use at the airport for ID. I'll get a regular license once I'm out there."
"He pays your way," Adele said, "he owns you. Don't you know that? Now you want to take my car-a hundred and sixty thousand miles on it I'm driving to Vegas the end of the month. My mom got me a job at the Hilton dealing blackjack. Her boyfriend's one of the executives, an older guy. She tells him, 'I can't lie to you, Sid, I'm no spring chicken, I'm forty-three years old this month.' She was fifty-five when she started working there. Mom got me the job telling Sid I have magic hands with playing cards. I can do the Hindu shuffle, the double lift, the glide-not that I'd use any of them." Adele and Foley smiling again, thinking about her hands doing magic things. Adele said, "You don't have a license but you'll take a chance with my poor car."
Foley got out and went around to Adele's side, brought her out of the car and kissed her on the mouth, mmmm, keeping it tender, not trying to stick his tongue down her throat-and started to grin, feeling good.
"What's funny?"
"I'm trying to show prison hasn't turned me into a sex fiend." "I don't mind a little rough stuff," Adele said, "as long as it isn't nasty."
Foley said, "I'm coming right back. But I'll call you once I'm up the road. Just in case." "In case of what?" "Lou Adams."
He wasn't far behind. Lou circled the block and checked the alley looking for the Escort, came around to the front of the Normandie and stopped between the two no-parking signs. The last time he came by, not more than four years ago, there were old ladies sitting on the porch in a row. They were gone, the porch was gone; the building now had a jazzed-up facade that looked like shelf rock across the ground floor, the Normandie having gone condo. Now you walked into a vestibule of mailboxes and a list of tenants. Lou saw Adele Delisi 208. Not A. Delisi or A. Foley, Adele Delisi, using her maiden name.
Through with being married to a bank robber.
Except he was upstairs with her.
Fresh out of stir and she can't say no.
Well…Lou held the door for a couple in their eighties coming out, the woman in a big sun hat and one of those toy Mexican dogs on a leash, the little doggie looking way up at Lou, the couple taking time to have a look at Lou themselves, in his dark business suit and tie, his wavy hair combed and parted, and approved of him on the spot. The woman said, "Dear, can I be of assistance, help you find someone?" in that soft, almost Brooklyn accent Lou recognized right away.
He said, "Katrina blew you all over here from New Orleans, didn't she?" He heard the woman ask how he knew that, surprised, Lou already pushing through the glass door to the lobby inside, letting it swing back on the couple in their eighties and heard the Mexican dog yelp, the sound coming like a tiny scream. Lou heard it, but his mind was set on Adele Delisi now, recalling photos they had of her, zooms, taken on the street, remembering Adele as a good-looking woman and thought of her that way, as a woman with something to her, not just a girl. Though he had nothing against girls. Riding the elevator to the second floor he was anxious to see her up close.
Adele opened the door in her favorite robe, this one a short, silky peach, Adele still wearing her heels to give her long legs another few inches. She'd sipped a vodka martini while she changed, in the mood for some fun with her ex. Why not? They still loved each other and always would.
Only it wasn't Foley, it was the FBI.
Special Agent Louis Adams holding his blue and white Federal Bureau ID in front of her saying, "If I'm not mistaken, you're the former Adele Foley?"
"Yes, I am, Lou. And I believe you're the one who was at the prison. Jack got in the car, he said, 'That's Lou Adams back there.' " Adele gave Lou a cute shrug. "And here you are. You followed us thinking Jack would be here, didn't you? He said you were out to get him and he couldn't understand why. I can't either, but I can tell you you're wasting your time. Jack Foley swears he won't ever rob another bank, and I believe him."
"I'd be out all night and come home," Lou Adams said, "my wife Edie'd want to know where I'd been. I tell her, Jesus, I was on a stakeout all night and she'd say, 'It seems to me I've heard that song before'…half-singing it in her slow, sexy voice. She always had kind of a hoarse quality to her voice, like Janis Joplin. I told her it was from smoking and drinking bourbon late at night."
"Were you on stakeouts?"
"I was. I was with the Criminal Division Gang Squad working sixty-hour weeks and she walks out on me."
"And blames you because you worked late," Adele said. "You sure she didn't have a boyfriend? Girls named Edie who drink bourbon late at night have boyfriends." She said, "I'm sorry Jack isn't here. Give you two a chance to talk."
"Edie," Lou said, "did not have a boyfriend."
"You looked for one?"
"I looked into the possibility. And," Lou said, "I'm done talking to Foley. I'll always have him in my sights and he knows it, wherever he goes. No, you're the one I came to see." Lou's gaze moved past her into the apartment. "But I am curious-"
The phone rang.
"If you wouldn't mind telling me where he went-" The phone rang. "I'd appreciate it."
"Let me see who that is," Adele said, "excuse me." She turned and stepped to the portable phone on the coffee table, the phone ringing again, twice, Adele taking her time-if anyone cared to notice how cool she was-before picking up and saying,
"Yes…?"
Foley said, "What were you doing?" and said, "Oh, Lou's there, with you."
Adele said, "Who? No, I'm sorry you have the wrong number."