Foley held in his hand a credit application brochure that said on the cover in bold letters:

      LOOKING FOR MONEY? YOU’VE COME TO THE RIGHT PLACE.

      Foley folded the brochure and put it in his pocket. Now he continued to study the bank layout, standing at the glass top counter in the middle of the floor, where the forms were kept. There were tellers at three of the five windows, cameras mounted high on the wall behind them, no security guard in sight, a customer leaving and one coming in, a guy in a suit with an attache case. Foley watched him move through the gate into the fenced-off business area at the front of the bank, where one of the executives rose from his desk, shook the guy’s hand and they both sat down. As the guy began opening his case, Foley, wearing a brand-new baseball cap and sunglasses, crossed to the teller window where a nameplate on the counter said this young woman with a pile of dark hair smiling at him was Loretta.

      She said, “How can I help you, sir?”

      Foley said, “Loretta, you see that guy talking to your manager, has his case open?”

      She said, “That’s Mr. Guindon, one of our assistant managers. Our manager is Mr. Schoen, but he’s not in today.”

      “But you see the guy,” Foley said, “with the attache case?”, Loretta looked over.

      “Yes?”

      “That’s my partner. He has a gun in there. And if you don’t do exactly what I tell you, or you give me any kind of a problem, I’ll look over at my partner and he’ll shoot your Mr. Guindon between the eyes. Now take one of those big envelopes and put as many hundreds, fifties and twenties as you can pack into it. Nothing with bank straps or rubber bands, I don’t want any dye packs[157]. Come on, Loretta, let’s go. Don’t be nervous, the key’s right there next to you. That’s the way, you’re doing fine. The twenties go in if there’s room. Smile, so you won’t look like you’re being held up.

      Here, give me the twenties, I’ll put ’em in my pocket. Okay, I haven’t had to give my partner a sign; that’s good. Now, he’s gonna wait thirty seconds till after I’m out the door, make sure you haven’t slipped me a dye pack or set off the alarm. If you have, he’s gonna shoot Mr. Guindon between the eyes. Okay? I think that’ll do it.

      Thank you, Loretta, and have a nice day.”

      Foley walked out the front entrance with his head lowered and his knees bent. Some banks put a mark on the doorway at six feet, so the teller, watching the guy go out, can estimate his height.

      Buddy was waiting for him across Collins Avenue in a black Honda. Foley got in and as they drove off Buddy said, “You’re a better man than I am. Bust out one day and back to work the next.”[158]

      Foley was quiet, looking out the window at pink hotels, white ones, yellow ones, all past their prime[159] but still doing business. He said, “I always feel a letdown after.”

      Foley handed Buddy the brochure he’d taken and Buddy smiled.

      “’Looking for money? You’ve come to the right place.’ They got that right. It’s like they’re asking for it. I can’t figure out how nine out of ten bank robbers get caught.”

      “They talk about it,” Foley said, “or do something dumb, call attention to themselves. The time I did the bank in Lake Worth for Adele and ended up in Glades? I drove away from the bank and cut through side streets till I came to Dixie Highway. I’m waiting for traffic to clear so I can make a left, I hear this car behind me revving its engine[160], guy in a red Fire-bird Trans Am[161], can’t wait. He cuts around me, tires screaming – it’s like he thinks I’m one of those retirees, takes forever to make a turn. I’d just robbed a fucking bank and this guy in the Firebird’s showing me what a hot-dog he is.”

      “So you went after him,” Buddy said.

      “I made the left and tore after him. Caught him about a mile down the road and came up on the driver’s side, close, seeing how close I could come while I stared at him, gave him the look[162].

      He pulled ahead, I came up again and this time I gave him a nudge, sideswiped him[163]. I was in a Honda, I think just like this one.”

      “I read it’s the number one choice of car thieves,” Buddy said, “your Honda.”

      “Yeah, I read that, too. Anyway, what happened, when I sideswiped the guy I blew a tire and fucked up the steering[164], the car kept going to the right, so I had to pull over. The guy in the Fire-bird – I don’t think he had any idea what this was about – he’s gone. I wasn’t there two minutes a sheriff’s radio car pulls up. ’What seems to be the trouble, sir?’ No trouble, I just robbed a bank and my fucking car broke down. Outside of that[165]… He’s checking my license when he gets a report about the bank – somebody spotted the car – so the next time I see him he’s pointing a big chromed-up Smith and Wesson[166] in my face.

      The only time I can ever remember losing my temper like that and I draw thirty to life[167].”

      “Time goes by,” Buddy said, “you’ll think it’s a funny story.”

      “If I’m still around[168].”

      Going over the causeway, Foley threw his brand-new baseball cap out the window. A few minutes later they dropped the Honda off at a mall and picked up Buddy’s car, costing him, he said, a bank job and change[169].

      Foley sat in the middle of a sofa in a room with bare white walls, a TV set and house plants Buddy had bought. The currency from the bank, counted now, was on the coffee table in a neat stack he could press into a wad that would be not much more than two inches thick. Foley raised his voice to tell Buddy, out on the concrete balcony reading the paper, “Thirty-seven eighty. That Loretta’s all right.” He got up and walked out into the sunshine.

      “She could lose some weight, though, do something with her hair.”

      Buddy said, “You see your picture? They pass this one around you can go anywhere you want, nobody’ll know you.”

      Foley was looking down at the newspaper Buddy held open, at the seven head shots[170] in a row across the front page, beneath a color photo of the red-brick prison.

      “Chirino, that’s Chino. He must’ve put the weight on right after he quit fighting, then got back in shape to make his run. Linares, the cute one, that’s Lulu, Chino’s girlfriend.”

      “They’re the only two made it,”[171] Buddy said.

      “Four were shot down outside the fence by gunfire. All doing five to life for murder. Your pal Chino, it says he hacked a guy to death with a macheteСкачать книгу