SHOT IN THE DARK
                        By Cara Swann

  � 2000 by Cara Swann; all rights reserved
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Suspense/Crime/Thriller/Love

A poor young mother struggles to survive as a con
artist, but wants to get out of the life for the sake
of her daughter. She plans one last big heist of an
armored car with a recently paroled ex-con, but
their scheme goes awry when her former drug
addict boyfriend escapes prison and abducts the
child.


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

PROLOGUE


I. Sally Jasmin

Sally watched as the red Wells Fargo armored car
pulled in at the department store. She glanced to
the entrance, barely visible from her car in the mall
parking lot, and then to the quick, precise
movements of the guards - a practiced routine that
never varied from day to day except for arrival and
departure times.

One uniformed guard came out of the back,
grabbed a metallic loader and wheeled it into the
building, the other one remaining at the truck,
closing the doors.

She observed the guard who stood rigidly, his eyes
missing nothing; a third guard was behind the
steering wheel, watchful.

It could be done, she was convinced of it - only not
alone. She'd need a partner, perhaps a man. Two
people could take that car, if they had a plan and
were patient, willing to wait for the arrival which
was subject to daily change of scheduled routes.
Promptly, the guard returned with stacks of
moneybags.

She switched on the ignition, backed from her spot
and cruised past the vehicle. No one gave her a
second glance, and why should they? She looked like
a typical suburban Florida housewife, doing her
shopping and errands.

Sally drove to the mall exit, stopped and peered at
the busy highway. Cars whizzed by, the glare of sun
piercing her eyes. She slipped on her dark
sunglasses, made out like she was adjusting them as
she glanced in the rear view mirror to see the
armored car slowly driving toward her.

The vehicle braked inches from her bumper, and she
could see the heavy-jowled guard visibly irritated at
her primping. He didn't honk though, and she finally
got a break in traffic and pulled out onto the
highway, sighing as the armored car went in the
opposite direction.

The thought of such a scheme sizzled in Sally's
brain, like the Florida heat sizzling on the scorching
pavement. If she could only pull it off, her life
would be vastly different -  she could be with her
five-year-old daughter, Joey, end the vagabond
existence of traveling and stealing, small-time jobs
that never got her any closer to living a normal,
financially secure life. This one big score would put
her over the top, make a difference between having
to give up her child someday possibly to adoptive
parents who could offer stability and schooling. Or
worse, having social services take the child, put Joey
in foster care where she'd waste away from
neglect.

If only she had a reliable partner, Sally thought.

She didn't like it, but Sally knew she'd have to ask
Joseph to recommend a partner, someone they
could trust. Joe himself was doing time at Raiford
on a stretch for armed robbery, but he would know
the man for this job.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

II. Luther Higgins

Luther didn't mind the grating noises of the Missouri
State Prison cellblock, but he did hate the games
and cons that went down each and every minute.
He'd seen it all in his time. At fifty, having spent
most of his adult life inside, the daily routine and
boredom, the little insignificant acts that got men
killed...he'd tired of it and never participated. He
lived apart, determined to do his time and never
return - for at this point, Luther desired only one
thing: peace and solitude, nothing more. He didn't
give a shit if he was poor on the outside, he just
wanted to be free and left alone.

Luther was one of a dying breed, the last of the old-
timers, a true convict. Today he often got disgusted
with those he was forced to live among: child
molesters, rapists, serial killers, rabid dopers who
had no pride, no honor or code of conduct except to
stick it to anyone and everyone.

The lowlifes had ranked at the bottom of the ladder
when Luther first came into the joint, back in the
fifties, but now they talked incessantly of their sick
deeds as though it was common behavior. There was
a time when such perverts couldn't survive prison,
and in Luther's opinion, society was better for their
being murdered inside the walls. At least they never
set foot back into decent communities to inflict
torture on women and children, innocent
unsuspecting citizens.

But soon Luther knew this would all be behind him;
he would make parole in a month, and vowed he'd
never be back. The heart attack five years ago had
been a great motivation for changing. Hell, he didn't
want to die inside the joint.

True, he had been a thief all his life, but that could
change - and would! So he was disturbed to hear
indirectly from a past acquaintance who demanded a
favor - one he'd have to dodge. The problem was,
this boy Joe had saved his life. They'd been in the
St. Louis jail together, Joe waiting extradition to
Florida, when a failed escape attempt by some
inmates led to a riot. Joe had recognized that
Luther was having a heart attack, administered CPR
and gotten him help, despite fires, flooding and
general mayhem going on around them.

And for that, Luther would have to meet this friend
of Joe's when free. But certainly, he could convince
anyone of his inability to commit a crime due to his
bad health, his age. Whatever, Luther was intent on
not dying in prison.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER ONE

The small bungalow close to Indian River in a nice,
quiet residential neighborhood of Titusville, Florida
was nothing to brag about, but it was home to Sally
and her daughter, Joey. It was a small stucco house
with living room, eat-in kitchen, two bedrooms, bath,
screenporch, sitting on a postage-size lot. But it had
the advantage of location, convenient to town, and
the benefit of fine, decent neighbors. In fact, Sally
had chosen it for the number of elderly retired
people; they were always puttering around in the
yard, cultivating citrus trees, flowers or shrubs, and
had plenty of free time for meeting and conversing
with neighbors.

Sally had formed a fast friendship with Mel and Iva
Kilbor, both in their sixties, a genial and caring
retired couple who were at loose ends after a
lifetime spent in Detroit auto factories. Their
children were still back in Michigan, and they
mourned the absence of grandchildren.

Never missing an opportunity, Sally had quickly made
them Joey's foster grandparents, and they were
crazy about the child. Few could resist the appeal of
her lovely little girl; Josephine was pixie-cute, blond
like her mom, dancing blue eyes like her father,
mischievous but lovable. The Kilbors doted on the
child, and Joey spent almost more time in their
spacious brick house than at her home.

Sally, on the pretense of being a cosmetic
representative, often made long trips out of town.
She entrusted Joey's care to the Kilbors, and they
never failed to be responsible. Joey loved them, and
was even becoming a bit spoiled by their attention.

Presently Sally was trying to explain to Joey that
she would be gone for another week or so, but the
child was preoccupied with her new doll - which Iva
had given her earlier using the excuse of Columbus
Day for a gift.

"Sugar, mommy will be back before you know it!"
Sally slipped up behind Joey, wrapped her arms
around her, and lifted her up, saying, "Love you
baby!"

"Mommy, I'm not a baby!" Joey exclaimed
petulantly.

Sally buried her face in the child's silky blond hair,
smelling the clean scent of Johnson's Baby
Shampoo. "You'll always be my baby, no matter how
big you get sugar!"

"Can I go play? I gotta put Molly to bed, she's my
baby." Joey's blue eyes widened, her face rapt with
adoration for the new doll.

"Sure, here you go." Sally put her down, and
watched the childish wiggle as she headed toward
the bedroom, pretending she was a mother.

If only Joey knew the depth of devotion a real
mother felt, Sally thought, amazed at herself and
how having a child had given her direction, given her
emotional rewards never dreamed of before.

Sally felt she was a thirty-year-old woman with a
mission now - and with her customary single-minded
determination, she plotted her trip to St. Louis,
Missouri, where she would meet a man Joe Lanky
had recommended when she'd visited him at Raiford
State Penitentiary the previous week.

She trusted Joe, at least while he was locked up.
Free, he was a different story. She'd fallen for him,
and they'd lived together, thieving and traveling for
one year before she discovered he had once been a
drug addict. He resumed his heroin habit when she
announced she was pregnant. Eventually Joe had
split, went to Tampa, and she stayed in Titusville,
where he'd more or less dumped her.

When next she heard from him, he was in a St. Louis
jail, awaiting extradition to Florida on charges of
armed robbery. By the time he was finally sent to
Raiford, she had already delivered Joey, and
survived on welfare until she could return to
thieving. Since Joe was her child's father, Sally
visited him occasionally and gave him progress
reports on their unexpectedly delightful child.

During her last visit he'd told her about Luther
Higgins, the gist being Joe had saved the older
man's life and now deserved his gratitude in any
manner Joe chose to request it. And although Sally
thought a fifty-year-old heart attack victim an
unlikely candidate for an armored car heist, Joe did
have a point in saying Luther was more experienced,
and could offer an objective viewpoint.

Their conversation had then taken a turn for the
worse, an argument ensuing because Joe didn't
think her idea very smart. Reluctantly Sally finally
agreed that Luther could revise or improvise as
circumstance demanded. Basically, she still figured
an armored car the best choice, but promised to
remain open-minded about Luther's suggestions.

Sally wasn't crazy about the lengthy trip to St.
Louis, but she prepared for it methodically. Her
luggage was packed by midnight, and she sat down
to survey a map she'd drawn for her route, smoking
a Capri cigarette and sipping bourbon.

She recalled her last bountiful take at a Miami
convention for computer salesmen. Accidentally,
she'd spied an older man who didn't seem to fit in,
and on an intuitive hunch, she approached him and
immediately saw the Rolex watch on his arm -
enough to indicate he could be a potential mark.

They'd had a delicious meal, danced most of the
evening at a club. When she suggestively hinted
there was more to come, the man had driven her
back to his motel room. Inside, she showed him her
gun and wasted no time in relieving him of his Rolex
as well as considerable cash money. Naturally she
realized that no one carried cash these days, except
those involved in illegal activities. Sally held him
hostage, interrogated him at length, learning he
carried cash a lot; he was a bank robber, and had
laundered the money, so it was clean. She had
actually enjoyed his company, but since they'd met
under difficult circumstances, she thought it wise
not to reveal her identity.

However, Sally had netted enough to buy a good
used 88 Toyota Cressida; pay the Kilbors for
keeping Joey during her absence; pay two months'
advance rent; and still have money to finance the
Missouri trip. It was just real good luck, that Miami
job, she reflected.

Sally put out the cigarette, drained her drink and
looked at the map - it was a long trip, and the
quickest route was by interstate, boring and
monotonous.

She slipped several cassette tapes into a case,
impulsively switching on her stereo, putting in her
favorite tape by singer K.T. Oslin, hearing 'Come
Next Monday' play as she swayed and dreamed.
Sally identified with K.T...an 8Os lady! In charge of
her destiny, master of her fate...not helpless like she
had been as the child of migrant farm workers, a
wretched existence she fought hard to forget.

But this was 1990, and when the song ended, she
put the tape into her case. Then she peeked into
Joey's room, looked at the child sleeping peacefully.
Her image, as she bent over the bed, was reflected
back at her from the dresser mirror - petite and
shapely, her wavy blond hair shimmering around her
heart-shaped face, wide-spaced green eyes glowing
with love. People were always telling her she looked
like Michelle Phiefer, and maybe she did just a little.

Sally touched Joey's cheek, watched her breathing
a moment, and then quietly retired to her bedroom.

*  *  *  *

Tuesday, October 9, dawned clear and sunny,
typical Florida weather. Sally had the car packed
and was saying goodbye to Joey at the Kilbors'
house by eight. It was difficult to relinquish the
child to anyone, but at least the Kilbors were
understanding and kept assuring her they would
make sure Joey had the best of care.

Joey sniffled and said, "Mommy, can I see the
clowns, if I be good?"

"Sure sugar, just wait and when I get back, we'll all
go to that park and see the puppet show, I promise."
Sally held her close, murmuring, "You be mommy's
sweet baby now and do like nanny says, okay?"

"Uh huh, but...mommy, do I have to eat peas?"

Sally laughed, glad to break the somber mood,
teasing, "Well maybe not every day, honey."

Iva, a stout-built woman with graying hair and deep
laughlines on her rounded face, said, "Joey, I won't
serve peas if you'll promise to do something for
me?"

Joey looked at her, a pout on her lips. "What?"

Sally saw Mel coming around the house, and in his
arms he carried a gray tabby kitten. Joey saw it,
and squealed, "Poppa!"

Iva coaxed sweetly, "Can you take care of this kitty
we got for you?"

Joey was running to meet Mel and he gently placed
the kitten in her outstretched hands as she pulled it
to her and began petting it seriously. "Mommy,
look...."

She walked back to Sally, smiling happily, their
parting almost forgotten. "Yes, sweetie that's super.
Now you do like nanny tells you, and take good care
of it."

Nodding gravely, a look of pure love on her face,
Joey stated, "I will."

After a few instructions about when and where
Sally would try to contact the Kilbors, she gave
Joey a final hug and quickly left.

It was hard not to cry, but she concentrated on the
highway, whizzing through Titusville and making her
first connection at Interstate 95, heading north in
the glow of morning light. Traffic was still heavy,
but nevertheless she passed Daytona Beach exits in
one hour and was well on her way to Jacksonville, a
familiar route she often took toward Raiford.

Sally lit a Capri cigarette, squinting in the smoke and
thinking that if this trip didn't pan out, she'd make a
few stops for business - several excellent motels
and tourist areas, convention centers along the
route, plush accommodations for spotting easy
marks. She had worked all along the east coast, as
far north as Atlantic City, but preferred southern
cities due to her homebase in Titusville.

The hours rocked by, Sally lulled by the stretch of
endless interstate. She grabbed a Big Mac at
Jacksonville, and then hit I-10, spending an
interminable afternoon traveling the length of the
panhandle, reaching Pensacola around ten, where she
signed in at a Holiday Inn, exhausted.

She spent a dreamless, restful night and hit the
road by dawn, exiting I-10 at Biloxi and grabbing a
mid-morning meal of scrambled eggs, toast, black
coffee and orange juice at a small cafe. So far,
she'd been pleased by the Toyota; her last car, an
85 Jaguar, had blown the engine, and she decided it
was too flashy anyway. From this time forth, she
wanted to keep a low profile, look like any other
suburban housewife, not showy, not attracting
attention.

Back in the car, she sighed, weary already but
determined. Heading north on 1-55, she relaxed and
occasionally marveled at the lush Mississippi
countryside as the day wore on. Near dark,
thunderclouds appeared on the horizon and she took
out an Elvis tape, switching on the radio to hear that
a stormfront was blanketing most of northern
Mississippi and Arkansas. She made Memphis by nine
and called it quits, checking in at a Ramada Inn,
hungry and hyper from the chocolate snacks she'd
indulged in during the trip.

After a balanced meal at the hotel restaurant, she
went to her room and looked over the map, studying
St. Louis. According to Joe, this guy Luther would be
staying with his parents, who lived outside the city, a
small town called Sullivan.

Impulsively, Sally phoned the Kilbors, told them she
was making excellent time, and then chatted with
Joey, creating an aching loneliness within her,
making her regret the call when she hung up.

To distract herself from the sadness, Sally once
again studied the map. This Luther, who Joe said had
a nickname of "Dodger," was likely to have aging
parents, and since she had the phone number, she
decided to call him, see if she could set up a meeting
in St. Louis. The last thing she wanted was to face
his poor old parents!

After a few rings, a woman's weak voice answered,
"Hello?"

"Is this where Luther Higgins is staying?"

"Yes, and who is this?"

"A friend. Could I speak with him?" Sally asked,
reaching for a cigarette, lighting it and automatically
grabbing the ashtray.

"Just a minute."

The phone hit with a thud, and Sally could hear the
elderly woman's voice calling, "Luther..."

At last a gruff voice said. "Yeah?"

"Hi Dodger, how you doing?"

"Who's this?" His voice was guarded, brusque.

"Sally Jasmin here, a friend of Joseph Lanky's. He
said you'd agreed to meet with me?"

"Look lady, I owe Joe, but the truth is, I'm not
crazy about meeting someone I know nothing about."

"Hey, I'm in Memphis and I didn't drive all the way
from Florida to get the brush-off. So what you say
we meet tomorrow evening in St. Louis?" Sally
waited, tapping off her ashes, listening to canned TV
laughter from a sitcom in the background.

"Fine, but I'm not promising anything except a
meeting."

"Deal. Where you suggest?"

"Why don't I drive down to Memphis, meet you at
your motel?"

"You on parole, and gonna skip out?" Sally asked,
jumping into a possible avenue of complicity.

His voice was a whisper, "No one will know I'm
leaving here. I have tomorrow off anyway, from my
janitor job."

"Right, if that's the way you want it."

He coughed, said low, "Where you staying?"

"The Ramada Inn off Interstate 55," and she gave
him the specifics, then they said a hasty goodbye.

Standing at the window, Sally watched the onslaught
of rain, lighting flashing over the night lights of
downtown Memphis, rumbling thunder louder than
traffic on the interstate, her thoughts focused on
Luther Higgins and how she would convince him to
help her, should he prove worthy of her devious
designs.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER TWO


Luther had left his parents' home just before noon,
driving their Chevrolet Caprice, a loan he had been
loath to request. But having been free only two
weeks and unable to afford a better car, the beatup
Chevette he drove to his job at a nearby hospital
would have never made the trip to Memphis.

He took Interstate 55 south, occasionally cursing
the rain, which had not stopped by the time he
passed the Arkansas stateline. A dreary, windswept
day, traffic on the highway was predictably slow
and sluggish.

Luther lit a Marlboro cigarette, squinting at the
foggy spray off a diesel truck roaring past him. A
woman for chrissakes! What in hell did Joe have in
mind, a harebrained idea for sure if it involved a
woman!

At the next reststop, he pulled in and got out,
stretched his long legs, took a piss and looked at his
haggard face in the bleary mirror. A receding
hairline, the rest of his thin greyish-brown hair
slicked back; faded blue eyes, wrinkles and tight
lines about his eyes and mouth, a rangy frame that
now stooped slightly, rawboned from sorry food at
the joint.

Luther grunted, dashed cold water on his face and
after drying his hands, surveyed his khaki pants and
shirt, wrinkled from the cramped position behind a
steering wheel.

He purchased a coke, some corn chips and hit the
highway. It was taking longer than he'd anticipated
and the arrival time he'd given the woman would be
delayed.

Somewhere just outside Memphis, the sky lightened
in the west and he sailed into the city as a tangerine
sunset streaked skyscrapers, a blinding reddish light
that made him reach for his sunglasses. He also saw
his watch read five, and that put him over an hour
late.

Noticing an off-ramp, he took it and stopped at a
Texaco station, going to a phone stall. He flipped
through the book, found the number for Ramada
Inn, called and asked to be connected to Sally
Jamison's room.

It rang several times, but at last she answered
breathlessly, "Yes?"

"Dodger here. Sorry I'm late, but the weather was
hell."

"Right, well hey, I had some second thoughts about
our meeting..."

"That suits me, I'm ready to turn around and go
back to Missouri."

"No, that's not what I meant." She laughed lightly.
"Why don't we meet for dinner, since it's so late
anyway?"

"I'm not planning on being here that long."

"But I bet you didn't eat all day, am I right?"

"Well no I didn't..." he said, realizing he was hungry.

"How about the River Terrace on Mud Island? I got
some city brochures while I was waiting today, and
that looks elegant."

"I'm not dressed for uh, a fancy place."

"Ah come on, it'll be great," she coaxed, her voice
silky and seductive.

Luther was tempted, but said, "No. Look, either we
meet for a talk, or it's off. No meal."

She sighed. "Well just come on over to the motel
then."

"Be there shortly."

Luther got in the car, headed back onto the
interstate and wondered what sort of woman this
Sally Jamison was anyhow? She sounded sure of
herself, aggressive. He hoped she was fat and ugly,
for his sake. He'd not had a good track record with
women, and his dad often said if there was ever a
sucker for a sweet-talking woman, it was him.

Whipping off the interstate, driving the street to the
motel, Luther braced himself for the meeting. He
didn't need this, he'd been doing fine - landing the
janitor job, planning to rent a small apartment soon.

And his parents, for once, thought he was serious
about changing; they were hopeful. His dad, his mom
- both looked at him with such sorrow, the anguish
of his criminal lifestyle painted on their faces. In
their seventies now, he wanted to please them, and
be the son they had always wanted, not a renegade
and embarrassment for two decent middle-class
citizens. His dad was a retired insurance executive;
his mom the proverbial housewife and mother. The
only child, Luther had been their greatest joy in his
youth. Then their greatest disappointment when he
began petty theft at the age of thirteen, and a
heavy burden ever since.

As he pulled into the parking lot, slowly driving past
the motel rooms until he spotted the woman's room
number, Luther was sad, discouraged. He parked
and sat there smoking, trying to prepare for an
uncompromising position.

But then he saw her: She pulled back the drapes,
and stood outlined by dim lamplight from the room.

He rolled down the car window, tossed out his
cigarette and said, "Shit!"

*  *  *  *

Luther was suddenly hot, sweat on the back of his
neck, his upper lip as he stood just inside the door,
looking at the gorgeous creature smiling at him,
saying sweetly, "Dodger, it's so good to meet you."

He nodded, tongue-tied and feeling flustered, his
hand nervously wiping sweat at the back of his neck.
"You too, I guess."

Sally gestured to the small round table by the
windows, inviting, "Come, sit down. I know you must
be tired. I was just out of it last night when I got
here from Florida."

Luther eased to the chair, sat down and continued to
eye her. She was short, but had curves in places it
counted, dusty blond wavy hair near her shoulders
and the most angelic face he'd ever seen.

He forced himself to say flatly, "Lady, let's not
waste time, what's the deal?"

"Oh, come on, let's not hurry. How about a drink,
just to relax?"

"I don't drink much, and..."

