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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 road[102] to a stop.

      Karen got ready.

      Foley said, “I don’t know anymore’n[103] 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 pointblank[104], 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 piece[105] 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 mind[106] 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 shotgun[108]. 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, Jack[109].”

      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 lights[110] blinking just in case.

      Or, Buddy brought her for Foley and he couldn’t wait, gave her a jump[111] 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 titles[112]. See if that impressed them.

      Foley said between him and Buddy they’d boosted three to four hundred cars in their time,

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