"Say, I have just the thing, some vodka and juice
for screwdrivers." She winked, and went to the
counter, pulled out a bottle of vodka and then said,
"Let me just run down to the ice machine."

"Fine, but make it snappy." He didn't want to
encourage her optimism.

She hurried out the door, calling, "Be back in a
jiffy!"

Luther immediately got up, went to the sink and ran
cold water, splashing it on his flushed face. Jesus,
she was a doll - that slinky red dress on her like a
second skin, clinging in all the right places, he
thought as he dried with a towel, looking at his eyes,
now enlivened, not so weak or tired.

He turned to the clothes rack, saw some very nice
dresses, slacks, sweaters and skirts arranged
neatly, then to the shoes beneath, her suitcase
placed on the top shelf. Why so many clothes?

Returning to the chair, he sat down and saw her
enter the door, carrying ice.

She smiled real big. "Here we go, Dodger."

He nodded, didn't say anything. Let her keep up the
conversation, his throat was too dry to talk.

"I know this isn't the best of circumstances for a
first meeting, but I think you'll understand why it
was necessary once I explain everything to you."
She concentrated on the glasses, putting ice in each
one, adding vodka and juice, stirring quickly then
coming to put one before him. "Not like a bar, but
it'll have to do."

Luther found himself gulping it, the tart drink going
down his parched throat like a streak of fire. He
stifled a cough, feeling his face burn.

Sally grinned, her face averted as she sipped her
drink, then asked, "Little sharp, huh?"

Luther put the glass down, asked pointedly, "What
do you want from me?"

"I happen to think you might be able to help me, in a
way we could both profit from." She sat down, put
her hands flat on the table, looked him in the eyes.
"That is, if you decide to return Joe's favor."

She had him there, and he blanched. "I owe him yes,
but not you."

She continued her unsettling green-eyed stare,
saying calmly, "Right, but he's asked you to repay
him by helping me."

Shaking his head, Luther picked up the glass,
draining the drink in one gulp, and pushed back from
the small table, getting to his feet. "I don't know
what Joe told you, but he did save my life, saved me
from dying with a heart attack."

"I know," she murmured.

"Then you know my ticker's not what it once was. In
other words, I'm a pretty poor choice for any kind
of risky business." He felt the slow warming of his
blood to the liquor as it spread through him, relaxing
and welcome.

Sally sighed, her face aggrieved as she stood, came
to him and begged, "Please at least listen to what I
have in mind, then you can decide."

"Look, I'm fifty-two. I've spent most of my life in
prison, been a thief and done just about every kind
of burglary you can imagine, some armed robberies
too. It's been a damn hard life. I just want to stay
out of the joint, try to make up for the heartbreak
I've caused my parents so whatever you have in
mind, I want no part of it." He edged away, turning
his back to her.

There was a portentous silence, only the distant
traffic on the interstate intruding. Luther stood his
ground, hoping the liquor wouldn't cloud his thinking.

"I understand, I really do. If that's the way you
want it, then fine," she said bluntly.

Astonished, he turned to face her and saw she was
crying, silent tears on her cheeks, eyes red. He
cursed aloud, "Shit!" and wondered if this was an
act?

Crossing the room to stand near the TV, Sally
pointed to the door. "Just leave, please just leave."

Luther ran a hand anxiously through his thin hair,
grimacing. "Look, it's just that I am older now, not in
the best of health. Maybe I could put you in touch
with someone better able to help you?"

"Never mind, I'll manage. I always have before, so
just leave."

He watched as she lifted her chin defiantly, wiping
away tears, still pointing at the door.

"Lady..."

"My name's Sally."

"Sally, I owe Joe. I can't just walk away, not unless
I offer you an alternative," Luther heard himself
say, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

She shook her head, the wavy blond hair like wheat
in wind. "Go! I don't need you. I don't need anyone."

Luther walked to the door, had his hand on the
doorknob, but couldn't move. He thought about his
criminal life, and how he didn't have much of a
conscience, but did feel duty bound to attempt
whatever Joe asked of him. After all,  the boy had
saved his life.

Sally now sat on the edge of the bed, face in her
hands, defeated.

He walked to the bed, said, "Okay, I'll listen to what
you want. But I can't promise I'll go along, not until
I hear it."

She looked up at him, gratitude in her eyes. "Thank
you. But how about we get a bite to eat, I'm
starving."

Luther agreed, thinking he was the biggest sucker
for a woman in this whole wide world, and worried
this one would be the end of him before he'd seen
the last of her.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER THREE


Sally said, "Let me change into jeans, and we'll go to
a burger place."

Luther excused himself, went out to stand in the
brisk, rain-scented wind near his parked car.

As she hurriedly changed out of the slinky dress,
Sally grinned. Tears always brought most men
around, especially an obvious show of female
weakness. Even hard-core men, those professing
cold cunning, were touched by her needy display.

Zipping the tight jeans, she pulled on a striped
cotton shirt, buttoning it up to the high-necked
collar - a vastly different image than the low-cut,
red silk dress. Her intent was to diffuse the
provocative allure she'd created; it seemed Dodger
was more susceptible to vulnerability than sensuality.

After getting her socks and Reeboks on, she laced
the strings, and stood, lifting her hair, running her
fingers through it for a bouncy, full effect. She
smiled, dabbing at her makeup, clearing away any
tear smudges - and thought she looked wholesome,
sweet, much younger than her age.

Slipping on a windbreaker, she walked out of the
motel room and into the gusty wind, joining Luther at
the Caprice. "Ready!"

"Damn, this wind is something!" He tossed down a
half-smoked cigarette, grinding the butt with his
heel.

"You need a jacket, did you bring one?' She moved
closer, staring at his haggard face and stooped
shoulders; this man had fought his battles, and it
showed in his face like the cracks in an aged
sidewalk.

"No, and as a matter of fact, this here's my folks'
car, so I need to be getting this little talk over.
They're expecting me back tonight."

"And you always do what they expect?" Sally asked,
voice dripping sarcasm.

"No, but that's none of your business, the way I see
it."

"Right. Well how about we take my Toyota? I've
been sightseeing today, saw Graceland, love Elvis, so
I know my way around."

"Whatever." He followed her to the car, got in
wordlessly and sat hunkered up, cramped for space.

"Sorry," she apologized, starting the car and driving
onto the street, heading for the interstate.

"These foreign jobs, real uncomfortable."

"But great gas mileage!" Sally exclaimed, buzzing
onto the highway, glad traffic was light.

He grunted, rearranging his long legs, gazing
absently into the night.

Sally located a Burger King, whipped off the
highway, went to the drive-through and asked, "Is
this okay? I thought we'd go and park by the river,
eat our burgers there."

"Whatever."

She placed her order for a chicken sandwich, fries
and malt. He requested a Whopper with all the
fixings, large fries, black coffee, and a peach pie.

After she got the food, Sally drove expertly
through the interstate system to the parking area
just below the ultra-smooth, blue-tinted monorail
that serviced Mud Island tourist. The lot had many
parked cars, but she located a vacant spot near the
river, perfect to see through a stand of trees to the
lights of Mud Island reflecting on the muddy
Mississippi water.

Luther dug in, wasting no time in satisfying his
appetite, trying to get comfortable by twisting and
fidgeting awkwardly.

Sally lowered her car window. "Whew, this feels
good - a fall breeze, real cool at night. Feel that
river chill? I even see a few leaves swirling out
there, already goners."

He kept eating, taking a sip of coffee, placing one
fry at a time in his mouth.

She ate too, not thrilled with the quality of food,
but hungry and preoccupied enough not to complain.
This guy, he was a poor choice, and she wondered if
Joe could be losing it?

Glancing at him sideways, Sally was unimpressed; he
not only was apparently in bad health, but struck
her as an inept loser. Burglaries, small-time
robberies? She'd gotten the notion from Joe that
Dodger was into heaver shit, like banks or something.
To learn he knew nothing of these things didn't
instill confidence in his capabilities. But maybe he
was just testing her, not telling her about all the
crimes he'd committed?

He cleared his throat, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
"So, what is it you got in mind?"

Sally blurted, "First you tell me what all you've
done, something you've done that you didn't get
caught at?"

Silence.

"I need to know more about you before I discuss
my idea." She paused, said flatly, "I could be risking
it if you steal my plan."

A throaty chuckle from him as he managed to say,
"Your idea, don't you think it might land me back in
the joint, should I attempt it?"

"No, because you see, I've never done time and I've
been a thief most of my life. I don't make
mistakes."

He stared at her, his sunken blue eyes rimmed with
sooty circles. "Just how long is that, about twenty
years?"

Sally grinned smugly, stashing her trash in the sack,
gathering up his. "Let's go for a walk, get out of this
stuffy car."

They got out, and she went around to him, both
shivering in the damp, cold air. Her voice was low but
audible, "I'm thirty, but I stay in shape. My
livelihood depends on it."

His face paled, and his eyes looked off at the
glinting river lights. "Hooking?"

"No, but I do use my looks to get men interested,
then I just sort of take advantage of their lust by
luring them to a motel room, getting their money..."

He continued his diffident stare at the river, then
looked around as another couple came to a car
beside them. "Let's walk to the trash barrel over
there."

Sally walked alongside him, carrying the sacks,
talking rapidly, "I never could handle prostitution,
my body means more to me than that. But hey, if
men are willing to mess around on their wives, then
maybe they deserve to be robbed."

"Ain't that a nice way of putting it, excuse your
behavior."

"At least I have an excuse!" she shot back at him,
tossing the sacks into the metal can.

He rammed his hands in his pants pockets, rocking
back and forth on his heels as he studied her
beneath the amber streetlamps. "I never make
excuses; I am what I am."

Sally turned away, mumbling, "This is getting us
nowhere."

"Are you ready to tell me the idea?"

She pulled the windbreaker tight, then looked at him,
her voice icy, "No, not until I know more about you.
I think Joe was wrong about you anyhow. You want
to settle down, do your own thing, and I'm
determined to do this one last job, then I'll settle
too. But if you aren't really interested, it'd be doing
us both a favor if you just split."

He grunted, shuddered in the sudden harsh wind and
grabbed her by the arm, propelling her back along
the asphalt parking lot to their car. Once inside, he
stated, "Okay, what you want, a rap sheet? Or just
my word for it?"

"Start with just one thing you've done you didn't get
caught for."

"When I was ten years old, I went in the boy's
restroom at our church one Sunday night, left the
window cracked and came back Monday morning
before school to rob the place, got whatever money
I could find."

"I had something bigger in mind," Sally snapped.

"One time my grandmother was visiting and I took
twenty dollars from her purse. Mom had me down
on hands and knees looking for that twenty-dollar
bill, and all the while it was in my pocket. Near
Christmas I broke into my aunt's house and stole
over two hundred dollars she'd been saving for my
three cousins' gifts. She came over to our house
crying like a baby, and mom gave her money so the
kids would have their gifts."

"Jesus!"

"Yeah, I was a rotten little turd. I used to steal
stacks of comic books from storefronts before
they opened, would take milk from peoples' front
porches, soda bottles from wherever I found them,
which back then a case was worth 60 cents, and I
soon discovered I could make more money stealing
than delivering The Community News."

She said nothing, merely nodded.

"Me and some other boys had a clubhouse, we'd
steal out of stores, anything we could carry
away...and that kept the place well-stocked. See, I
did lots before I was ever caught the first time, and
that happened at fourteen. As weird as all my
haphazard life, me and the boys were plundering an
upstairs bedroom and guess who should walk in? A
cop, we were robbing a cop! The neighbors called
him home, having seen us sneak in through a broken
window."

A soft laugh escaped, and Sally commented, "Not
your lucky day, huh?"

"Hardly!" He groaned, sighed and continued, "My
folks had me in church every Sunday, and when they
realized I was doing some stealing, shoplifting, stuff
like that, my dad tried to beat the meanness out of
me."

She looked at him, her voice steady, "I know what
you are talking about, but abuse is not all that
uncommon."

"I wasn't making an excuse, or plea for sympathy.
Just being honest. Anyhow, later I did a little of
just about everything, but kept tripping myself up,
getting caught. As for the biggest heist, I guess it'd
be the time me and another guy robbed a few
drugstores, took drugs and money but the law
thought it was another gang doing that kind of
robberies in the area."

He paused, grimaced. "I can recall one of those
robberies that was a tough case. We'd gone in like
gangbusters, pistols drawn, yelling it was a
holdup...and there was a mother and her small son at
the counter waiting to check out. Two of us guys
there, one in the car waiting...anyhow, this little boy
came up to me and told me my gun wasn't real! I
was scared to death, because there was no way I
was going to do anything to hurt this kid but I was
there for one purpose and that was to get the
money. When this kid done this, my partner freaked
and ran out of the store, so here I was holding two
adults at gunpoint and this kid telling me it was a
play gun! What I did was take him by the arm,
leading him back to where his mother and the owner
of the store were standing, told his mom to take him
because I didn't want him to get hurt, then I went
about getting what I went there for and left."

Sally asked, "And were they gone, the partners?"

"No, fortunately they'd stuck to the plan...and I got
away, but we were all pretty shaky after that time."

Suddenly Sally exclaimed, "Have you ever robbed a
bank?"

"Shit no! You think I'm stupid enough to risk a fed
rap?"

She bit her lips, shrugged. "Bigger things carry
bigger risks."

He was now glaring at her, a hard glare of probing
intensity that lasted and lasted until he asked, "You
planning to rob a bank, lady?"

"My name is Sally, but how about you call me
Gypsy? That's what my ma called me and it caught
on. No, not a bank, an armored car."

She started the Toyota, headed back to the
interstate and talked steadily, "It's not really that
risky. Oh, not if it's planned just right. I mean, one
big take and we're on easy street for life."

He was shaking his head ruefully, tapping his fingers
on his leg, irritated. "Best laid plans oft go astray."

"Maybe, but I'm tired too, tired of risking getting
caught for nothing but nickels and dimes, never
being able to quit..."

"What about a legit job? Ever cross your mind?" he
asked, glancing at her soberly.

"That's for chumps. Why would I want to work at
something like that, still nickels and dimes? If I get
the car, I can invest that money, live off my
dividends."

"You're dreaming."

"Oh right, but look, I have worked - sold Avon,
cased houses for Joe to burglarize. I pretended to
be an insurance adjuster once, got into homes to
record their valuables."

"Yeah, and I used to pay visits to obit's relatives, or
birth parents while off at funerals or hospitals...but
that don't qualify either of us for an armored car."
He angled his legs differently, twitching miserably.

As she pulled into the Ramada Inn, Sally glanced at
him as she parked. "All I ask is you listen to the plan,
down in Florida, see if it don't make sense."

He got out, stood in front of the car, leaning on the
hood. "Should I plan on the night here?"

Sally smiled. "Yes, you can call your folks. Come on
inside, I have to phone friends in Florida too."

As they entered the room, Sally went to the phone
and began dialing the Kilgors' number. When she got
Iva, she asked about Joey, laughing at the child's
latest antics, her new fascination with the kitten,
which she'd named Tiger.

Luther sat in the chair, his legs stretched in front of
him, hands behind his head, a look of curiosity on his
face.

Sally cried, "What? You mean that tropical storm,
Marco, is getting dangerous there?"

He sat forward, seemingly interested.

"Oh it's mostly rough on the west side of the state,
around Tampa...but the rain is causing flooding." She
paused, looked at him and shook her head. "Right,
well just so you are all safe."

At last she hung up, and said to Luther, "I worry
about Joey."

"You have a kid?"

"Yes, she's five and I miss her when I travel." Sally
laid down on the bed, looked up at the ceiling. "Joe
gave me one good thing...her."

Luther got up, paced around the room. "Is Joey with
your parents?"

"No, just some older friends. My parents, that's
another story. Joe and me, well, he had some
problems with drugs. When I first got pregnant, I
was scared to death - what if I had AIDs? I mean,
Joe wasn't using when he was with me, but I knew
he had in the past, and went back to it. I got tested,
and it was negative. Then when Joey was born, she
tested negative too. God. I was so relieved!" She
stopped abruptly, looked to him questioningly.

"No kids myself." He went to the door, said, "I'm
going to the phone in the lobby, call my folks from
there."

Sally stood, went to his side and said, "You can sleep
here, there's two separate beds."

He looked down at her, sighed. "I'm not sure that's
a good idea."

"I promise not to jump your bones," Sally joked, and
was amused to see him get red-faced.

"I'll sleep in the car, see you in the morning. In the
meantime, think about what a long stretch in prison
might be like."

Sally thought him mildly interesting but wondered if
he was worth all this trouble?

The specter of prison was not a deterrent, simply
because she felt confident her plan would not fail.
And besides, Sally knew this time she was going for
the gold.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER FOUR


Luther had tried to keep the phone call neutral, and
his mom did her best to understand, but his dad took
over the phone, and they wound up in an argument,
ending with Luther's vow to get the goddamn
Caprice back tomorrow if it killed him!

As he walked past the pimple-faced desk clerk, the
boy smirked as though he found Luther's
predicament somehow amusing.

Luther felt his face tightening into an impassive
mask, the way it did inside the joint when
encountering ridicule, or volatile confrontations.

It was near eleven, and the night had grown colder;
Luther stood by the Caprice, took out a cigarette
and lit it, inhaling down to his lungs, thinking of long
cramped hours in the backseat. He smoked,
frowning and wondering what in hell he was getting
himself into?

When he crawled inside the car, he saw that Sally
had piled a couple of blankets on the seat, which he
bedded down beneath, trying to fit his body into
such woefully inadequate space. At least she wasn't
totally callus, but Luther knew she tried to give that
impression - he'd seen it often, the tough exterior,
the cool facade, but in a woman it rarely held
together as well as it did for her. Sally's tears, her
outrage, her explosive mood, he recognized as a
perfected act, removed entirely from what her real
feelings/thoughts might be.

He tossed, turned and finally allowed the sound of
distant interstate traffic to lull him into drowsiness.
Hell, Sally was just a babe in the woods, innocent
really since her scams were basically easy pickings.
What man could resist that face, that body? And
even if they realized their foolishness, who could
turn her in? Besides, what she did - luring men to
think they'd get sex, then spiking a drink with
narcotics or pulling a gun and robbing them - most
of the male victims were too embarrassed by their
gullibility, or afraid of their wives learning of their
promiscuous behavior, to ever call in the authorities.
Not to mention the hassle of returning to press
formal charges. Hell, it was a trade as old as the
gypsies themselves, just a new version for modern
times.

Gypsy, her nickname...he wondered if she was from
a family of the original wandering con artists? He
let his imagination conjure up her curvy shape, the
glowing green eyes, that angelic face...but curtailed
his fantasy before he let lust take over. If nothing
else, this woman had been, and probably still was,
Joe's lover. It was betrayal of Joe to even think of
Sally in a sexual way. Moreover, Luther told himself
this was one time his weakness for a vulnerable
woman had to be restrained.

As he shut his eyes against the neon signs
proclaiming reasonable motel rates, fast food chains
and self-serve gasoline pumps, Luther promised
himself he would worry about all this tomorrow,
after a little sleep.

*  *  *  *

Luther awoke to noisy yelling, "Hey, wake up
Dodger! Hear? Wake up!"

He untangled himself from the blankets, rolled down
the window where Sally was still rapping on the
glass. "Wake up, mister!"

Wiping his blurry eyes, he croaked, "Shit, what time
is it?" He blinked in the bright sunlight, rubbing his
eyes and feeling beard stubble on his chin.

"Nearly nine, I got us some coffee and a bite of
breakfast." She stuck her head in the window,
grinning. "Hope you like McDonald's chow?"

"Whatever." He opened the door, scooted out,
unfolding his body, standing and stretching as he
saw a young couple nearby packing up their Dodge
van, screaming at their kids, several cars already
missing from the parking lot.

Sally peered at him. "I bet you feel like shit after
sleeping in that backseat, huh?"

He nodded curtly, studying her fashionable clothing:
the loose creamy sweater, a tan suede skirt and
knee-high brown suede boots, very stylish and
attractive on her. He watched her golden wheat hair
catch fire in the sunshine, her fingers toying with
thick waves, her fresh face staring at him, big green
eyes wide, sympathetic.

"It was rough, yeah," he said, inching away from
her, aware her closeness was imperceptibly raising
his blood pressure.

She pivoted, and walked pertly toward the motel
room, asking, "What did your folks say?"

He followed at a safe distance, answering,"My dad
was in a foul mood, and got bent out of shape over
the car."

"Sorry," she said, leading him inside to the small
round table where food was laid out, coffee waiting.

"Uh, mind if I use the john?" He felt his face
getting hot, and dashed into the restroom. After
taking a quick piss, he came out, washed his hands at
the sink, splashing cold water on his eyes, the beard
stubble, inspecting his gaunt face, sallow skin,
slicking back his thinning greyish hair and looking
down at rumpled pants and shirt. "Christ, I look like
shit," he muttered.

"Never mind that. I know you don't have a change
of clothing, but once you eat, you'll feel better."
She was seated, sipping her coffee.

He crossed to the table, sat down and opened the
styrofoam container of hot black coffee. "I'm still
half asleep, can't believe I slept so late. I'm a
morning person, always like the early hours. In the
joint, I got up at five, before all the racket
started."

"That bad trip yesterday probably did you in," Sally
said, as she bit into an Egg McMuffin.

"Yeah, it was a strain, with the rain and all. But
today is sunny."

"I listened to the forecast last night, nothing but
wonderful fall weather for the next few days,
warm days and cool nights, at least here and north
to Missouri. Down in Florida, the last of Marco is
leaving downpours of rain."

He began eating, and avoided looking at Sally; the
food was lousy, but he didn't complain, he'd had
worse. As he finished, taking a final gulp of coffee,
he slid back his chair and pulled out a Marlboro,
lighting it and holding the cup as an ashtray. "Sally..."

"Gypsy, remember?" she corrected, getting up and
clearing away their trash, putting it carefully into
the wastebasket. Then she grabbed a pack of Capri,
walked back to him, leaning over for him to light the
ultra-thin cigarette, smiling.

"Gypsy," he said, retrieving his Bic and giving her a
quick flame, then sighing as he inhaled and studied
her a moment, adding, "Strange nickname, ain't it?"

"No stranger than Dodger." Sally dropped down on
the bed, smoking and eyeing him curiously.

"Yeah, you got it. I was just wondering, maybe you
come from real gypsies?" He stood, stretching and
going to look out the window at the cars pulling out
and a few arriving; the entire lot was changing as
checkout time got close.

"Of a sort, but not the traditional kind. My parents
were migrant farm workers."

He glanced at her, surprised. "Migrants? Tough life,
huh?"

"Worse than you know." She studied him, arching an
eyebrow. "You?"

"Can't complain much, my folks are middle-class, do
okay financially."

"Really?" Sally put her feet on the floor, sat up,
stubbing out her cigarette in an ashrtray. "Sounds
like a good childhood."

"It had its drawbacks...too much religion, too strict,
too cold. Not much show of emotions, real self-
controlled parents."

"That explains it," she pronounced, standing and
smoothing her suede skirt.

"What?"

"Your laconic nature."

He was, as usual, at a loss for words, and turned
back to the windows, seeing a rotund man pass by
heading to the front desk, his blue suit crisply fresh
for the day's travel. "Look Sally..."

"Gypsy," she reminded him, coming closer, stopping
inches from his side.

He picked up the scent of her Chanel perfume.
"Gypsy, I'd like to chat all day, but I've got to get
the damn Caprice back today or..."

"Oh come on, your own dad wouldn't turn you in."

"He has before." Luther grimly recalled his one week
stay at Bellfoundain Farm in January 1956; it was
his first time in juvenile custody, and he couldn't
adjust to the rigors of confinement. He and another
boy ran away, made it the seventeen miles into the
city, where Luther headed for home. When he
knocked at the back door, his mom let him in; he
took a bath, changed clothes and ate the food she
fixed for him. Then he told his parents he was going
to see his little girlfriend, who was at an orphanage.
When he got there, the police greeted him; his
parents had informed the cops, and he never
trusted his them again. Consequently, until this last
release, he'd never told them honestly what he was
doing, or informed them of his whereabouts, if
involved in criminal activities, which he nearly always
was.

"Okay, then what's your plan?" Sally asked, sighing.

"I think I could ask you the same thing, but for now,
I need to get the damn car home, and have a talk
with my parole officer. I think..." He hesitated,
deliberately walking away from her, crossing to the
sink and staring at himself in the mirror. "I think I
can talk him into letting me go to Florida, if I fake
it, say I have a better job offer."

"I might be able to help with that. I know some
people, in Titusville, you can give as job prospects."
Sally sat down on the edge of the bed, ankles linked.

"Harris is a good guy, naive and young, thinks he can
help us wayward ex-cons, a real therapist. First
visit, I looked him in the eye and said I was going
straight. He believed me, I could see it." Luther spun
around, pointed a finger at her. "That was because I
meant it. But you, well, you seem determined to stop
me."

Sally sprang up and, quicker than a cat, she was at
the door. "Hey buster, if you want to walk, walk! I
don't want to corrupt such a fine upstanding
citizen." She jerked open the door, sunlight flooding
the dim room.

Luther winced, and exclaimed, "Shit, close the door!"

"Hey, I mean it! Go, if that's what you want!" She
cocked her hip, one hand on it, a sexy pout on her
full lips.

He swallowed hard, trying to drown the carnal rush
that went through him looking at her sassy posture,
sensuality smoldering in her emerald eyes. "No, I'm
in. I owe Joe."

Sally declared, "I'm not sure you got the balls to do
this job anyway."

Like most men, Luther felt outrage at being called a
coward and immediately advanced to her, grabbing
her by the shoulders as he shouted, "What in hell do
you want of me? I said I'd go along, listen and help,
if it makes any sense at all!"

Sally twisted out of his grip, flattening herself
against the wall, mouth agape, feigning fear.

"Cut the act, okay? I know you faked the tears last
night and I went along. But just cut it out, okay?"

Instantly Sally went limp, her face sullen now, eyes
rounded with innocence. "I wasn't faking. If I don't
do this, get set with some money for life..."

He watched her lips tremble, tears shimmer in her
eyes and thought she was a consummate actress.

"If I don't get set with finances, or if I ever get
caught, I might lose Joey. My daughter means the
world to me." She put her hands over her face and
shook, muffled sobs shaking her body.

"I'm sorry," Luther heard himself apologize, moved
despite his reservations. He stepped closer. "I didn't
mean to scare you, I never hurt a woman in my life."

"I just want to quit all this, stay home with Joey,
but my life is such a mess, the real pits." Sally
coughed, wiping away tears with the back of her
hand.

He came closer to her, the perfume tantalizing now,
and couldn't resist pulling her against him, gently
putting his arms around her trembling body. "Look,
we'll work this out, one way or another."

She lay her head on his chest, murmuring, "I hope
so, but I'm not trying to harm you, Dodger."

The physical nearness of her was almost more than
Luther could handle. She felt like sweet promise,
tenderly leaning on him, and he recognized a familiar
stirring in his heart, reluctantly admitting she was
getting to him. He stroked her unbelievably soft
hair, saying, "It'll work out, wait and see."

She pulled back, looked up at him, all vulnerable and
childlike. "I trust you."

God, he thought, why me?

Presently Luther sat her down and told her that
he'd have to return to Missouri; she could follow
him, and get a room in St. Louis while he took care
of some loose ends. Then he'd join her and they'd
drive to Florida in her Toyota.

Jokingly, he said, "That is if I can hack that foreign
job!"

Grinning sweetly, her angelic face alight with hope,
Sally proclaimed, "Then all systems are go Dodger!"

And he sighed, knowing he'd have to fight this
overwhelming emotional/physical tide all the way,
vaguely wondering how he could talk her out of the
armored car heist because he had no desire to see
them both destroyed - as they surely would be
unless he could thwart her plans somehow.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER FIVE


Sally packed rapidly, undaunted that she'd be
driving to St. Louis after all. Her main plan to enlist
Luther's help was what mattered. He had begun to
seem more like what she had in mind, a man who had
a clear head, cautious and equipped to handle the
finer details on an armored car job.

After she snapped the leather luggage straps in
place, Sally looked in the mirror and brushed her
hair quickly, put on some lipstick and yelled, "Hey
I'm ready!"

He came inside, lifted one bag and carried it to her
Toyota; she followed, carrying a small cosmetic
case, and unlocking the trunk. He put the bag in,
said, "We'll head across the river, then onto
Interstate 55 north, the fastest route."

"I'll follow you, like we agreed." Sally got inside the
car, rolling down the window. "I'm sure you'll stay
within the speed limit."

"You got it Gypsy." He grinned slightly, a lopsided
grin that touched Sally. Then he gave a mock salute,
headed to the Caprice and backed out, her on his
bumper.

It was a sparkling clear day and Sally put on her
sunglasses, watching for traffic as she hit the
street behind him, going slowly to the interstate
ramp and gliding along smoothly, content that her
plans were on track.

Once, crossing the span of Mississippi River, she
looked off the steel-laced bridgework, in awe of
that mysterious winding serpent that had enchanted
so many people...recalling Mark Twain, her love of
Huck Finn whom she'd identified with as a vagabond
adventurer, the child of migrant wanderers. Then
the more evocative influence of Beale Street, that
soulful blues heritage which spawned Elvis Presley,
an idol who was before her time but a singer she
nevertheless had come to appreciate by listening to
his provocative voice.

As they made their way to Interstate 55, Sally kept
close to the Caprice, seeing Luther scratch his
beard, run a hand through his thinning hair - a
gesture she'd noticed he did compulsively. She could
see his arm extended to the dash for the lighter, a
hand to his face and then flung over the steering
wheel as he nonchalantly held a cigarette loosely,
smoking reflexively and staring straight ahead, as
though she were nowhere around. Very cool, she
thought, and hoped he'd be as calm in a crisis.

Finally, they were on the interminable stretch of
highway and Sally felt her brain numbing from the
rhythm of riding...going back to those days when
she'd desired nothing more than to stop, stay put in
one place, be a normal kid...not a fruit tramp. Those
bleak memories were never far from the surface,
and it always made her anxious, feeling sad for the
parents she'd abandoned.

Vividly, Sally recalled her pa, a wiry, short man,
decimated by the migrant life...not a tooth in his
head, tattoos on bony arms, emaciated and usually
clothed in tattered, dirty castoff clothing. Leroy and
Imogene Jasmin, her parents. Her ma was a skinny,
stringy-haired woman, old long before her time.
They tried to be good parents, and Sally never
doubted that they loved her and her younger
brother, Larry. The constant traveling and working
up and down the East Coast was not the worst of it;
the transitory migrant camps where they stayed
occasionally were a nightmare, and what ultimately
forced Sally to run away at age sixteen.

She checked her speed, noting that they were
hanging steady at 55 mph. To avoid her memory of
past atrocities, she lit a cigarette and honked her
horn just for the hell of it.

Luther glanced in the rear view mirror, saw her big
smile and waved over his shoulder, returning his
riveting gaze to the highway ahead.

Laughing, Sally smoked and cracked the window,
thinking if this worked she'd be free of crime, and
somehow find a way to show Dodger her
appreciation. For a second, it occurred to her that
maybe he was risking far too much, at his age and
all...but she curbed her doubts, admitting to herself
he was her only prospect.

The interstate tedium of travel droned on, but Sally
persisted in thoughts of the armored car, possible
ways to work out fail-proof details, thus
concentrating on positive plans, not the negative past
of her childhood.

Around noon, Luther made a motion for the next
off-ramp, and she trailed him to a Gulf station,
pulling in and watching as he got out, came to her
car. She rolled the window down, asked, "What,
gas?"

"Yeah, and I thought you might want to freshen up,
get a coke and snack." He leaned into the window,
asked, "How are you on gas?"

"Great, not like that guzzler you got." She laughed,
seeing him register shock at the mileage she was
getting compared to him. The middle-east crisis with
Iraq was playing havoc with gas prices and she
congratulated herself on the wise choice of a
Toyota.

Luther headed toward the Caprice, commenting,
"Meet you in the snack area."

Sally grabbed her purse, got out and walked across
the lot to the office, asked for the restroom keys
and then went inside the cubbyhole, relieving herself
and pondering on Luther's thoughtfulness. He was
proving to be a polite, considerate man, rather old-
fashioned in his manners toward women, probably
due to his age.

After getting a coke and pack of potato chips at the
vending machine, Sally stood watching Dodger pay
the attendant, then come toward her grinning that
lopsided grin. It made his face less severe, more
vulnerable, not so haggard...

"Anything fit to eat in here?" he asked, abruptly
avoiding her attentive gaze.

"Dodger, why don't you smile more often?" she
blurted out, letting her curiosity get the best of her.

He punched buttons on the machine for a cold ham
sandwich and then got black coffee, sliding into a
small booth. "Come sit down Gypsy."

"Answer my question, please!" She sat down as
commanded, sipping coke and tearing into the chips.

"What's to smile about? I'm old and ailing, a
bummer."

"I sorta like that lopsided grin you have," she said,
munching chips, wiping her hands on a napkin.

He was grinning widely now, nodding and grinning
some more, a red tint creeping over his face. "Aw
shucks, thanks ma'am," he drawled in lazy cowboy-
fashion.

She laughed heartily at his John Wayne imitation,
thinking maybe this wasn't all going to be strait-
laced and cheerless.

By four that afternoon, Sally was installed in a room
at the St. Louis Best Western Viking Lodge,
comfortably standing in her stocking feet, having
tossed her boots in a corner. She began peeling off
the sweater and skirt, which had almost been too
hot for such unseasonably warm weather.

This was a spacious room, much better
accommodations - and although more expensive, she
felt it absolutely necessary. There was also a fine
restaurant and lounge with live entertainment that
she'd discovered while waiting for Luther.

As she stripped off her slip, hose and bra, heading
for a cold shower, Sally fondly remembered the
Madison Hotel in Montgomery, Alabama - a fabulous
establishment where large conventions were
remarkably profitable for her scams.

While the tingly spray washed away the tiredness of
her trip, she thought of the six-story atrium in the
lobby, Abernathy's Lounge where she'd snared many
an unsuspecting businessman, and the delectable
food in the open airy lobby Atrium Restaurant, or
Italian cuisine in Bacchus Ristorante, that wonderful
aromatic cappuccino, yummy!

Refreshed, she stepped out and pulled on a terry
robe, ran a brush through her hair and went to hang
her clothing up. Then she chose a silky white blouse,
burgundy pants and gold blazer to wear. She put on
the outfit, getting her hair dryer and expertly
styling her wavy hair, dabbing on a little makeup.

Luther had taken the exit to Sullivan, where he'd
exchange cars at his parents home, but said he'd
meet her in the motel restaurant at six, so she had
time to spare and sat before the TV, viewing news
about the budget crisis in Washington, Congress
blaming President Bush, him blaming Congress. From
what she could determine of politicians, you had to
be good at finger-pointing, casting blame on
someone other than yourself...not unlike some of the
criminals she'd known.

As the weather was forecast, she saw that Florida
was still cloudy. Today was October 12, Friday, and
hopefully it would be clear there by Sunday. She
picked up the phone and placed a call to Iva,
overjoyed to hear they were fine, and then talking
to Joey, who reported her kitten, Tiger, to be "my
baby now."

After the call, Sally had to mend her makeup; tears
had come to her eyes, just hearing that cute, sweet
voice of Joey's. God, she loved her child...loved her
more than she'd ever dreamed possible.

The knock at her door came at five past six; she
fluffed her hair and went to open the door, stunned
by the man standing there. It was Luther, still the
same Dodger, but a better version - he was wearing
navy dress pants, white shirt and dark tie. He
awkwardly shifted from foot to foot, fidgeting with
his tie.

"Why Dodger, you look positively handsome!" Sally
gushed, stepping out to join him, hooking her arm
through his, propelling them along the walkway, down
the stairs.

He seemed subdued, but as they walked in the
deepening twilight, passing a noisy video game room,
he said, "I wanted to dress right for the nice
restaurant."

"Well, you sure got the right combination, and this
will be my treat." She drew him into a secluded
alcove, making certain no one was around, then
whispered close to his ear, "I won't mention my plan
at dinner, let's just pretend we're on a leisurely
date, discuss our backgrounds, no pressure."

He nervously ran a hand through his thin hair, said
agreeably, "Fine, but later when we get back to the
room, I want the whole score, okay?"

"Yes." She tiptoed up to kiss him gently on the cheek.
"And I do appreciate your willingness to listen to my
idea."

Pulling away, fiddling with his tie, Luther asked, "One
thing, how do I know I can trust you? There's so
many scams these days, and few you can really
trust. Not like the old days when I first started out.
Back then a partner was a partner, no ratting each
other off."

Sally leaned against him, looked him in the face, her
gaze earnest. "You can trust me, I guarantee that
above all else."

He edged away, turning his face to the side -
resisting her advances, Sally thought. She countered
by touching his face, forcing him to look at her. "I
mean it. I'm not acting. I will keep my word on this.
I'm not a backstabber, a two-timer, or a snitch."

"What about Joe?" he suddenly questioned,
returning her intense stare. "Are you his woman?"

She tossed her head, hair swirling softly. "I'm no
man's property, least of all Joe's! But no, if that's
what you're concerned about. Joe is the father of
my child but we're not lovers, no longer involved
romantically. That ended long before he went to
prison."

She felt his arms go around her, amazed at his
strength as he held her so close she could feel his
rapidly beating heart against her chest.

"I trust you Gypsy," he whispered huskily, searching
for her lips, tentatively kissing her with a shy,
unsure kiss. Then almost instantly pulling away,
letting her go, he apologized, "Sorry, I couldn't help
it."

"No need to apologize," she said, taking his hand and
pulling him out of the shadows into the light, heading
toward the restaurant. "I wanted it too."

And as they walked along, she realized it was
true...but was it wise?

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER SIX

During the meal, Luther wished he could have
prevented that impulsive kiss. But he'd been drawn
irresistibly to her sincerity, her intoxicating
femininity, drowning in Chanel perfume, her husky
voice, smoldering green eyes. And now, looking at
her across the table, he still couldn't break the
spell.

She smiled, took a bite of steak, savored the taste
and asked, "Isn't this good? I bet it beats that chow
where you just came from, the prison?"

"Yeah," he agreed, cutting the rare meat, sampling a
large Idaho baked potato smothered with sour
cream and butter. "Delicious."

"But about your heart, Dodger, maybe you should be
on a restricted diet?"

"To hell with it! I'm making up for lost time," Luther
declared, getting another yeast roll from the
basket, knowing he should be curbing the cholesterol
but considering the reason he was here, it seemed
absurd to be vigilant about his diet.

As though reading his mind, Sally said, "Sure, we are
about to undertake a big risk, but your diet is
important. You wouldn't want to lose out on spending
all the dough we'll have when our mission is
accomplished."

Luther glanced around the room, shadowy and dim
with indirect lighting, aware other people were
absorbed in eating, oblivious to them. He cleared his
throat, wiped his mouth with a napkin and said,
"About that mission..."

"Shh," she whispered, a finger to her lips, "not here
in mixed company. I'll fill you in later, the whole
caper." Her green eyes widened, brightened. "But
now, tell me about yourself. Did you grow up in St.
Louis or Sullivan?"

Somewhat reluctantly, Luther began telling her
about his formative years in St. Louis, about living on
West Lexington, attending Farragut and David
Herzog Elementary Schools, the north part of the
city - a middle-class neighborhood, mostly white
working people since this was in the 40s, before the
influx of blacks to that area. The house was a
renter, three rooms on the second floor, a kitchen,
living room, one bedroom and a small bathroom. He
shared his parents' bedroom, but oddly didn't recall
much about that time, other than he got into trouble
a lot and was punished. Eventually, at the age of
twelve in '51, his parents decided a neighborhood
change might help prevent his rebelliousness, and
bought a house in north-west St. Louis - five rooms
and a full basement, kitchen, living room, dining room
and two bedrooms, giving him some privacy in his
own bedroom.

He told Sally the new neighborhood was nicer, big
yards, family dwellings, but people seemed to be
different, what he termed "holier-than-thou"
attitudes, which was reinforced by his parents
vigilant attendance at the nearby church, him in tow.

Sally interjected, "God, religion, it's never been a
big part of my life. As a kid, I went to tent revivals,
and there were do-gooders around camps, trying to
help us, but I always felt they were looking down on
us."

She paused, then mused, "I have always kinda
believed in God, that He guides our lives, keeps
watch - not morally, no - just somehow controls our
destiny. Otherwise life doesn't make much sense."

Luther didn't care for a religious discussion; he did
not subscribe to Heaven and Hell as taught in the
Bible, but simply shrugged, remaining noncommittal.

Sally grinned. "Church didn't make you behave,
huh?"

"Nah, like I told you, I was a turd. That's the
church I broke into later, only lived in that
neighborhood four years. Went to Beaumont High
School for a short time before I was sent to
Bellfoundain the first time at sixteen."

"Bellfoundain?"

"A juvenile delinquent farm." He got out Marlboros,
tapped one into his fingers and lit it, then resumed
talking, "Yeah, tough times, enough so that I ran
away about four or five times."

"Jeez, you've had some hard times." Sally was
reaching for her purse, getting a cigarette. "Glad we
have a smoking area here. Most places act like
cigarettes are worse than dope!"

He nodded, taking a deep drag, letting the smoke
settle in his lungs, then come out slowly between
parted lips. "I should quit, but I'm already so
damaged I might as well have this one pleasure."

Sally shrugged. "I've tried quitting, always get so
antsy it drives me nuts."

"Yeah well Sally..."

"Gypsy remember?"

"Gypsy, at your age it would be worth quitting. You
got a lot of living left to do."

He stared at her as she said, "Maybe, but why
deprive myself before I know for sure I'll be
around that long?"

"I thought you were confident about uh...the
mission?"

"I am, but back to you...how come your parents live
in Sullivan now?" She leaned back, relaxing and
smoking, studying him.

"I helped persuade them to move out of the city in
'73, too violent now. They were the only whites on
that block, the whole place became a gutter. Sullivan
is a town of about five thousand, mostly whites with
very little industry. The majority of people there
work in St. Louis - my dad had an apartment in St.
Louis until he retired, would drive in on Sunday
afternoon, stay till the next Friday. Anyhow,
Sullivan's an ideal small town, which I prefer to
large cities. The town has a good school system, nice
park, restaurants, excellent hospital, where I was
working as a janitor..."

"Until I showed and spoiled it all, you mean?" Sally
asked, eyes averted.

Luther shifted, didn't comment.

"I know what you mean about small towns, Titusville
is a little like that, where I rent."

"About Titusville, you said you could line up some job
references for me?"

"I know several real estate sales ladies, and if I give
them a call, tell them I have a friend here who is a
good salesman, I think they might verify job
potential."

"An ex-con realtor?" Luther mocked, grinning.

"There's that grin, real cute," Sally teased, stubbing
out her cigarette in the ashtray. "I'm sure you don't
have to bring that up, do you?"

"Maybe not, we'll see Monday."

"Ready?" she asked, standing and grabbing her
purse, slinging it over her shoulder.

He got up, reached for the dinner tab, but she put
her hand over it first. "My treat, remember?"

"No way!" he exclaimed, ashamed he felt
relief...since his wallet contained only fifty bucks,
the last of the money he'd earned in prison. He'd
called the hospital and told his supervisor he quit,
and wouldn't be in to get his check until Monday, so
those few dollars in his pocket were all that stood
between him and resorting to old habits for cash.

"Go on outside, I'll just be a minute," Sally urged,
heading for the counter.

As he unknotted the tight damn tie, Luther stepped
out into the cooler air, breathing deeply; it felt good
to get that choker off him, and he jerked the tie
from around his neck, sighing with satisfaction.

His gaze swept the parking lot, noting various cars
that apparently were local, people dining at the fine
restaurant in Best Western Viking Lodge. Luther
leaned against a brick wall, w
attraction to Gypsy; it was like a prickly briar,
bothering him and making him uneasy.

Feeling a tap on his shoulder, he spun around to see
her looking up at him.

"Ready for the game plan?" she joked, taking his
arm and propelling them back through the night to
her room, going inside first, tossing down her purse
and then staring at him as he lingered in the open
doorway.

"Come on in, what you afraid of? I don't bite," she
kidded, laughing.

"I was just thinking, it's getting late..." he began,
stalling for time to clear his head, get away from
her sexy allure. "My old Chevette is a clunker and
I'd better hit the road."

"Don't you want to hear my plan?" she dropped her
eyes, shook her head. "I apologize for coming on to
you, I never meant to cause a strain between us."

Nervously running a hand through his thin hair,
Luther drifted inside, closed the door and felt his
head swimming; he checked his pocket, got out a pill,
said, "I need to take this, blood pressure medicine."

She hurriedly got him a glass of water, and he
downed the pill, then sat in an easy chair, saying,
"This is a nice room, better than the last one."

Sally gestured to the queen-size bed, paisley
headboard and matching spread, curtains and
comfortable sofa, easy chairs and entrance to a
good-size bathroom. "Yes, I couldn't stand that
confining space, had to have a little luxury."

She grinned cat-like. "There's a Marriott Hotel in
this city, great spot for prey."

"You're not going to do business here!" He was
aghast, jumping to his feet, beginning to pace
fretfully.

"Well, only if our plans fall through. Which reminds
me, sit down here and I'll draw the plan out for
you." She got a pad and pencil from a drawer, sat
down facing him, beginning to formulate the sketch
of a shopping mall, complete with shops, department
and grocery stores, and the bank...

"Where's this?" Luther asked, studying the map,
pointing to the bank she'd just labeled.

"A Titusville mall, Savings and Loan bank..."

He folded his arms over his chest, leaned back in
the easy chair and closed his eyes wearily.

"Hey, you haven't heard the basic idea yet. Give me
a break, okay?"

"Shoot, I'm all ears," he said, knowing this was
obviously the wild fantasy of a desperate woman.

"Well, you see, I shop here and I noticed, couldn't
help but notice, the armored car deliveries and
pickups, different times of course, but...that can be
worked out."

"And?" He edged forward, rubbing his brow, feeling
sweat break out.

"And so if I wore a disguise, like say a black wig, or
something, dressed real sexy, and if I like, got in
front of the parked armored car as it was waiting
for the guards to return with the money, and say I
faked fainting, fell out right there in front of the
guard who stays behind the wheel, distracted him,
and then you came up in back, blazing guns and all,
confronted the guards, got the money... Even if you
just got the bags the guards were bringing from
bank..."

He was shaking his head, wiping sweat off the back
of his neck.

"What?" she demanded, tilting her head
questioningly.

"That is real smart, only you and me, no backup
man...and three or four guards to deal with?"

"I didn't say it was perfect...yet. But if we both
worked on a plan, I know it could be done!" She
jumped up, came close to him and said, "Even if we
had to bring in another person..."

Luther was folding and unfolding his tie; he stood,
slung it around his neck and looked her directly in
the eyes. "Pull a job in your own backyard?"

"I thought about that...I mean, it could be done
elsewhere just as easily. Maybe even here, or we
could just pick a city, observe the armored car
routes for a few days..."

"And the risks, prison time, getting shot?"

He tried to knot his tie and she began helping him,
saying, "I refuse to even think about failure."

"Your daughter, Joey?" He pulled away, finishing the
knot, going to the door, looking at her strained face.
"Joey is important to you, you're important to her.
What would happen if she lost you?"

Her face reddened and she said slowly, coldly,
"That's exactly why I need to do a job that can get
me out of my criminal lifestyle, to be with her, not
keep running that risk."

"I'm not going to fool around Gypsy, or promise
what I'm not sure I can deliver. I've never even
thought about an armored car, or bank. But if, and I
do mean IF, I decided to join you in this half-baked
idea, we'll sure have to do some footwork, some
hard labor at finding the ideal spot, the right city,
the right setup..."

She smiled real big, her white teeth showing. "Then
you'll think about it?"

"Yes, and I...well, I know this guy used to be smart
about explosives...which we might could devise for a
threat, or something. I don't know, I need a day or
so to get organized, talk to the parole officer and
let my folks down easy, tell them I'm going to
Florida."

She walked over to him, put her arms around him,
kissing his face softly. "Thank you, I know you'll
figure out a way, I just know it."

He felt blood surging through him, warming to her
embrace as his arms went around her, his face
lowering, their lips meeting...slowly seeking, mouths
opening...

Then he jerked loose, said quietly, "I better go, see
you tomorrow," and was out the door before she
could say anything, only look confused and startled
by his abrupt departure.

Driving the junky Chevette down the interstate,
Luther dreaded seeing the defeated, sad look on his
parents' face - a familiar resigned disappointment
he'd witnessed far too often.

But damn, his mind was set now! This woman could
be it, the one he'd never found, the one to settle
with...and remembering that sensual kiss, he feared
she might be a woman to die for.

Yet if he could succeed in gradually convincing her
the armored car idea was crazy, there would be no
need for anyone to risk prison - or death.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER SEVEN


Sally slept until near eight Saturday morning, and
was awakened by the phone ringing insistently. She
reached for it, mumbling, "Uh huh..."

"Gypsy, look, uh my folks got bent all outa shape
over my uh, plans and..."

She heard the anxiety, the embarrassment in his
voice and quickly asked, "Need a place to stay?"

"It may come to that, but right now, well...I'm having
a hard time convincing them that I do have legit
plans for Florida, if you get my drift?"

"Right, want me to talk to them?" Sally offered,
sitting up, scrambling to get out of tousled sheets,
then reach for a cigarette and add, "I can vouch for
you, guarantee it."

There was a short silence, then he said, "Tomorrow,
maybe we could get together, you come to my folks'
home?"

Flicking a lighter to the tip of her Capri cigarette,
she sighed, inhaling. "Sure you wanta risk me meeting
them in person?"

"I told them a lie, set us up as a couple, that I'd
been writing you from prison."

"Not a bad idea," she mused, getting out of bed,
trailing ashes until she located an ashtray on the TV.

"It was a spur of the moment thing; they were
bitching and threatening to inform the parole
officer I was lying..."

"Jeez, what a sweet pair of parents!" Sally stubbed
out the cigarette, sat in an easy chair.

"Yeah, with folks like mine who needs enemies?" He
gave a snort of disgust, said bluntly, "Don't know
why I ever figured to please them, ain't no way."

"What you doing today?"

"Not a damn thing. Going to try and get this
smoothed over here, I guess."

"Shit, I'll get bored out of my skull sitting around a
motel room," Sally complained, thinking of endless
hours before the TV, or trying to kill time by
prowling the video game room, the limited grounds.

"Sorry, but by tomorrow I should have them willing
to meet you." He grunted, advised, "Dress like a
lady."

"Christ, think I don't know how to dress? If there's
one thing I know, it's clothes." She was deeply
offended; after years of selecting just the perfect
ensemble for any occasion, Sally considered herself
a fashion expert.

"Well, how about we meet there, in the restaurant?"

"Thought you wanted me to come to Sullivan?"

"Nah, on second thought, it'd be easier to meet
away from the house, have other distractions."

"What time," she asked, itching for another
cigarette.

"How about two tomorrow afternoon? We can drive
up after they get out of church."

"Fine, see you then."

Sally started to hang up but heard him say, "By the
way, I talked to a guy I did time with in the joint,
sort of hinted at our idea."

"Hey, that was fast! What'd he say?" She was
exhilarated, forgetting the hassle with his parents.

"Brinks is the biggest armored car transporting
system in the country, headquartered in Chicago,
services over half of the states."

"The one in Titusville was Wells Fargo."

"Right, but listen, Brinks guards are selected by
their qualifications, ex-policemen, ex-
servicemen...never advertises for them. They design
their own cars, and damn if those ain't equipped
with electronic devices, all kind of new-fangled
complications it'd take a fucking genius to handle."

"How'd your friend know all this?" Sally was twirling
her hair anxiously, curious and eager for
information.

"He, uh, used to be a guard for Brinks." Luther
coughed, said real low, "Gotta go, mom just came
in."

She heard the click, and cursed, "Goddamn it!"

Sally showered, dressed in jeans, turtleneck
sweater, slipping on her oversized wool herringbone
jacket and Reeboks, had a quick bite at the
restaurant and then walked around the motel,
getting some exercise. She missed her regular
workouts at the gym, and jogging.

Back in the room, she phoned the realtor in Titusville
who rented her the house; she hinted that if Luther
was given good references for a job possibility,
Sally could steer prospective buyers their way - and
as expected, the realtor jumped at the opportunity.

That afternoon, Sally called the desk and asked if
there was a park in St. Louis; the young girl told her
about Forrest Park, giving directions to the west
side location. Sally had no trouble driving right to
the entrance, since her native instinct for finding
almost any place in large cities never failed to be
incredibly accurate.

She locked the Toyota, slung the jacket over her
shoulder and breathed in the faintly smog-scented
air, gazing at thin wispy clouds in an otherwise
crystal sky of dazzling blue. People were sauntering
along, inattentive to others, enjoying nature on this
perfect fall day.

Sally walked casually along a wooded path, glorying
in the overlapping oaks and maples, leaves tinted
with auburn, orange and faded brown. She
sauntered by the zoo, went inside and took her time
viewing the caged animals, as well as the various
large habitats, naturally maintained, amused by the
monkeys on an island, swinging from trees, freely
displaying their antics for all the visitors.

Farther along, she saw a sign for the art museum,
and decided to pass it up. Near the sun-dappled
lake, Sally sat on a bench and watched the ducks, a
few children feeding them, her heart pinched with
aching for Joey - she'd be crazy over the ducks!

En route back to the motel, Sally pondered on
Luther's conversation; it sounded promising. On the
other hand, she'd gotten the impression he was
reluctant to tackle this idea, kind of stalling. And
too, she realized that even though it was apparent
he was physically attracted to her, he remained
hesitant, almost uncomfortable with her
aggressiveness. She vowed to be more reserved, try
to feign submissiveness at their next meeting, not
intimidate him.

Picking up a small pizza and icy coke, she returned
to her motel room, and spent a solitary evening
watching a cable movie, Beaches.  It was a
tearjerker laced with raunchy comedy, starring
Barbara Hershey and Bette Midler playing two
unlikely friends with vastly different personalities.

The movie made Sally wonder why she'd never had a
close, enduring female friend? But given her
secretive criminal lifestyle, she had never felt it
wise to be open and trusting with anyone, and
certainly not squares, male or female.

As for romance, Sally couldn't shake feelings of
confusion. Although she'd experienced deep feelings
for Joe, it was difficult to determine if this had
been real, or an act. She'd faked feelings so
frequently through the years (her survival tool) now
that she was becoming involved with Dodger, it was
threatening and dangerous ground.

Was her rush of attraction only physical, or was it
love? Recalling the last time she'd been involved, the
relationship with Joe five years previously, she still
had no answers. She and Joe had fantastic sex, him
being young, a real stud. But love? As the Tina
Turner song said, "What's love got to do with it?"

She marveled it had been five long years since she'd
had sex - but with all the dangers today, AIDs,
STDs, Sally satisfied her needs solely through
fantasy and masturbation.

Yet Dodger's sexual response to her, which he
obviously tried to control, threatened to overwhelm
her usual guarded behavior. Thoughts of him made
her feel badly in need of real sex, so she finally had
to fix a screwdriver and watch another movie as
diversion before going to bed.

*  *  *  *

"Nice to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Higgins, I've heard
so much about you both." Sally sat in the chair
Luther held out for her at the table, then demurely
cast down her eyes.

Luther sat down, said, "Mom and dad, Sally has a
daughter, Joey, and we're hoping to go back to
Florida, be with her."

She looked at the elderly couple, sedate in their
Sunday dress clothes: the balding man, rigidly
staring out of cold blue eyes; the woman, permed
bluish-grey hair, soft brown eyes, a tentative smile.

"Mr. and Mrs. Higgins, I'm sorry if my presence
here has caused you to be upset. You see, Luther
and I just got along so well in letters, and after our
meeting, well, I think we could really be good for
one another."

Mr. Higgins pursed his thin lips, said almost to
himself, "Humph, Luther never met a woman but he
got along with her."

Mrs. Higgins' smile failed, her brown eyes going to
Sally. "Our son has told us about you, and your little
girl. How old is she?"

"Joey is five, and will be in school soon."

Mr. Higgins said flatly, "Luther says you have a job
for him lined up in Titusville?"

Taken aback by his blunt remark, Sally looked at
him; he was a cold, stern-faced man and she
realized there was no use playing to him, so she
looked instead at Mrs. Higgins, giving her a gracious
smile. "Yes, there's a realtor I know who could help
Lu get a job. Florida is flooded with real estate
business, near the Cape and all, people being
transferred to NASA, and it's just a fabulous
opportunity."

Mr. Higgins leaned forward, advising, "I guess you
know that Luther cannot get a license, since he's an
ex-con."

"That's true, " Sally said, nodding her head. "But he
can still make a good income with an agency. They
are always in need of good salesmen, someone who
can make a sales pitch and bring in a buyer."

The tense silence was finally broken by Luther as he
motioned for the waiter, saying, "Let's order, they
have great steaks here dad."

The meal was not enjoyable, rather a feat of
endurance. Sally catered to Mrs. Higgins,
occasionally dropping in facts and figures about
Florida and the promise of better opportunity for
Mr. Higgins, who didn't try to hide his distrust and
suspicion. Meeting him, Sally felt sympathetic for
Dodger. Earning this man's approval would have
been nearly impossible for a straight-arrow son, but
in Dodger's rebellion, his many years of
confinement, Sally was sure she read a sign that
they'd never have reconciled their incomprehensible
differences, even had she not appeared on the
scene - which oddly relieved her of responsibility,
and got rid of any niggling doubts.

Afterward, Sally invited them to her room but they
declined. She pulled out a wallet photo of Joey, and
saw Mrs. Higgins' eyes become warm and caring.

When they were at the Caprice, Luther said to his
dad, "I'm going to stick around here for a couple
hours, might take a room so I'll be in St. Louis for
the meeting with Harris tomorrow morning."

Mrs. Higgins politely didn't respond to the possibility
that he'd be spending the night with Sally. Mr.
Higgins warned, "Just be sure you make that
meeting."

Sally quickly said, "He can use my car tomorrow for
the appointment."

"I'll be there, don't worry dad," Luther assured him,
watching as they slipped into the car and departed.

"Christ, no wonder you're so fucked up!" Sally
exploded, tucking her arm in his as they walked up
the steps to her room. "Your mom, she's okay...but
your dad, what an asshole!"

Luther nodded solemnly, following her inside the
room. "He's a ball-buster, that's a fact."

Sally had promised herself she'd try to be demure,
so she went to the sofa, sat down and changed the
subject by asking, "About that ex-con, the Brinks
guard?"

He stood looking at her, silently staring and grinning
- the grin that endeared him to her.

"What?" she snapped, jumping up to search for her
cigarettes in her cluttered purse.

"You look great, that outfit does you justice."

Sally found the pack, jerkily got a cigarette out and
bent to light it, then sighed and flopped back down
on the sofa, kicking off her high-heel shoes. "Yes, I
do have good taste. This is a coat dress, dignified
and ladylike - conservative." She smiled,
contemplating the tip of her cigarette raptly.
"Still...men, middle-class men that is, apparently find
the finely dressed, conservative look somehow
titillates their desires, and more than a few have
wanted to rip it off me."

Luther shook his head, still grinning. "Can't say I
blame them."

"Oh?" Sally chewed her lip, running her free hand
through fallen hair from the chignon, crushing out
the cigarette in an ashtray with the other hand. "Is
that a fact?"

He walked over to the sofa, pulled her up to him and
said hoarsely, "I've wanted you since the moment I
walked in that motel room in Memphis."

Vaguely, Sally was aware they had not discussed the
details of the ex-con guard, but as Luther nuzzled
her neck, his fingers going to unbutton the dress, his
kiss coming suddenly, hearing him wonderingly
murmur, "You are so beautiful, so lovely..." she felt
her body responding effortlessly, and as they
entwined and moved toward the bed, Sally forgot all
about armored cars and gave herself willingly to the
man who was whispering in a tortured, passionate
voice, "God you are so beautiful Gypsy..." his hands
starting to release her hair, his fingers stroking her
neck, going down her back, lower and lower...

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER EIGHT

Luther had not succeeded in resisting Sally's
considerable charms, but as they undressed one
another, he became aware of his erratic heartbeat;
this was his first sexual encounter since the heart
attack, and suddenly he felt himself going hot all
over, sweating.

Sally, standing by the bed wearing only silky lace
bra and bikini panties, saw his distress and asked,
"Are you okay?"

"I...uh, just need a minute," he said, sitting down on
the bed, calming himself as best he could. The
doctors said sex was not ruled out, but had warned
him to be cautious; the blood pressure problem,
coupled with past blockage damage, had weakened
the muscle so that overexertion, stress or undue
excitement could produce unforeseen complications.

"Look, maybe we'd better rethink this," she
commented, moving to the bed, pulling up the spread
to cover herself.

"Damnit, I'm sorry Gypsy. I do want you," he
muttered, embarrassed by his predicament, feeling
clammy sweat break out over his entire body.

"That's okay. Besides, you know, we didn't prepare
for this." Sally reached for her cigarettes on the
bedside stand, lit up and took a drag, then mumbled,
"I don't have any rubbers and... hey, we do need
protection."

There was an awkward silence as she smoked, at
last discarding the cigarette stub and looking at him
expectantly.

Luther wiped his forehead, the back of his neck,
cursing, "Shit, look at the sweat! Hell, if a man can't
fuck, can't get it up, he might as well be dead! And
you are..." His eyes examined her voluptuous body,
full breasts, tiny waist, rounded hips and slender,
shapely legs, the bedspread half-draped over her
golden tanned skin. "You are the dream of a lifetime
standing right here, real and alive, not a fantasy like
all the hopeless ones I had in prison."

She went to sit by him, tenderly put her arms
around his body, pulled him to her breast, holding
him, whispering, "It's okay, I understand."

Tears stung his eyes...he felt like a wasted shell, no
longer a man. His voice was barely audible, "Gypsy, I
want you, I do...but more than that, I need to be
close to you."

"I'm here for you," she encouraged softly.

"Prison, it's so cold, so austere, you can't imagine.
No touching, nothing to connect you to another
human being. And then, well, my parents are fucking
cold, always have been." He put his arms around her,
and they laid down, wrapped in each other's
embrace. "I just need...your softness, warmth, being
close to such a beautiful woman, the touch of
another human."

"I understand," she replied, gesturing for them to
cover up, and go to sleep together.

He couldn't talk anymore. His body had betrayed
him, and he felt ashamed...but with her gentle,
comforting presence beside him, he finally fell
asleep.

*  *  *  *

"Hey, you devil you."

He heard the seductive voice in his ear, lips gently
nibbling his earlobe, tracing down his neck, onto his
chest, his belly, back up to meet his lips.

Luther felt her hands on him, doing deliciously
wicked things he couldn't resist, and lay like a
helpless victim, letting her do what she wished, the
soft, sexy voice saying, "Um, just relax honey, I'll
do all the work."

From a heavy-lidded gaze he saw dim light from the
bathroom outlining her naked body atop him, feeling
himself become hard, her straddling him, guiding
herself over his body, him entering her and then oh
God, he let the passion drown him, take him...

Later, spent and satiated, Luther lay with her in his
arms, grateful beyond speech.

Chuckling softly, Sally said, "Wow, that was just
what I needed."

"Gypsy....I...."

She put her finger to his lips, kissed his cheek.
"Don't, okay? It was my pleasure."

Sighing contentedly, he reached for a cigarette,
swung his legs off the bed and stood, stretching,
relinquishing the pack of cigarettes. "Think I'll
shower."

"Need company?" she teased, grinning cat-like.

"Nice idea, but don't know if the ticker could take a
double-header," he said regretfully, looking at her
flushed body, nakedly tempting. She was not self-
conscious, rather very much at ease with nudity.

"I promise no monkey-business," she explained.

He nodded faintly, pleased with her suggestion. He
watched her jump out of bed, run by him and pinch
his ass playfully - she was the most playful woman
he'd ever met, and always managed to lighten the
mood.

In the shower stall, he let her lather him all over,
her hands stroking his body, touching intimately,
moving with expertise. She traced the tattoo on his
upper left bicep, asking, "Did you get this in prison?"

"Yeah, a stupid thing to do." He'd hoped to get it
taken off one day.

She read, "BORN TO THE BLUES," her fingernail
outlining double daggers etched in bright blue. "Are
you, Dodger, still blue?"

He stared at her face, droplets of water glistening
on golden skin, misty steam rising around them, and
said hoarsely, "No man could be blue here with you,
sweetheart."

She laughed, urging him to lather her in soap but as
he did so, his hands lifting her breasts, seeing her
nipples stiffen, he also felt himself growing hard
again, and it scared him, so he curtailed the bath,
getting out quickly, apologizing, "Sorry."

As they toweled each other dry, he asked, "About
those rubbers we didn't have..."

"Oh yeah, well...oops!" She winked at him, hiding
behind her towel, squealing when he pinched her
perfect butt, chasing her to the bed, where she
bundled up in the sheets, teasing, "Come and get
me!"

Luther got into bed, and they moved close together,
fitting naked bodies into a spoon. It was quiet
except for the muffled noise of a TV in the next
room, someone unable to sleep...unlike Luther who
was just drifting off when Sally said, "You know
Dodger, I feel so free with you. Like we belong
together, kinda strange for me."

"I'm glad," he replied, still slightly dazed by this
beautiful woman who was unbelievably
understanding and accommodating.

"My childhood...I don't know, I guess what happened
just made me think sex was dirty, that it couldn't be
fun and loving, tender."

Jolted awake, Luther touched her wet hair, asking,
"What happened Gypsy? You weren't..."

"Raped, yes...and molested before that."

"God, I'm sorry sweetheart." He felt anger, rage
and then an overwhelming need to protect her.

She reflected solemnly, "The migrant camps were
awful, all kinds of creeps coming and going. Ma and
pa usually stayed out of them, in rented trailers or
even outdoors, on park benches, ocean beaches
when possible...but now and then, we had to join a
camp. Larry, my little brother..." her voice broke,
and she paused, shifting slightly, then continuing in a
detached voice, "He came up missing right after I
was molested by that man, when I was only ten
years old."

Appalled, Luther tried to stifle his shock by asking
quickly, "How terrible for you, what happened?"

"In one of the camps, North Carolina...summer, real
hot and...I don't know, Larry was only eight, and had
always been puny. He couldn't handle the fields,
picking beans in that awful heat, so I took him back
to the camp. Middle of the day, this old nasty guy
comes in, starts to molest me, just got my pants
off...but I was spunky, screaming, kicking and trying
to get loose, so Larry woke up, and he runs over,
pounding his little fists on the creep, and this old
pervert gets Larry, grabs him up and runs out of the
shanty."

She swallowed convulsively, her voice flat, "We
never saw Larry again."

"But...what about the authorities, did they look for
him?"

"You see, Dodger, we lived on the fringes, not really
part of the establishment or society and, although I
told the overseer and the owner of the fields, and
they said they contacted the authorities, I doubt
they did. No cops were trusted by the migrants, so
if they'd come around asking questions, we'd have
been in deep shit. And the owners probably thought
it fortunate, since it was one less problem for them,
a kid too puny to work."

Luther had a strong surge of compassion, empathy,
feelings he rarely experienced. "I'm so sorry
Gypsy."

"Look, my ma and pa loved us both, and it broke
their hearts to lose Larry. I used to think I'd see
him in a crowd, but it never was. I tried to make it
up to my ma...but..."

He touched her face, feeling tears and wiping them
away, wanting to somehow remove the past, wipe it
away as easily as the tears.

"When I was fifteen, I was brutally raped in one of
the camps, orange gathering in Florida. I didn't
report it, never said a word, kept it to myself cause
I knew it would kill my ma. Only then...I was
pregnant. To make a long story short, I ran away,
stole some money and had an abortion. Been on my
own since then, since age sixteen."

"And your folks, they still alive?"

"I just don't know. I never tried to find them again,
wanting to forget all that stuff."

Overwhelmed by her misfortune, Luther felt almost
ashamed of his own privileged youth; he had no valid
reason for desperate survival tactics such as crime,
and in fact often wondered why he behaved as he
did.

She lay still, then slowly turned to look into his eyes,
asking, "Are you upset with me?"

"God no! I'm shocked you have survived, what with
all the hurt, the violence directed against you when
you were so young, so helpless..."

She sat bolt upright, glaring at him. "I'm not
helpless, not now, not ever again!"

Alarmed, he hurriedly corrected, "I mean, I can
understand how all that made you strike out, get
into crime."

"Yes, but I'm not helpless anymore."

"No, no of course not," Luther lied, "in fact, you are
the least helpless female I've ever known." He
sensed this was what she wanted to hear, but
realized she was indeed vulnerable and although
loath to admit it, she was somewhat helpless and
alone at this point in her life.

But now, pulling her back into his arms, he silently
promised himself to stick by her, help make up for
all the hurt, all the pain, the wretchedness she'd
suffered.

She snuggled up to him, sleepily murmuring, "I think
you are a great guy, Dodger...and...maybe in time I
could come to care for you a lot."

The gratification of that statement, the wonder and
joy that flowed through Luther made him sigh, "I
already care deeply about you Gypsy."

But she was asleep, didn't hear him.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER NINE

Sally awoke to see Luther leaning on an elbow,
staring at her intently, grinning the lopsided grin.
She smiled, said, "You sure look happy."

"I am, since you."

He touched her face, still grinning and peering at
her as though she might disappear; it made her
uneasy so she gave him a peck on the cheek, and
jumped up, suddenly aware of her nakedness,
grabbing a sheet around her.

He laughed at her sudden modesty, getting up too,
searching for his undershorts and pants, pulling
them on and kidding, "Not bashful are you?"

Sally felt a rush of confusion; last night had been
super, easing her frazzled nerves and pent-up
sexual frustrations which had surfaced since being
near Luther. But now, in the morning light of reality,
what she'd done...could it have been a mistake?

He asked,"Want some breakfast? I'll go for it, we
can eat in here and discuss our plans."

"What time is your probation appointment?" she
asked, looping the sheet in a knotted side-wrap,
seeking her pack of Capri.

He got his Marlboros, offered her a light and
rubbing his beard stubble, said, "Not till ten and it's
barely eight."

"I'm not hungry." She puffed on the cigarette,
needing the nicotine calm in her blood.

"Me neither, not really. Sally about last night," he
began, coming to her side, staring into her eyes until
she avoided him, going to the windows, peeking out at
brilliant sunshine, deserted walkway.

"Hey, we scratched our itch," she said, shrugging
nonchalantly.

He crossed the short distance between them,
grasping her shoulders, turning her to face him. "Is
that all it meant to you?"

"Uh, about that stuff I told you, in the camps..."
Sally choked out, regretful about having exposed
her vulnerability. Now, standing here in front of him,
she wished fervently she could take it all back, hide
the raw emotional wound of her past.

"Is that what has you so defensive this morning?"
Luther bent to kiss her, fighting her resistance until
he was holding her close and could breathe into her
soft, wavy hair. "Gypsy, you fell asleep before you
heard me say that I care deeply about you."

"Oh right, you care about me, the product of fruit
tramps, used goods, a conning, conniving thief..." she
said with disdain.

"Stop it, hear? I'm not exactly the prince of
propriety you know! It's easy to see why you were
practically forced into your lifestyle, but me..."

She watched him withdraw, his shoulders slumping.
"I had a fairly stable homelife, decent parents..."

Sally rushed in, "Your parents, give me a break. Your
uptight, repressed father, he would ruin any kid.
Ever think of your problem as you trying to piss him
off your whole life, doing anything and everything
opposite his wishes for you...hurting only yourself in
the process?"

The words obviously gave him pause for thought,
because when he looked at her he was genuinely
perplexed. "Think so? I never really understood a
lot of my behavior."

"I'm no shrink, far from it, but...seems like you go
out of your way to disappoint your dad."

"Until now, when I had really made an effort..."

"Right, sorry. It's all my fault." Sally sat down
disgustedly, not up to this heated debate so early,
her mind fogged from sleep.

He walked to the windows, peered out between
parted drapes, at length musing half to himself,
"It's no one's fault except my own. Whether you'd
come along or not, I'd of been looking for trouble
sooner or later."

She didn't reply, just continued smoking and trying
to compose herself.

"I've had a lousy life, but it's no one's fault but my
own. And now, I've met you." He glanced at her,
grinned wistfully. "I want so badly to help you...but
sweetheart, it ain't by committing a crime."

That brought Sally to her feet, her face flaming
with indignation. "You said you would!"

Surprised, he amended, "I mean, I'd rather not but
if that is the only way I can help you..." He turned
his palms up, surrendering.

She tugged the sheet across the room, heading for
the bathroom, muttering, "Men! Can't live with 'em,
and can't live without 'em!"

He chuckled, going to the phone, dialing a number;
she could hear him talking very low, not able to
decipher his conversation when the showerspray hit
her full-force.

By the time she finished, Luther was gone. She
combed out her hair, brushed her teeth, put on
makeup sparingly.

Sally dressed in an aqua-colored knit outfit, pants
and loose blouse for comfort, and then dropped
down in the easy chair, wondering about Dodger - he
seemed warm, caring...but still doubtful about this
job. And the job meant everything to her; it was the
sole reason for being here.

However, she allowed herself the fleeting image of
his closed eyes, his pleasure-flushed face last night
when he'd been able to find release after such a
long, lonely time... and having her needs satisfied, the
bonding in sharing of pasts. Could she ever love this
man?

He was nothing like Joe, and although the initial
sexual stamina had been better between she and
Joe, the fulfillment of pleasing Luther, leading him
slowly and gently to overcome his fears - it had
been rewarding in a way sex never had with Joe.

Remembering Joe's descent into cocaine and heroin
addiction, Sally shuddered; he'd finally lost all
interest in sex, preferring the mistress of oblivion,
strung-out and mindless most of the time. And God,
when he needed that fix, he got insane, once even
beating her when she tried to stop him - the assault
that convinced them both they had to part.

Had she loved Joe? Part of her did, saddened by his
demonic drive for drugs...his lostness and sorrowful
demeanor. She recognized that same demeanor in
Luther, the little-boy neediness and vulnerability.
Why did she always see that in outlaws? Never in
those successful businessmen she flim-flamed
ruthlessly? Maybe part of her would always identify
with outcasts, due to being one as a child of
migrants.

She sighed, glancing at the door and saw a note
pinned there, got it and read:

Be back by one, will see Harris and get us lunch,
return with someone you need to meet, be ready
sweetheart!

Love ya, Dodger


*  *  *  *

Well before one o'clock, Sally had settled her motel
bill with the desk clerk, paid for one more night,
then got back to the suite, glad the maid had
cleaned during her brief absence.

She sat by the window, watching for Luther, chain-
smoking; her stomach was tightening from hunger,
and she was nervous, expecting the visitor to be the
ex-con Brinks guard. How in hell had a Brinks guard
wound up in prison...unless...?

At that moment she saw her Toyota come whirling
into the lot and park. Luther got out, joined by a tall,
gaunt, stark-faced man, jet-black oily hair with a
raven-peak on his high forehead, dressed
dramatically all in black, a bad-ass Johnny Cash
lookalike.

She stood, smoothed her pants and blouse, fluffed
out her wavy hair, hurriedly put on lipstick in front
of the mirror, and dumped an overflowing ashtray
into the toilet, flushing the cigarette stench away.

As she came out the bathroom door, Luther was
knocking, and yelling, "Got us some chow here,
Gypsy!"

She let him in, and he put the food on the table,
gesturing to the darkly sinister stranger. "This is
Marvin Hanover, Sally. Marvin, this is my woman,
Gypsy."

She couldn't suppress a disdainful look at Luther
when he called her his woman. She belonged to no
one!

Catching her look, Luther shrugged as though to say
he had to seem in control, at least with this tough-
looking customer.

Sally got a whiff of the food and said, "Nice to
meet you, but I'm famished!" She sat down, began
taking out wrapped ham sandwiches, ice tea and
added, "Hope you don't mind, but I'm starving!"

The man just stood there, tight-lipped and looking at
her morosely.

Luther asked politely, "Won't you join us, there's
plenty for you Marvin."

"No thanks, already ate."

Sally dispensed the food, dividing potato salad,
baked beans, cole slaw. "Yummy, this smells
delicious, not from a fast-food joint?"

Luther put out napkins, replying, "No, a great deli I
know in the city. So Marvin, have a seat."

The strange man went to the sofa, sat down stiffly
as though he had a corn-cob up his ass, rigidly
perched on the edge of the seat. "Don't mean to
rush you, but ain't got all day."

"Yeah, gotcha. Sally this is the ex-con who was a
Brinks guard."

"You were a guard, but ended up in prison?" Sally
muttered through a mouthful of tangy baked beans,
glancing at him curiously.

"Damn straight, and I'm here to tell you ain't no
way of taking a car, not like you got in your head
anyhow." He leaned back, began picking his nose
distractedly.

Sally looked away, disgusted.

"So tell her about it, Marvin," Luther urged, eating
ravenously.

"The way I see it," Marvin began, finally giving up his
futile pursuit of nose picking, "is like, this is nutty as
a fruitcake. You ain't go idea one about a car, and
the risks, the security system in that car..."

"Look, we don't need to get into the car. We can
just rip-off the moneybags picked up from a
department store as the guards are coming out,
that'd be a big score."

Marvin snorted, hunching forward, all skin-and-
bones,  a skeletal man. "No offense, but you are
blowing smoke. My partners, we thought we had it
down, and hell, I was in the damned car, a guard.
Know what happened?"

Luther stopped eating, glanced at Marvin, then at
Sally who turned to chance a look in his direction.
"What?" she prodded.

"Killed, all three of my partners! I'm the only one
didn't die, got shot but didn't die. Did hard time for
it, damn hard time!"

Sally swallowed, momentarily stunned. She at last
found her voice, asking, "Poor planning?"

Marvin leaped up, crossed to them in two steps,
thrust his bony fingers into her hair, jerking her
head back and snarling, "Bitch! Listen to what I'm
saying. We had it planned down to the wire, and we
still got snuffed. That's the bottom line." He
sneered, his face coming close enough so that Sally
could smell a gamy odor that almost made her gag.
"No matter if you got it planned, shit happens."

Sally struggled, and Luther pushed back, stood up,
demanded, "Let her go."

And Marvin did, but not before Sally saw a
switchblade flash in his hand, which made her flesh
crawl as she fell forward limply in the chair.

"Bitch, you get this straight. I ain't here to do no
harm, but this scheme is stupid. I'm warning you
outa favor to Lu. I owe him." He stalked to the door,
looked back at her with a snarl on his thin lips. "You
do a car, you might not live to see the inside of a
joint."

Then he slammed out, striding down the walkway
past the windows.

Luther went to the windows, watched as the man
descended the steps, heading for the office. "He's
probably going to call a cab."

Sally was shaking, having been scared by the man's
violent outburst. He'd reminded her of the malicious
creeps who'd hung around migrant camps and his
threats had brought back ugly, cruel mind-pictures
she was having trouble shutting off.

Luther turned, took one look at her face and rushed
to her, took her in his arms, begging, "Forgive me,
but I had to let you see just exactly what you might
be getting yourself into..."

Sally fought him, pulling away and running to the
bathroom, hand over her mouth...bending over the
toilet, retching up everything she'd just eaten.

Pale and trembling, she got up, dashing cold water
on her face as Luther helped her, holding a
washcloth to her face, saying, "Sweetheart...Gypsy,
I'm sorry but it's got to be faced. You have to see
what kind of risks might be in this thing, what you
could wind up confronting..."

Sally wept, for the first time doubtful about her
plans, the stark-faced man's warning still echoing in
her mind as she sobbed in Luther's arms, uncertain
what the future held now.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER TEN


Luther sat by the bed, watching Sally sleep. He
regretted what he'd done, but in another way, he
was glad it had worked.

Marvin Hanover would have scared the shit out of
him at one time, and though the man had never
robbed an armored car, he was a thief, crack addict
and for the price of a fix would butcher his own
mother. A few bucks had bought quite a
performance today from him.

Sally sighed, rolling over with her back to him, and
Luther reflected that maybe now she would get off
this armored car idea, which was ridiculous. He knew
next to nothing about it, but had heard tales in the
joint, enough to fake it and put fear into her heart.
Somehow, he would save Gypsy from herself, and
together maybe they could live a crime-free life.

Presently, he went to the car, got a map and began
looking over possible routes to Florida...thinking a
leisurely drive would be interesting, since he'd never
been farther south than Memphis.

Smoking, Luther recalled his meeting with Harris -
it been smooth, no problems. After the kid called
Sally's realtor friend, Harris gave his approval,
allowing them a week for travel, saying maybe
Luther needed time to unwind, prepare for settled
life, and a demanding job-training experience.

It was near six when Sally roused herself, looking
up at Luther, asking, "Did I sleep too long?"

He told her no, helping her sit and then gently
saying, "I'm real sorry about that, sweetheart. It's
just better you know men like that exist."

She jerked away from him, putting her feet on the
floor, getting off the bed and smoothing out her
wrinkled knit suit, angrily declaring, "Don't you think
I know that, huh? The tramps in migrant camps,
remember?"

"Yeah..." Luther ventured, worried about where this
was leading.

"I saw men like him - more like animals, really, than
men. But hey, we don't have to deal with them.
After all, this is our caper, and we're in control of
what happens."

"Except for the unforeseen stuff, yeah," he agreed,
moving nearer and wanting to touch her.

But she moved away, going to the window, staring
out pensively.

"You know Joe...had a drug problem..."

"You mentioned it and he told me he used at one
time. While we were celled together though, he
couldn't make a connection..."

Her eyes drifted to him, her face pallid, drained.
"He can be pretty wild himself, when using."

"That's an addict for you. But he's in the joint, no
problem for us."

"We're probably better off, cause he'd sure want a
piece of the action." She headed for the bathroom,
asking, "What'd the parole officer say?"

"He bought it, called your friend and even said I
could have a week's traveling time." Luther went to
the bathroom door, watching her brush her teeth,
fluffing out her hair, putting on lipstick.

"I feel shitty, puking is awful! I guess that
asshole...well, he sorta reminded me of those creeps
at camp..."

Luther shifted uncomfortably, asking, "Think you
could eat something now?"

"I tell you what I'd like, just a chocolate malt and
for us to stay in, watch movies or something, rest up
for our trip tomorrow."

She walked to him, caught his hand as it was slicking
back his thin hair off his forehead. "You are going to
Florida with me?"

"Yeah, but I thought maybe you would be
reconsidering the armored car idea?" He held her
hand, looking deep into her beautiful emerald eyes.

Grinning, she teased, "Not yet, not until you've had a
look at the situation in that mall."

"In Titusville?"

"Yes, because if we decide to go for it, we could
always leave town, settle elsewhere. Actually, I
thought you would probably want to return here, St.
Louis."

"Nothing much here for me anymore and besides,"
he paused, suddenly self-conscious.

"What?" She pulled him against her, nibbling his
earlobe. "Who's shy now?"

He put her at arm's length, looking into her eyes
timidly. "I care for you Gypsy, can't help it."

Smiling, white teeth showing, she went back into his
arms, whispering, "I want to care for you too,
but...give me time."

Disappointed, Luther wished he had her love already,
but understood her reservations, the emotional
barriers she'd erected after being abused by men.

He said honestly, "I'll give you all the time you need,
sweetheart."

*  *  *  *

Before hitting the sack, Luther and Sally discussed
their trip; she told him the route she'd taken -
Interstate 55 south through Mississippi, then 1-10
across the Florida panhandle, 1-95 down the coast
to Titusville. He agreed to the route south through
Mississippi, but suggested they spend a couple days
in the coastal cities, seeing the sights, perhaps going
to Gulf Shores and sunning on the beach, if the
weather stayed favorable. He'd never been to the
ocean, something she found almost unbelievable.

Rising before dawn, Luther went out and brought
back breakfast, and they ate while packing and
discussing their trip. Tuesday was warm but with
predictions for rain, a stormfront moving through
Missouri and a bit farther south, so they wanted to
get on the road early.

Sally had phoned Joey, and told Luther all was well,
but that the child was beginning to whimper and
whine about missing her "mommy" - which made
Sally anxious to get home. However, she seemed to
understand when he expressed his wishes not to
rush the trip, take their time and let him adjust to
unlimited freedom.

Luther asked to drive first, so they headed out of
St. Louis in a good mood, him pointing to a state
landmark, the Gateway Arch looming 630 feet high,
a towering emblem positioned on the bank of the
Mississippi River downtown to remind people this city
was once the gateway to the west. He gave her a
few facts, telling her it was part of the Jefferson
National Expansion Memorial, had a panoramic
observation room at the top of the Arch and pioneer
exhibits in the museum.

She looked impressed, staring raptly at the looped
arch above them as they passed beneath it,
commenting, "A monster! Do you like big cities?"

"Not now, they're too dangerous." He maneuvered
past a diesel truck on the long bridge, glanced at her
sly grin. "What you grinning about?"

"Aren't you part of that danger, being a criminal?"
she joked, giving him a soft punch on the arm.

"At one time maybe. But I tell you one thing, when I
was burglarizing homes, I never hurt no one. These
punks today, they go in, don't give a shit if
someone's home, just kill 'em, do anything, no
planning, no pride in their work."

Sally was stifling a chuckle, but it escaped and she
shook her head. "Boy, you are a pro...but your...well,
your attitude is out-of-date."

"And that's a problem?" He took out a cigarette,
shoving in the dash lighter.

"Frankly," she sighed, getting a cigarette and putting
it between her lips, "you are a better man than some
straight guys I've met. At least you know your
limits, and these days, crooked politicians, cops on
the take...well, I hate hypocrites."

He lit his cigarette, leaned over to give her a light
and remarked, "I think we agree on being honest
with each other."

"Yes, it's the best policy," she replied, stretching out
her legs, carefully smoothing her pink angora
sweater and pants, which Luther thought made her
look radiantly beautiful.

He wished he had some nice clothes, other than
khaki pants, jeans, and one dress suit. "Could you
help me pick out some clothes when we get to
Titusville?"

"Oh sure, you're gonna need a whole new wardrobe
in the warmer climate, and I love shopping!"

"Me too, except for the cash flow..."

"Don't worry, I have enough to tide us over." She
took a drag on her thin cigarette, smiled
enigmatically.

The curiosity was killing him, but Luther held his
tongue; she'd tell him how she got flush when ready,
without any prodding. He stared at the highway,
determined to give her ample time...and besides, he
now had his paycheck to help on gas, or meals en
route to Florida.

"How'd you get the nickname Dodger?" Sally
queried, looking at him.

"As a kid, I was a fairly good baseball pitcher and
some of the guys named me that, cause I was
always dodging the balls at practice," he said, fondly
recalling those carefree times before his troubled
teens.

The hours passed uneventfully, and they chatted
amiably, snacked on the sandwiches and cokes
they'd packed in a cooler, watching the unfolding
landscape, bypassing major cities, sticking to the
interstate.

Near twilight, they decided to call it a day and
Luther took an exit ramp that indicated lodging, a
nothing area past the Louisiana border. The small
cinderblock motel was mediocre, but necessary and
they pulled in, Sally registering while Luther waited.

He sat in the cramped Toyota, dying to get out;
other than two brief stops, one at a gas station and
one at a rest stop, he'd been behind the wheel all
day. His legs and feet were almost numb, and he
hoped never to see another boring stretch of flat
pine-studded delta land such as that of southern
Mississippi.

Sally motioned for him to roll down the window, and
he did so, hearing her call, "Room 10."

"Right."

She added, "I'll be on down in a minute, want to
check for a place to eat."

Luther drove around the building, found the room
and pulled in, cut the engine and quickly got out,
shivering as a blustery wind whipped across the
almost deserted parking lot.

He leaned against the car, cupping his hand to light a
cigarette, feeling the barren landscape chill him to
the bone. It was a desolate motel strip, few people
other than travelers bothering to stop here. The flat
territory stretched to the horizon and he saw the
last fiery edge of sun casting purple-tinted shadows
down through high, scattered clouds, traffic
streaking noisily along the interstate.

Sally came walking along the sidewalk; he heard her
steps and turned, watching her approach with a
smile. "Hi, I'm here at last. Looks like we can get a
decent meal at the Cracker Barrel nearby."

He was glad to see her, suddenly realizing what a
lonely man he had been before he met her. As she
went to the trunk, he followed, impulsively telling
her, "God, I'm glad you're here with me."

"Yes, this is a real bleak stretch of land." She
tiptoed up to kiss him on the lips, then said soberly,
"I didn't realize how lonely I had been until I saw
you standing here, waiting for me. It was a welcome
sight."

Amazed, he said, "I had been thinking the same thing
about you!"

She put the key in the trunk, swung up the lid. "Well
we're not alone tonight, mister."

Luther grinned, lugging out a suitcase, anticipating a
cozy evening together.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER ELEVEN


While Sally unpacked a few things, Luther left to fill
the gas tank, and get the car ready for the next
morning. She was glad for the time alone; her bad
episode with that revolting Marvin...it made her gag
just thinking about him. Yet, she had to admit the
reason for her nausea was tied closely to the rape -
Marvin's oily black hair, the pock-marked face,
beady dark eyes that continuously menaced her in
nightmares - an uncanny similarity.

She shuddered, resolutely putting it out of her mind,
opening the suitcase and unfolding a pair of cream-
colored corduroy pants and mock turtleneck blouse,
hanging the outfit on the rack. Her Reeboks were
smudged, but she didn't have time to launder them,
or other clothing just now.

Exhausted, she flopped down on the bed, switching
on the TV, catching the tail end of national news,
Tom Brokaw giving one last update on the middle-
east crisis...which, in her opinion, had some time ago
passed the crisis stage and was fast approaching
prolonged frustration. The only thing she knew for
sure was that gas prices soared higher and higher,
and no one in this country was pleased by it.

Luther came in, rubbing his hands together. "Ready
for some chow?"

Sally groaned. "I guess, but I'm so tired! I used to
love traveling, but as I get older it seems grueling."

He stretched his arms overhead, then running
outspread fingers through his thinning hair, sighed.
"Ain't it the truth, but in a way it's all new to me,
since I been locked up so much that any trip is
interesting."

"Don't think I could hack it, Dodger, being in the
joint," she said, sliding to the edge of the bed just
as he reached out a hand to pull her up, then
embrace her.

"I've been warning you of that, sweetheart. You
have no idea what being locked up is like, not to
mention the animals around you, forced to cell with
a stranger, sometimes a pig."

Sally felt panicky, suffocated; for once she could
vividly imagine being stuck in a room smaller than the
one she was standing in now, unable to come and go
as she pleased, and it pierced her soul. The worst
aspect, of course, would be missing Joey, knowing
the child was lost, alone...needing her mother.

"What's wrong?" Luther asked, pulling back and
looking into her upturned face. "You beginning to see
the light, huh?"

"Maybe..." Sally quickly curbed the panic, and
tiptoed up for a kiss, then grabbing his hand, said,
"Come on, I'm starved!"

They drove up the street, parked at the Cracker
Barrel and went into the rustic restaurant, Sally
pausing to look at a display of Early American
woodcrafts, glasswares and old-fashioned candies,
homemade preserves, smoked sausage and country-
cured hams hanging on the walls of the gift shop.
She was warmed by the homey atmosphere, and saw
Luther studying a jar of maple syrup, holding it up
for her to inspect.

"I like these restaurants," he said, reading the label
to her and adding, "reminds me of a time when
things were more simple."

She agreed, her eye caught by a collection of old-
timey toys for kids. She rushed over to pick up a
"hooie stick"- or as the official label termed it: Gee-
Haw-Whimediddle.

"Now that's a toy," Luther remarked, appraising the
uncomplicated toy instrument.

"I'm getting it for Joey, she'll have a fit over it."

Sally paid for the toy, then they entered the cedar-
paneled dining room, and sat down at plain wood
table, looking at the menu.

When a perky waitress asked for their choices,
Sally ordered the Chicken Breaded Fillet country
dinner plate and Luther had the Catfish Fillet plate.

The food was served promptly, steamy-hot and
delicious. Luther sipped his ice tea, commenting,
"This is my treat."

"If you insist, but I do have funds," Sally said,
sampling the buttered corn. "Yummy, this is so
good!"

"Yeah, just like homecooking."

"Which reminds me," Sally confessed, "I'm a lousy
cook, a big fan of the microwave."

"No sweat, I make a mean omelet," Luther replied,
looking at her and winking. "We won't starve."

As she ate, Sally began to tell him about her lack of
schooling while growing up. "Ma and pa were always
on the road, never settled. I'd just get in school,
and maybe go a couple months and then we'd be
leaving again."

"That's tough...but didn't you ever complain?"

"What's to complain about? They didn't know any
other way of life, and actually I probably would
have followed right in their footsteps, like they did
their parents, but after that rape, I...well, I
discovered another world. When I had the abortion,
in Tampa, a social worker sort of took me under her
wing. She helped me while I was recuperating, and
then...there was this man, an older wealthy man..."

"Yeah?" He paused, fork midway to his mouth.

"He liked young girls, but he didn't want to risk
constantly searching for street prostitutes. He set
me up in a neat apartment, paid for tutoring and I
earned my G.E.D."

"What happened then?"

Sally pushed her plate aside, wiped her mouth on the
napkin. "I couldn't take it anymore - his paying for
my body, so to speak. Lasted about a year, he was
good to me but..."

"You felt used?" he concluded, taking the last bite
of his catfish, staring at her knowingly.

"Yes. My body belongs to me, no one else," Sally
confided, remembering Harold's sexual demands,
her revulsion for the man's fat, flabby body - his
arrogant attitude of ownership.

"And?"

"I decided if men could use women, women could
use men - not sexually, but in scams with sex as the
lure." She pushed back, her chair scraping the pine
floor, standing.

He joined her and they walked to the checkout
counter. He paid for the meal, while she sauntered
through the gift shop one more time.

Outside, Sally shivered and said, "Getting cold!"

"I heard on the radio that it was going to rain
tomorrow, then turn colder." Luther tugged at her
hand. "Let's get back to the motel."

Once inside the room, Sally was surprised when
Luther asked pointedly, "Is that what this is, you
using me in a scam?"

Momentarily confused, she studied him, then
recalled her reference to using men and hurriedly
assured him: "No. In all honesty, it might have
started out that way but now...well..."

He sat down, his shoulders slumped and his body
limply relaxed, but his face was tense. "Gypsy,
I...there's been other women in my life. I've been
married five times."

"Jesus, five times! You haven't had much luck with
marriage, huh?" She was untying her shoes, slipping
them off, and then sat down by him, asking, "Just
bad luck, or what?"

"I don't know, I really don't. Women are still a
mystery to me. I seem to have this weakness, this
vulnerable spot for them. My first love, she was just
sixteen, and I was barely out of Bellfoundain, been
in there with her brother, and his family let me stay
at their place in south St. Louis. The whole bunch
was into crime. Anyhow, I...well, she was married but
it was such a tiny apartment, I shared their
bedroom and..."

"Go on," Sally urged, curious.

"When her husband was gone during the day to
work, she...uh, we made love and at night, I'd lie on
the floor and we'd hold hands, her in bed with him.
Finally, I confronted him, and told her she had to
choose. She picked me. It didn't last long though,
cause...well, I was stealing, burglarizing homes and
the cops caught up to me."

"Sounds like you were crazy about her."

"At the time I thought I was. I can still remember
the day I was nabbed, in the street right in front of
the apartment. She, Jan, was at a window, and as
the cop put cuffs on me, our eyes met...she looked
so sad, and I...well, it hurt like hell." He paused, then
sighed. "We never married, but she was my first
love, got my virginity."

Sally put her arm around his waist, nuzzled his neck,
said, "Joe was the only man I ever felt any deep
feelings for... and he pretty much killed that with his
drug habit."

"Gypsy..." his voice caught, wavered and then went
on: "Uh, the others...I don't know, it just seemed
things didn't work out, not always their fault, me
being a thief, going to prison. Somehow though, I
need a woman in my life."

She stood, pulled him to the edge of the bed and
asked, "How about a long soak in the tub with me?"

He brightened, and stood. She ran ahead, began the
bath water running and yelled, "Bring my silk gown,
the blue one."

Testing the water, she let it fill the tub halfway and
then went back to the bed, startled to see Luther
holding her gun, frowning.

"What's wrong? You didn't think I traveled without
protection, did you?" She walked to him, took the
small .22 from him, and put it back in the suitcase.
"Come on, the bath remember?"

He hesitated, seemed about to say something but
finally followed along to the bathroom where she
demanded, standing before him, "Undress me."

And he did, slowly removing the angora sweater over
her head, his hands lightly touching her hair, then
unsnapping the bra, letting her breasts go free, him
gently cupping them, staring with lustful eyes, then
lowering her slacks, her stepping out of them,
removing her bikini panties.

Naked, she commanded, "Let me do you the same."

Her hands unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it off him,
and she pressed against his chest, fingering the
patch of greyish-brown hair there, then one hand
unzipping his pants, lowering the zipper as she felt
his hard-on, undoing his belt, the pants falling down,
her leaning into him, him groaning as she urged him
into the warm, caressing bathwater...

When he was sitting in the tub, she straddled him
and lowered herself onto his rigid penis, feeling it fill
her, going deeper and deeper, gasping, her mouth
open with pleasure.

She loved this, being in control, dominating in sex...it
excited her, aroused her to a fever-pitch and he
seemed to love it too, his face flushed, eyes afire
with lust, his throaty voice rasping, "Go...for
it...sweetheart."

And she did, riding him hard, making waves in the
tub, water splashing over onto the tile floor, both
oblivious to anything but mounting passion.

Later, cuddled together in bed, Sally told him, "I
hope you don't mind my occasional playfulness and
aggressiveness. It's just that I had such a grim
childhood and now, I don't know, with you it's like I
can play, have fun and yet be in control too."

He put an arm around her, touched her hip, moved
his hand along her thigh, a finger tentatively
exploring as his voice huskily said, "Do anything you
want Gypsy, I'm all yours."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER TWELVE

Wednesday morning Luther let Sally sleep while he
showered and dressed. The sky was a murky gray, a
ceiling of low clouds as he later stood at the window
looking out. He pondered on the trip, antsy about the
possible onslaught of torrential rain along the
coastline; he hated to miss a day or so of indulgent
relaxation and sightseeing, but if weather didn't
permit, they'd have to stick to the interstate and
forget about diversions.

"Dodger," Sally mumbled, leaning on her elbow,
staring at him and rubbing her eyes, "what time is
it?"

"Early, about seven." He walked to the bed, reached
a hand to tousle her hair, chuckling. "I thought you
needed to sleep longer."

"What I need now is a brisk shower!" She slid from
under the covers, walked to the bathroom and began
dropping her silk gown.

Crossing to the TV, Luther snapped it on and sat on
the edge of the bed, watching a news commentator
dr
concentrate on it, rather pondered on how to
persuade Sally more overtly to give up the armored
car idea - uneasy about the gun she concealed, her
cocky certainty of a successful plan.

She emerged from the bath, brushed her teeth,
applied makeup and dressed in a creamy corduroy
pair of pants, matching blouse and didn't seem to
care that he scrutinized her movements. It was
fascinating to watch a woman after such a long time
of being among men only.

When she kidded, "Penny for your thoughts?" Luther
stood, said, "Wondering if this lousy front will spoil
our time on the road?"

Methodically, Sally began gathering her clothing,
makeup kit and other items, filling the suitcase,
saying, "Better get used to sudden rain, we have
squalls come up the coast of Florida, rain like a bitch
for a few hours, then all over as suddenly as it hit."

"I'm looking forward to seeing Florida, never been
there, never even seen the ocean." He had his things
together, and they stood at the door, him asking,
"Breakfast here, or what?"

"Let's get on the road, stop somewhere later for
coffee, okay?"

"Sure." He loaded their luggage and then saw that
she'd gotten behind the wheel, which was fine with
him since he might have to drive later if the rain
caught them.

As Sally drove toward Interstate 55, the sky was
leaden; she kept steady speed, watched the
oncoming traffic, merging smoothly. "Geez, this does
look like a cruddy day!"

"I don't know if we'll stay ahead of the rain or not,
but if we push it we might," he said, shoving in the
dash lighter and getting a cigarette, watching her do
the same.

"Shit, I should have called Iva, told her we'd be on
the road today."

Luther lit her cigarette, then his, taking a satisfying
draw and replying, "You like to let them know
exactly where you are."

"Not always, but most of the time. If I'm on the
road, I usually check in at night or early morning."
She squinted in the smoke wafting toward the
cracked window. "I miss Joey a lot."

He was constantly amazed at her abundant love for
her daughter, and curious to meet the child. He'd
never been against having children, but the women in
his life had wisely avoided that trap. And he couldn't
blame them; a father in prison was not the best of
situations. "Is the kid in kindergarten yet?"

"She goes to a church pre-school, two days a week,
in the mornings, mainly to be with other kids her age.
I think it's important for her to be around other
children."

"Yeah, I was an only kid and sometimes it sure got
lonely. I always wondered what it'd be like to have
brothers and sisters."

Sally tossed her cigarette out the window. "Losing
Larry like I did, it was awful. He could be a brat,
but was always following me around like a little
puppy."

Luther nodded, sensing just how deeply the pain of
that loss still plagued her.

Miles flowed like a river; they were silent and
preoccupied with respective thoughts of what their
future might hold.

At the junction to Interstate 10 east, Sally pulled
into a truckstop and they took a break, went to the
restrooms, and then met for a cup of coffee in the
cafeteria. A few burly truckers were seated, one
husband and wife team just behind them in a booth.
Sally slid onto the plastic seat, and told the waitress
she wanted only coffee, but Luther asked for a
couple of sugary doughnuts he'd spied at the
counter.

The growl of truck engines, the faint scent of diesel
smoke wafted in the door when it opened for
someone to enter or leave while they sat quietly,
staring out at a slow drizzle now falling.

"Gypsy," he said, taking a sip of coffee and looking
into her green eyes, "can I ask you to do one thing
for me?"

"I guess, depending on what it is." She glanced at his
doughnuts, licked her lips. "Mind if I have one of
those?"

"No go ahead." Luther got the other one, sampled it
and then said, "I want you to think about a future
without crime, and..."

"Sure, after the job..."

"No, before that...not even doing it. We could both
get regular work, manage somehow..." He saw her
eyebrow lift, her mouth set into a thin line of
determination. "Please, just think about it?"

"And what kind of work do you think I could get?"
She downed the coffee, motioning for a refill.

He paused as the waitress poured steaming coffee
and then said, "Anything you want to do. If you set
your mind to it, you could be a secretary or...go to
college and have a career."

She almost dropped the cup, coffee sloshing onto
the table as she set it down shakily. "Oh really?
Please...you exaggerate my abilities, Dodger."

"No, I believe you are smart, know you are beautiful
and with that combination, there's nothing you
couldn't accomplish."

"And you?" she quizzed, stirring her coffee lazily.

"I can do any kind of janitorial work, but...well,
maybe that realtor would honestly give me a chance,
and I could stay there, steady work." He drained his
cup, leaned back, folded his arms over his chest,
sighed. "It could happen, you know."

She silently peered at him, her face grave. "I'll tell
you what, I have had some doubts, about the uh,
job. It's the risk, losing Joey and all."

He saw the brief opening and jumped in: "Yeah, it
would be horrible to lose her." He leaned forward,
elbows on the table, voice lowered, "And doing time,
just cause you're a woman, won't be any easier in
the Fed system."

"I promise to think about it," she agreed, getting up,
heading for the exit as Luther said, "I'll get the
tab," and went to pay, then joined her in the car,
hoping she meant what she'd just said.

*  *  *  *

The afternoon was gloomy, rainy in several areas;
Sally drove defensively, cautiously. She chattered
away, telling Luther about Joey, her likes and
dislikes, the new kitten, favorite activities, places.

He listened with growing warmth for the little girl; it
made him feel part of their life, and he wanted that
even more than he would admit to himself.

When they reached the outskirts of Pensacola, it
was raining buckets. She pulled in at a Quincy's and
parked. "How about a meal?"

Near four now, daylight was diminishing as Luther
peered at the foggy mist swirling around them.
"Maybe we'd better call it a day, find a place to
stay?"

"I agree, after our meal."

They ate, then located a clean, cheap motel,
checked in and rapidly put luggage inside the stuffy
room. Sally got busy unpacking and Luther stood at
the windows, holding back curtains and staring at
the downpour. He could barely see the parked
Toyoto only a few feet from the doorway.

"Shit, this is nasty weather."

"Oh," she advised, "you better get used to it.
Nothing more depressing than rain on the coast,
flash-flooding, swamps created in minutes."

"Yeah, I see it can be pretty dreary," Luther said,
dropping into a hard-back chair, stretching his legs
out, trying to ease his cramped calf muscles.

Sally was dialing the phone, and he watched her run
fingers through her wavy hair, fluffing it out in a
customary gesture of frustration.

"One ringy dingy, two ringy dingy," she joked in a
nasal imitation of Lily Tomlin's demented telephone
operator.

He laughed, sighing and bending to take off his
shoes, toss them aside and go to lay on the bed,
relaxing.

"Oh hello Iva, just about to give up on you!" she said,
listening and nodding. "Sorry you are getting your
share of rain; it's raining like cats and dogs here
outside Pensacola too."

Propping a pillow behind his head, Luther closed his
eyes, exhausted and aching.

"Yes we drove all day..."

Silence, only the sound of rain drumming outside,
lashing the windows; then a car door slamming,
footsteps running, splashing along the sidewalk.

Sally suddenly exclaimed, "What? You mean he just
showed up, and..? I see."

Luther opened his eyes to see Sally pacing, her face
distraught, her voice rising, "You didn't! You let him
take her..."

Getting up, he went to stand by her, forming a
"what?" with his lips, but she brushed him off, eyes
raised to the mottled ceiling. "Look, I understand
but...uh, you say they are at my house?"

She nodded, mumbled, "Yes, I know he's her father
but..."

Luther felt his skin crawl; it couldn't be what it
sounded like...

"Iva, I'm sorry. I just never thought I should tell
you Joe was in prison. He's...well, not really
dangerous...and I'm grateful for you not calling the
law. Yes, yes, I understand your fear, you are doing
the best thing, keeping an eye on them."

Nodding, more nodding and then Sally pleaded, "I
beg you, please try to keep him there till I get home.
We'll leave immediately, try to drive non-stop and
get there..."

"Let's see, well, probably before daylight."

At last she said goodbye, but stood clutching the
phone, her face pale, lips quivering.

Luther took the receiver, hung it up and asked,
reaching for her hand, "What is it?"

"My God, it's Joe! He's there, at my house...and has
Joey!" She jerked away, putting her hands over her
face and wailing plaintively, "God, how'd he get out?"

An icy finger of fear went along Luther's spine and
he switched on the TV. Within moments the local
news came on, and they watched with growing
horror as the unsmiling anchorman announced that
an inmate, who had apparently faked a serious knife
wound and was being transported from Raiford
State Prison to a local hospital, overpowered guards
and escaped. Believed to be headed for Tampa,
where he had parents, Joseph Lanky, convicted
armed robber...was considered armed and extremely
dangerous...

Sally was aghast, her eyes widening with each word,
bursting out, "Oh God, no!"

Luther said, "I feel like driving, if you want to hit
the road, get there as soon as possible."

Tears were welling in her green eyes, and she said
tightly, "Yes, please. I don't think he'd hurt Joey,
and Iva said my baby was glad to see him...but he's
wanted, and desperate." She groaned, then added,
"At least Iva and Mel aren't calling the cops, which
might cause him to run with Joey."

"Hey, let's get going," Luther directed, grabbing his
shoes, putting them on while Sally flung her clothing
in the suitcase, both hurrying out into the stormy
night, frantic with worry and forgetting anything
other than making a record fast trip to Titusville,
Florida.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER THIRTEEN


Sally couldn't believe it! Joe on the run, escaped
from a maximum security prison - and coming to her
house, practically abducting Joey! She cringed,
every muscle and nerve in her body tense with
anxiety, fear, worry.

"We'll be there before daybreak," Luther soothed,
driving Interstate 10 at the top speed limit,
occasionally glancing to look at her. "You okay?"

"No, I'm mad as hell!" she fumed, almost tangling
her hair as she twisted strands in her fingers. "Of
all the stupid stunts, why'd he do it?"

"Have no idea. Did he seem that eager to get loose
last time you visited him?" Luther lit a new cigarette
from the butt of the last one, dragging deeply on it,
and cursing, "Damnit all, this puts you in a bad spot."

"What about you? You're on parole." She laughed
vacantly, shrugging. "What the hell, we're both up
shit creek now. One way or another, when we tangle
with Joe, we're going to be accessories."

"He wouldn't hurt Joey though, huh?"

"No, but what if the cops get a tip, or learn he's at
my house? Oh God, I'm so thankful the Kilbors were
smart enough not to turn him in! I'd hate to think of
Joey in the middle of a gun battle. I'm sure that's
what the Kilbors were afraid of."

Luther swung out to pass an RV, accelerating. "They
must love you both a lot."

Sally felt her eyes prick with hot tears, thinking of
how much control it must have taken for the law-
abiding Kilbors not to inform on Joe, to go against
their duty as citizens for the sake of saving Joey. "I
guess I didn't know just how much they loved us
until now."

"Did they know he'd escaped before he showed up?"

"No. According to Iva, he came walking up the
street, and she was out doing yard work, Joey with
the kitten, and he comes walking up. When Joey saw
him, she ran into his open arms and squealed,
'Daddy, daddy!'"

"Jesus, how'd they find out?"

"Noon news. Mel heard it and told Iva. Joe and Joey
were on their sunporch, eating sandwiches...didn't
hear the news bulletin." Sally rolled her eyes,
grimacing. "They played it cool, and when Joe asked
for a key to my house, they tried to insist on them
staying there, have supper...but he looked angry,
jittery, so they let him have the key, take Joey with
him."

"He don't have wheels though," Luther concluded,
whipping back into the right lane, nothing in front of
them now, just dark endless flat highway.

"I hope he stays there till..." Her heart fluttered
and she resolutely forced her thoughts away from
disaster.

"Why'nt you try to sleep, get in the backseat and
cover up with that blanket?" He urged, adding, "You
need some rest, need to be rested and alert when
we get there."

She did feel utterly exhausted, but didn't think
sleep was the answer. Still, anything beat staring at
miles and miles of emptiness, worrying until she
wasted all her energy.

Crawling between the seats, she pulled the blanket
apart, curled up under it and told Luther to let the
Toyota roll.

He talked soothingly, telling her it would all work
out, his words muffled by the car tires on pavement
singing her into a troubled sleep.

*  *  *  *

Groggily, Sally roused herself. She had slowly
awakened when the car stopped moving, and now
Luther was leaning between the seats, shaking her.
"Sweetheart, we're about an hour from Titusville."

"Oh good, sorry I slept so long," she apologized,
sitting up, looking at the deserted parking lot.
"Where are we?"

"Just past Daytona, pulled into this deserted service
station, thought I'd better wake you." He rolled
down the window, sultry air coming in, a salty bite to
it.

"I need to find a john, repair the damage to
myself," Sally said, crawling into the front seat,
surveying her rumpled outfit.

"While we're here alone, something I want to
discuss." Luther took his eyes away from the
boarded-up, abandoned building, turned to her and
asked, "Gypsy, that gun, don't you think we better
get it out of the suitcase?"

She had been thinking the same thing, but hearing
him suggest it made her aware that dealing with Joe
would best be handled by subtle, persuasive moves,
not direct threats. "Dodger, I know Joe fairly well.
Let me handle him; if I can't, then we'll take it from
there."

Shrugging, he clutched the steering wheel, started
the car. "Whatever. Just remember, he's going to be
on the lam, desperate."

"I know, and I appreciate your concern." Sally lit
her cigarette off his, leaning close and adding, "I
hope I can deal with Joe."

"The girl, what about her safety?" Luther pulled
onto the highway, heading to Interstate 95, smoking
and plucking tobacco off the tip of his tongue.

She studied his tight-knuckled grip on the steering
wheel, the tense lines at his mouth. "I'm sorry this
happened," she apologized.

"Shit, a couple days ago I'd of split, left you to it.
But now..."

"Yes?"

He tapped the wheel, fingers of the other hand
pinching the cigarette nervously. "Now I'm in love
with you, and that changes everything."

"Dodger...you don't have to stick around. I mean,
this isn't what I planned on and it's not fair to you."
She felt her throat closing, constricting with
emotion.

"Hey, we're in this together, remember?" He tossed
the cigarette out the window, reached to cover her
hand. "I won't leave you, not when things go wrong,
not unless you ask me to."

She could only nod, grateful for him, for his love;
and yet, the words would not come, the words of
love that she felt might be true, genuine feelings.

Luther drove along until he spotted an Exxon
Station, got off the interstate, pulled in. Sally ran to
the bathroom, looking at her ghastly white face in
the smoky mirror. She dabbed at smudged mascara,
taking compact and lipstick out of her purse,
working hurriedly to appear presentable. And all the
time, her mind went over and over the past: Joe's
weaknesses, his volatile temperament, his drug habit.
But the one thing he did seem capable of was loving
Joey. Sally was glad for that; she had to use it to
their advantage.

Back in the car, Luther handed her a cup of coffee,
sipping his and asking, "You want to drive? I'm not
that good at finding new locations."

"Sure," she replied, drinking the bitter coffee,
staring at him. "Dodger...I..." but the words stuck in
her throat, preventing the feelings from being
spoken.

He put a hand on her shoulder. "I understand, no
need to say it."

Nodding, she jumped out of the car, tossed the cup
down, and they met at the back of the Toyota, her
opening the trunk, telling him, "If you need the gun,
I'm going to put it in this spare tire. No use carrying
it in the house...might cause a problem."

"Right." He put down the trunk lid, looked around
and declared, "Jesus, ain't this a sight...flatter than
a pancake!"

Sally gazed at the clear skyline to the east, a mere
hint of pink, the first glimmer of sunrise, and
gestured to the far off darkly green flora and
fauna, palms and scrub palmettos, sandy beaches
just out of sight and said, "Welcome to sun and fun
Florida, mister!"

"Not exactly like I figured my first vacation but at
least we left the rain behind," he kidded, lightly
punching her on the arm.

She tried a weak laugh, but worry drowned it and
she said, "Let's go, see what's happening."

Sally got behind the wheel and felt instantly in
control; she headed back onto the interstate and
drove into traffic, southbound.

The hour was spent without conversation, both
preoccupied and concentrating on the situation at
hand. When Sally took the exit for Titusville, Luther
asked, "Do you think he will be expecting us?"

"I don't know. Iva said she'd tell him I was on my
way...but..."

"You didn't mention me? Maybe that's a good thing,
I could bow out if you want that?" His voice was
hoarse with emotion.

Sally glanced at him. "No, but I...well, I'm worried
about what he will expect of me?"

"You mean physically?"

"Sexually I couldn't um, you know...not now, since
you," she heard herself saying, and knew it was true.
The highway junction was ahead, and she made a
turn onto US I, a four-lane which paralleled the
Indian River.

"Phew, what's that scent?" Luther suddenly
exclaimed.

"It's the river, smells doesn't it?"

"Shit, that's what it smells like, a sewer!"

Sally laughed, remembering her first scent of the
rancid river; but you got used to it, living practically
next to the waterfront.

When she made a turn onto a side street, Luther
leaned over, said softly, "Whatever happens,
remember I love you and...don't want to lose you."

Words refused to surface, so Sally just nodded
mutely, drove through the early morning stillness,
seeing one or two men getting in their cars, backing
out of driveways, going to work.

"Here we are," she announced, pulling into the
narrow drive, pointing to the starkly white stucco,
red-tiled bungalow touched by sunlight, the yards
mowed, shrubs tended by Mel.

"Tiny, but neat." Luther sat back, looking and then
mused, "Maybe I better let you go in first?"

"Yes, that's a good idea. I'll go in, then come to the
window, motion for you when I've told Joe you are
here."

There was no movement, no sound from the house,
not a hint of anyone occupying it; that unnerved
Sally, but she got out, slowly approached the house
and put her key in the familiar varnished wooden
door, glancing back at Luther, whose gaze was
riveted on her.

Stepping inside, Sally coughed in the musty house,
trying to adjust her eyes to the dark interior; all the
blinds were closed, no lights. She groped her way to
the kitchen, saw nothing out of order, no signs
anyone had recently eaten...

Pounding on the screen door at the rear of the
kitchen caused Sally to jump, run to it and fling
open the wood door. Iva was livid, her stout frame
leaning into the doorway, voice loud, "They're gone,
left!"

"When, oh my God, when Iva?"

The woman bounded in, gesticulating wildly, heavy
arms wide and waving. "Last night, right after your
call. Joe, he comes over, says you called him and..."

"But I didn't!"

"Well, he said you did. Had a little suitcase for Joey
and said he's going to a motel, wait for you there."

Sally took hold of Iva's broad shoulders, steading
her and forcing a calm she didn't feel into her voice:
"I think he was scared the cops would come here.
Have they?"

Iva nodded. "Mel said he saw them over here last
night, but they left. He told them you was gone out
of state, took the child too and..."

"Iva I really appreciate all you've done, I know it's
not easy to lie to the authorities."

Iva pulled Sally to her fleshy bosom, asserting, "I
love you and Joey like my own, the cops can't find
the end of their noses half the time.
But...honey...that Joe...are you sure he won't hurt
you or that baby?"

Sally felt the loving embrace go through her body,
warm and momentarily comforting, but she pulled
away, looked Iva in the face, said, "I don't think he
would, no. Iva, where are they? He did leave word
about how to reach him?"

Shaking her head, the tightly coiffed grey hair never
losing its style, she said, "Mel got it from him, I
couldn't. Said he was going to this motel." And she
took out a scrap of paper, gave it to Sally.

She looked at it, sighed. "This is in Orlando, probably
a flophouse."

Iva patted her shoulder. "Honey, Mel and me did our
best to get him to leave Joey, but he wouldn't."

"Iva, if I get Joey back and um, managed to send
her to you, would you keep her for me till all this is
settled."

"Honey, you know we would, she's like our own
grandbaby." Iva's eyes got red, teary.

Sally said, "Look, I've got to get back on the road. I
have a friend with me, and he's going to help get this
all straightened out, okay?"

"I'm worried, real worried," Iva declared, both of
them walking to the back door.

"I promise to call you, first chance I get. But if the
cops come snooping around, um, would you..."

"Don't worry, mums the word." Iva went out, then
looked back through the screen door. "Tell Joey I'm
taking good care of Tiger till she comes home."

Sally bit her lips, said, "I'll tell her."

Closing the door, Sally raced back through the
darkened house, dashing out the door. She stopped
dead-still when she saw a cruiser come slowly down
the street, park at the curb and a tall uniformed
cop step out, soberly peering at her, the car and
then Luther.

Shit, she thought, what now? For sure, this cop was
looking for Joe.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER FOURTEEN


Luther saw the cruiser stop, a cop get out and
advance toward Gypsy, glancing at him in the
Toyota, then deciding to talk with her, one hand
strategically placed on his holstered gun.

Trying to look casually their way, Luther watched
the hulking cop interrogate Gypsy, her manner
relaxed, her face seemingly interested, concerned
about whatever he was explaining at length. She
would put a hand to her forehead, deeply puzzled,
her eyes directed at the cop, not flinching under his
scrutiny.

At last, the cop glanced at Luther, and then waited
as Gypsy told him something, her hand going out to
brush the cop's arm, subtly but not accidentally,
Luther thought, amazed at her calm composure.

When the cop nodded, leaned nearer and then tipped
his hat, crossing the yard to his cruiser, Luther felt
his heart begin to resume a normal pace; that was
too close for comfort!

Sally rapidly came to the car, slid into the driver's
seat and said, "Jesus H. Christ, this is not going to
be my day!"

"Where's Joe, the girl? Are they in the house?" he
quizzed, twisting to stretch his legs, cramped and
aching from the confinement.

"Not here, neither one of them." She started the
car, backed into the street and headed south,
talking: "That damn Joe! Iva came in the back door,
told me he took Joey away last night, right after my
call. I guess he got spooked, since the prison
officials had my address, knew I'd visited, and
probably tipped the local police. Iva said cops had
been driving by."

"Where'd they go?" Luther caught the flash of tidy
yards, cultivated orange, lemon trees, palms,
tropical foliage, spacious lawns of suburban homes
as they drove through Titusville, taking the toll
booth entry to the Beeline Expressway.

"Orlando, and that's where we're headed."

"The cop, he wanted to know about Joe?"

"Yes, said they had been informed he might come
here, and wanted to know if I'd seen him. I told the
cop I'd just got in from out-of-state, that my
daughter was still with friends I'd visited and I had
no idea Joe had even escaped, until he told me."

"You got nerve, I'll give you that," Luther said,
squinting in the glaring sunlight reflected off cars
ahead of them on the four-lane highway. "Orlando,
huh?"

"That's what Iva said Joe told her, called and gave
them the address, looks like a flophouse in a
rundown neighborhood." She glanced at him, asked,
"Could I bum a cigarette, I'm out."

"Yeah." He got out two, pushed in the lighter and
waited, sighing. "I'm about wasted, that long drive
done me in."

"Sorry. When we get there, I could take you to a
motel, let you get some sleep?" Sally took the
cigarette, inhaled like it was a lifesaver and
grimaced, rummaging in her purse for sunglasses,
slipping them on. "I dread this."

"Look, I'm tired but I think it best I stick close to
you, at least till we get our hands on Joey," Luther
reluctantly told her, regretting that he couldn't bail
out of this before it was too late to turn back.
Besides, he'd been having this niggling suspicion
about the whole situation: Could it be a setup,
something Gypsy and Joe had prearranged? But if
so, what was his part in it?

"I could kill Joe, and I might just do it this time!"
She exploded, ramming a fist against the console
between the seats. "Damn, damn him!"

Luther cracked his window, let the smoke spiral
from his parted lips, gaging her anger, her rage.
"Been wondering Gypsy, did you mention the
armored car to Joe?"

To his dismay, she spluttered, "Oh my God, yes I
did!" Her face tightened, red and flustered. She
pulled off the highway, stopped and stared at the
bleached-white landscape, acres of what flatlanders
saw every time they took the Beeline into Orlando.

"What is it?" he persisted, nerves taut and frazzled
from lack of sleep, the tension he found himself
unable to release.

"Shit, I told him when I asked about someone to
help me, and he might have..." she trailed off,
stubbing out the butt in the car ashtray.

"Gypsy, I had word he wanted me to do him a favor
by helping you, but he didn't say what it was. I
figured, well, that you hadn't told him either."

"I did, and that was a stupid thing to do." She lay
her head on the steering wheel, dejected and
defeated, her voice sad, "I can't believe this is
happening."

He placed his hand on the back of her neck,
massaging tense muscles, soothing, "We'll work it
out, one way or another."

"I never dreamed he'd escape, or even that he could
if he wanted to."

"Come on, let's get rolling, sweetheart." He tugged
her head up, stared at her weary face. She was
tired, and it showed, yet her beauty was untarnished
by the stress and tension: Green, glowing eyes, silky
skin and a resigned smile now.

"I appreciate you, Dodger, don't think I could
handle this without you."

"Don't mention it," he replied, grinning. "You can
repay me some rainy night in bed."

She gave him a lascivious wink, and started the
Toyota, getting back on the highway and teasing,
"Will do mister!"

*  *  *  *

Orlando was bustling, busy, a tourist Mecca with
mega-bucks Walt Disney World, Epcot Center and
assorted attractions; Luther watched the horizon,
clutched at his shirt collar, growing warmer in the
mid-morning heat. He wasn't exactly enjoying his
first trip to Florida, everything passing in a blur as it
was, but his eyes darted all around, vainly trying to
absorb the sultry atmosphere, a tropical
fantasyland of tourist indulgence.

Sally mastered the maze of highways like an old pro,
occasionally pointing out tourist spots such as Sea
World, then shouting above the roar of planes at
Orlando International Jetport, her voice loudly
advising, "It'll take about fifteen minutes to get
there now."

The ride was tense; he finally saw the exchange for
downtown, then they were on a street, the houses
probably at one time nice, but now deteriorated,
yards unkempt. Cars lined the curb, out of keeping
with their territory, big Cadillacs, Thunderbirds,
LTDs, a couple of late models, some older, but just
as flashy. He'd seen this kind of neighborhood
before - every inner city had them, a place where no
decent person dared walk at night, where all the
good people had long ago abandoned ship, left it to
the dope dealers, the welfare mothers, the punks
and prostitutes.

"Ugh, it's the pits!" Sally said, pointing to a gawky
black boy, no older than ten, positioned on a corner,
a beeper on his belt, wide eyes haunted and hunting
for customers.

"Yeah, I hope Joey hasn't seen too much of this,"
Luther said, protective about the little girl he had
yet to meet.

Sally handed him the crumpled scrap of paper,
saying, "See if you can locate that house number?"

He read it, looked up and down the right side; then
on the left, where a rusted Buick with a flat tire
was angled into the curb, the number etched on
weathered wood trim. The house itself was a cinder-
block dwelling, nasty white paint peeling in several
places. "Here it is."

Braking, Sally sat staring at the dump; the yard was
littered with debris, coke and beer cans, and a
young white girl of about seventeen sat on a step
leading to the doorway, her face a portrait of frigid
indifference, clothing skimpy, blond hair dirty and a
mean grin directed at them. She got up, lazily
walked to the car, leaned down to Luther's window
and asked, "Want a pop, it'll be real good stuff, you
want it."

Sally swallowed, not speaking.

Luther could smell the girl's sourness, and tried to
hide his distaste by asking, "You alone?" He faked
interest by looked up and down her wiry body.

"No, but uh..." she twisted her stringy hair, looked
back at the house. "Uh, I can go with you, let the
woman watch if'n she wants."

Luther forced himself to shrug, touch her hand on
the car, ask suggestively, "What'll it cost?"

"Twenty, up front."

"It's a deal, but we have to go in the house, okay?"
He knew that this would be the best way to get
inside. If they asked about Joe, no one would tell
the truth, since the whole place was built around
drugs, prostitution, harboring ex-cons, felons or
anyone else in trouble. Oh yeah, Luther had lived in
just such an apartment in south St. Louis, only it had
revolved around burglary and theft more than drugs
and prostitution.

The gangly girl was undecided, still twisting her oily
hair but at last sighed, gesturing to the house. "We
can use a bedroom, I guess."

Sally interrupted. "Where can I park?"

"Just go on up the street till you find a place." The
girl sauntered back to the house, disinterested.

Luther said, "I figured this was a better way to get
inside."

She whipped in between two cars, switched off the
ignition. "Jesus, this is a dump. I've got to get Joey
back to Mel and Iva."

He asked, "They agreed to take her?"

"Yes, and I know she'd be safe there."

Luther touched her hand. "Look, when we get in the
house, you just find Joey, do your best to calm her
and I'll try to divert Joe, talk to him while you and
Joey slip out or something."

"Dodger, I...I just want you to know how much I
appreciate this. You could split, get out of it
before..."

He silenced her with a quick, furtive kiss. "No, I
can't. I love you, remember?"

They got out, both stretching and yawning; their
short walk back to the house was eyed by several
black youths, a fat woman with a squalling baby, and
a woman peeping out from behind curtains.

At the steps to the house, Luther said, "Hang in,
okay?"

"Yes." Sally knocked, but the young girl opened the
door after the first rap, sullenly declaring, "Only
twenty minutes, that's the limit."

Luther spotted Joe instantly; he was slumped on a
ragged sofa, his blond hair slicked back off his wide
forehead, head nodding, in a druggie stupor no
doubt.

The little girl came running from a dark corner,
squealing, "Mommy, mommy!"

Windows were covered with aluminum foil, and it
gave an alien murkiness to the interior, Luther
thought.

Sally bent down, holding out her arms, lifting the
golden child up, hugging her. "Baby, I'm so glad to
see you!"

Luther tried to adjust his eyes to the artificial
lamplight, able to make out only that several
mattresses were on the floor, the ratty sofa against
a wall, a couple of tables here and there.

Joe now looked up; his boyish fair-haired looks were
dulled, but he still had the handsome face of a
young man, only the blue eyes were sunken, rimmed
with dark shadows. He stood, groping his way to the
door, smiling, teeth showing. "Sal, is that you?"

"Yes, it is," she said, staring at him, motionless.

"God, honey I'm glad to see you!" He swept both
Sally and Joey into his arms, binding them to him,
mumbling, "I missed you something awful."

Luther stepped just inside the door, feeling the
young prostitute tugging his sleeve. "Mister in here..."
He pushed her back, disengaging her hand and
tightly saying, "Not now."

Joe seemed to notice him for the first time, and
turned to look directly into Luther's eyes. "My man,
how you doin? I owe you, bringing my woman here."

Before Luther could say anything, Joe tilted Sally's
chin up and bent to kiss her, a long, deep, sensual
kiss that made Luther feel like killing the
sonofabitch!

And Sally did not protest, did not stop Joe's
familiar intimacy.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Sally yielded to Joe's feigned passion; she knew he
was far gone on horse, the glassy blue eyes, the
stumbling gait, and if she had to play along, fine...but
her repulsion was difficult to disguise. Only the love
of Joey prevented her from slapping his face as he
took the liberty of kissing her, throwing a possessive
arm across her shoulders, calling her 'his woman.'

"So my man, you digging this scene? Nothin like
sunny Florida, huh?" Joe asked Luther, who was
staring at him like he was the scum of the earth.

Sally intervened, "Uh, Joe, the cops put the fix on
me, back at the house. How come you went there,
you dope!"

Joey squealed, "Daddy don't!" as he tickled her,
then mussed her blond hair.

Protectively, Sally moved aside, trying to focus on
the darkened room; she could vaguely see several
people slouched on mattresses. The young girl had a
grip on Luther's arm, whining, "Mister, we got a
deal!"

"Aw shit," Joe drawled, grinning. "Take her Lu, you
deserve some pussy, not long out of the joint."

Luther coughed, withdrew his arm deliberately,
reaching in his back pocket for his wallet, and got
out ten dollars, handed it to the girl. "Sorry the ol
ticker ain't up to it."

She grabbed the money, stuffed it in her filthy
jeans, and disappeared into the gloomy hallway,
calling sarcastically, "Thanks a ton!"

Sally was having a problem breathing; the whole
place was suffused in a sickish, sweet scent, a
mingling of marijuana and rotting fruit, so she
commented to Joe and Luther, "Let's step outside,
get some air."

They walked through the door, down the steps, Joey
smiling as Sally told her Iva was taking care of
Tiger, her tinny voice asking, "Mommy, can I give my
kitten this toy?" She leaned close to Joe, who
produced a Little Caesar hand puppet, wiggling it at
the child, watching her giggle, then giving it to her.

The noon sun was directly overhead like a police
helicopter beam upon them. Sally inspected Joey,
her pink jog suit soiled, plaited pigtails frayed; her
blue eyes were wide, clear, but Sally asked, "Are
you hungry, baby?"

"My daddy got me pizza...but um, I like Chicken
McNuggets," she explained patiently to Luther, who
was watching her with a pained expression.

Joe was stung by the sunlight, and shaded his blue
eyes, cringing. "Man, it's bright out here!"

Luther and Sally exchanged a knowing look. She
said, "Hey, how about you two men go get Joey
some Chicken McNuggets, wouldn't that be good
baby?"

Joey clapped her hands, hugging Sally around the
neck, squealing, "Yes, and get French fries too!"

"Add a chocolate shake for her, nothing for me.
How about you Luther, Joe?" Sally began to
rummage in her purse, coming out with money,
handing it to Joe.

He smiled, white teeth flashing; his eyes met hers,
and he whistled. "Sal, you always come through
babe."

The two men started toward the street, but Sally
caught Luther by the arm, held him back for a
moment, telling Joe to go on to the grey Toyota.

Luther looked angry, his mouth a tight slit of
repressed feelings, but he said thinly, "What?"

"It's not what it looks like," she hissed. "I have to
put on an act, make him think I'm still interested...till
we can get..."

Joey was studying them both, her lips pouty, blue
eyes incredibly wise, curious.

Sally shrugged, hugging Joey and whispering over
her shoulder, "Keep him away a couple hours, don't
care how... please?"

Luther gave a curt nod, departed for the Toyota,
never looking back.

Joey asked, "Who's that man, mommy?"

"A friend baby, a good friend." Sally held the child,
melting with love, relief and said gently, "How would
you like to have Mel come get you, take you back so
you could care for Tiger?"

Joey frowned, her face working with frustration.
"My daddy said he'd get me a kitten."

Sally wanted to scream with fury; Joe could always
charm anyone, even children. She wiped a smudge of
pizza sauce off Joey's cheek, coaxing, "Baby,
Nanny told me Tiger misses you."

"Mommy, if I go back will daddy come too?"

"Maybe later, right now your mommy and daddy
have some serious things to do, things we have to do
alone."

Nodding, her face grave, Joey said, "Okay mommy,
but what about my Chicken McNuggets?"

Sally laughed, said, "We'll go get you some and I
can call Mel. We'll eat while he drives over here
from Titusville."

"Mommy, I didn't give daddy a kiss goodbye."

"I'll do it later for you," Sally said, heading back
into the house to call a cab.

After their meal, Sally told the cab driver to take
them to Disney World; that brought a squeal of
delight from Joey, who loved the amusement park,
and had been there often with Mel and Iva.

When they got to the Transportation Center, Sally
talked to Joey seriously, telling her that if she
didn't get back to the Kilbor home for some time
not to forget that she loved her.

Joey put her arms around her, saying sweetly, "I
know you do mommy, and I love you."

Sally flooded with warmth, barely preventing tears
as they chatted, walked to the benches and sat
down, waiting.

Within an hour, Mel and Iva arrived on a tram car
from the parking lot; they pretended lighthearted
banter, but over Joey's head, their faces were
crimped with anxiety.

Mel's crewcut iron grey hair, ruddy-face and kindly
eyes looked like other retired men, but he'd never
adapted to the laid-back lifestyle and immediately
took control, lifting Joey up in his strong arms.
"We're about ready, so we'll wait at the entry
gate."

Sally gave Joey one last kiss, said, "Be good baby,"
and then turned to Iva, and told her that she'd
located Joe, hoped to eventually talk him into
surrendering peacefully.

Iva said, "If and when that happens, you know
where we'll be, and don't worry about Joey, she'll
be taken care of."

Grateful for their understanding, Sally smiled sadly
and watched them enter the gates, Joey waving until
out of sight.


*  *  *  *

Sally called a cab, and as it sped back to the
flophouse her mind was a jumble of confusion. First,
and most important, the cash was dwindling at an
alarming rate, and soon she'd be broke.

What to do?

She sat forward, wringing her hands, thinking about
Luther, his wretched look of betrayal when Joe
kissed her. Somehow, she had to convince Luther of
her loyalty to him, not Joe.

But how?

Joe was obviously still possessive, and she needed to
string him along...at least until she could guide them
out of this sticky situation.

The black cabbie whipped through traffic, drumming
his fingers on the steering wheel, apparently to the
beat of music coming from his Sony Walkman
earphones. Radio calls crackled with static, sending
cabs all over Orlando, more than a few to the
airport.

Sally glanced down at her unkempt appearance, the
corduroy pants a roadmap of wrinkles, her blouse
loose and sloppy; she didn't even want to think about
what her face and hair looked like.

That armored car, such a potential only yesterday,
seemed destined for oblivion today, Sally thought,
getting a Capri out of her purse, searching for her
Bic. She leaned back, barely aware of the passing
landscape, cars coming to a halt at the intersection,
her first drag on the cigarette like a release.

She smoked, preoccupied about this inconvenience -
and that is all she allowed herself to term it. Some
way, she and Luther had to eliminate Joe; he was a
pain in the ass, a bomb waiting to explode.

The cabbie drove up to the curb, his brown eyes
surveying the rundown neighborhood, then curiously
turning to her, his booming voice skeptical, "Ma'am,
you sure this where you want out?"

"Yes, right here." She stepped out, crushed the
cigarette under her shoe and then paid him, saying,
"Don't worry, I don't plan to be here long."

"Be glad to wait, if you want?"

"No, but thanks just the same," Sally said, waving
his solicitous manner aside, thinking that he was a
considerate man.

Her eyes scanned the block, placing the Toyota
almost at the corner. She took a deep breath,
braced for the worst, and walked rapidly to the
house, picked her way through crushed cigarette
packs, empty coke and beer cans, approaching the
steps just as the door flew open and Joe came
striding out, his usually placid face twisted with
fury. "Goddamn it, where you been? And where's
Joey?"

She held up a hand. "Keep it down, huh?"

Now Luther shadowed Joe, looming behind him with
a perplexed and clouded expression in his blue eyes.

"Hey, Joe..." Sally began, but got no further
because he pounded down the steps, abruptly
slapping her face, ringing her ears with the assault.

Luther came alive; he bounded down the steps,
pulling Joe aside, gripping him by the arms roughly.
"Whoa, let's hear what she has to say Joe."

"Man, you stay outta this, none of your business!"
Joe was livid with rage, his body shaking, his eyes
never leaving Sally.

She wiped her sore jaw, feeling the heat and pain;
her anger flared, but she swallowed it, then
managed to lie, "Joey is gone. I sent her to stay with
friends, down in Miami."

"You had no right! She's my daughter too!" He
squirmed in Luther's grip, but couldn't get loose.

"Look, you are on the lam, right? We don't need a
kid along, not unless you want to get caught," Sally
reasoned, lowering her voice, coming close to his
face and snarling, "You hit me again and I be
damned if I won't shoot you, got that?"

The fight left Joe. He went limp, staggered slightly
and Luther steadied him, stepped closer to Sally and
said, "Joe's on edge..."

"That fuckin asshole dealer didn't show, and man
I'm gettin the shakes," Joe complained, raising his
eyes to the sky as though for divine intervention;
sweat beaded on his forehead, ran along his temple,
down his broad, handsome face.

"Christ, did you have to start with the horse? We
got enough trouble without that!" Sally jerked Joe
by the arm, asking, "You got anything worth going
back in the flophouse for? We need to split cause
that gang in there will squeal on you for the least
little incentive, and I'm sure the law keeps an eye on
the place too."

"No, I ain't got shit, you know that." He shrugged,
said, "Man I need a fix!"

Sally looked at Luther, told him softly, "Let's get in
the Toyota, see if we can't find him some shit, then
we'll figure what to do next, okay?"

Luther rubbed his beard stubble, then his thin
hairline, turning bloodshot eyes to her and asking,
"Is this where I split?"

"No, we need you Luther. Hey, remember that
armored car... well, it's not out of the picture yet."

Joe slung an arm over Sally's shoulder
companionably. "Sal has a mind like a steel trap my
man, and she'll keep us on track, won't you babe?"

She gave a curt reply, and then tried to hide the
revulsion she felt as Joe touched her swollen jaw
tenderly, all three walking to the car, him now
begging, "Forgive me babe? You know I love you."

Luther coughed, avoiding her eyes as he asked,
"Want me in the back or front seat?"

"In front with me. Joe you sack out in back there
and I'll see if I can't find us a place to stay. We
need to lay low, maybe rent an RV in one of the
nearby parks, stay in a few days till you're out of
the media. I need to rest, get our plans down pat, do
a little work on our next move."

She started the car, driving along in the late
afternoon shadows, feeling trapped, but determined
to ditch Joe one way or another.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER SIXTEEN


Luther didn't like this shit, not one bit! He sat
slumped in the front seat, irritated and angrily
raking a hand through his hair, angled toward Sally,
asking bluntly, "Now what? Do you think the law is
gonna forget him?"

Sally didn't reply, instead watching the traffic,
heading toward inner city streets, each one looking
worse than the one before. She peered at buildings,
reading corner signs, engrossed in her direction.

"Say man, you got a problem with me being along?"
Joe was leaning over the seat, his thin arms
dangling, his face inches away so that Luther got a
whiff of rank scent, causing him to flinch.

"Yeah. I mean, you ain't exactly a harmless
addition!"

"Man, ain't it the truth!" Joe guffawed, expelling his
breath into Luther's face, spittle hitting him.

Inching toward the door, Luther said, "Gypsy,
what's the plan?"

"You two just lay off, okay? I know a dealer, down
here near the bar district, close to Rosie O'Grady's
Emporium, and if we're lucky, might just score for
Joe."

Luther folded his arms over his chest, scrunched up
his long legs, faced the city streets, traffic lights
flashing, pedestrians hurrying along sidewalks,
darkness descending like a cloak of doom as sodium-
vapor street lights tentatively blinked on.

Joe began scratching his arms, raking nails along his
face, mumbling, "Man, you better find that sucker,
I'm itching all over, getting the shakes too."

Luther felt like puking. He'd never had much use for
addicts, mainly because you couldn't trust them any
farther than you could see them, and even though
Joe had saved his life, at that time he'd been clean.
Now, seeing this despicable behavior, Luther had to
fight the urge to strangle him, so he tried to
concentrate on how to get out of this predicament.
Maybe he'd just disappear, say he had to get a pack
of cigarettes and keep right on going...

Except that as Sally nervously drove into a narrow
alley on a block of boarded-up warehouses, he saw
frantic appeal in her beautiful green eyes, pleading
and pained. He couldn't desert her, no way. In fact,
Luther was unable to deny his complete and utter
surrender to her. She was desperately dependent on
him now, and it made him suddenly strong, suddenly
capable.

He asked, "Want me to go along?"

"Please?" she whispered, taking a cigarette out,
lighting it with shaky hands.

"Man, let me go. I..."

"Forget it pal, you stay here. In your condition, you
could blow the whole thing."

Luther smoothed his hair, pushed open the door and
stepped into the alleyway, met Sally behind the car
and stood there, searching the windy streets.
"Where to now?"

Twilight was upon them, the deepening dark of the
alley, garbage piled high, decaying debris giving off a
putrid smell. Sally tilted her head up, letting out her
last whiff of smoke that spiraled up and away into
the dusky sky, her voice husky, "This is a bitch! I
never dreamed he'd do such a thing, God! Look, you
stay here, keep an eye on Joe, I'll get the dope."

"Gypsy, he's a pain in the ass. I know the boy saved
my life, but damnit, he's an accident waiting to
happen."

"I know, I know. Hey, we'll dump him but not until I
can set him up somewhere safe." She touched his
sleeve, said, "I ow him that, he's Joey's father."

"If we get caught, it's aiding and abetting a
fugitive."

"Yes, but we won't. I never did jail time, and don't
intend to now."

He realized she had the complete confidence of a
free agent, the kind that only comes from never
having done time. It was an illusion, a dangerous
cockiness that could be their downfall. "Fine, but...uh
Gypsy?"

She had started away from him, but turned back,
her face expectant. "Yes?"

"I love you," he said in a gruff voice, needing to say
the words should harm befall her.

Her face softened, a smile of surprise in her eyes,
her voice elated, "I'm glad!"

And then she was gone, disappearing around the
corner of the warehouse; he could hear a train
whistle, the grinding gears and rumbling roar of it
down the street, coming closer and closer, blocking
out his heartbeat.

He stood there, smoking and listening to the train
rattling through the streets, echoing between
buildings, clanking and clacking boxcars, an
occasional car horn, a shout or voices raised in pitch
as people walking toward Church Street Station got
excited about the night ahead, bar-hopping.

Back in the car, Joe was fretful, twitching around
and groaning with sweats, pain, fevered need of
heroin. He cried, "Damnit where is that woman!"

Struggling to maintain his calm, Luther rolled both
windows down, let his head rest on the windowledge,
quietly contemplating the surreal turn of events. His
life was a comedy of errors, bad timing and ill
fortune, situational disasters that would be deathly
discouraging were he not able to laugh at the quirky
hand fate dealt him.

Luther kept one eye on the digital clock, and when
thirty minutes had passed, he heard footsteps
slapping down the alleyway, saw Sally coming,
jumping in the car, triumphantly exclaiming, "Got it!"

Joe jerked himself up, splayed over into the front
seat, begging, "Give me it!"

"Not here, for chrissakes!" She started the engine,
backed carefully out into the street and drove to
the stoplight. "Dodger, light me a cigarette?"

"Sure thing." He rummaged in her purse, found the
pack and got a thin Capri out, lit it and handed it to
her, asking, "Go okay?"

"Well," she said, taking the cigarette, putting it
between her lips, letting it dangle as she made the
sharp corner turn on a one-way street, merging with
traffic, "it went pretty good, but that dealer, no
fool. I had to pay double, and then...well, shit, it
almost broke me!"

Joe wiped sweat away from his blue eyes. "Those
assholes, they never play fair. What we need, man, is
to knock off a drugstore, get all we can."

Luther cast a dark look at Sally; she refused to
meet his eyes, continued to smoke and maneuver
through increasing traffic.

When they entered Highway 441 north, Sally said
flatly, "I feel lousy, need a bath, something to eat."

"When you gonna stop, so I can fix?" Joe whined,
rubbing his arms in jittery movements.

"There's an RV Park past Tavares, we're heading to
it, rent a place. Better than a motel where we might
be noticed."

"How far?" Luther asked, beginning to feel relieved
to have a destination after almost twenty-four
hours of uncertainty and aimless traveling.

"About thirty minutes. You guys relax, be there
before you know it."

*  *  *  *

The rough, sandy road led to a pine-studded jungle,
and Luther thought it looked almost deserted, but
Sally had stopped at a cement-block building,
entered and came back assuring them she had
gotten a good deal on a rental.

She drove a winding road, ditches here and there,
RVs backed onto cement slabs, then onto a narrow
path leading to several trailers bordering a black
lake.

"What's that lake?" Luther asked, reluctant to leave
the car; it was pitch dark, only a few lights in
trailers that were interspersed between pines.

"Lake Yale, we stayed here once when I was a kid,
on the fruit pickers' trail. We're not far from
Fruitland Park."

Joe roused himself, his voice weak and strained,
"Where in hell are we?"

"Heaven sugar, when you get that needle," Sally
said, pushing open her door, getting out and heading
for the trailer.

Luther flung open his car door, then leaned into help
Joe out, supporting his tall, thin frame as they
shuffled to the run-down trailer. He could see
rusted patches on the aluminum, windows covered
with boards, weeds growing under and around the
tiny contraption.

"It's rough, but I was lucky to get it for only a little
cash, you know?" She stuck a key in the door,
switched it back and forth, finally got the door
open.

Luther helped Joe up the rickety metal steps, the
platform swaying and pitching beneath their
combined weight. Joe was muttering, "Damnit,
goddamnit where's the shit!"

Now Sally ran her hand over the wall, encountered a
switch, touched it and a dangling lantern-fixture
threw amber rays on the shabby interior.

Luther saw an oblong sofa that was built into the
wall; he steered Joe to it, sat him down and said,
"For chrissakes, give him a hit."

Sally went to Joe, began going through her purse,
taking out a syringe, needle she'd gotten from the
dealer (free, clean from a group giving it out to
addicts, according to the dealer) and then hurriedly
looked in a cabinet drawer for a spoon, found one
and went back to Joe, him whimpering, "Hurry Sal..."

She expertly rolled up his sleeve, gripped his arm
and thumped his skin, raising a vein, and then tying
off below the elbow...

Luther had seen enough. He went back to the car,
stood there taking deep, racking breaths of the
pine-scented air, hearing a slap of waves from the
lakeside. He could faintly hear Sally softly talking,
then Joe's sighs of pleasure.

At last Sally came out, walked to him and leaned
against the car. "Jesus, what a rough time!"

"Is he out?"

"In a drugged daze, a big satisfied grin on his
handsome mug." She suddenly clutched Luther's
hand, holding tightly, weaving her fingers in his,
murmuring, "What will we do with him?"

"Hell, we could rat him off...but, that's a snitch's
way out. No, the boy is a basketcase, but...I can't
turn him in and don't think you can either."

"No, never." Sally moved against him, saying, "Hold
me, please."

He took her in his arms, her trembling nearness
causing his heart to thump hard. She lay her head on
his chest, sighed deeply and just held on to him as if
for dear life.

"Gypsy, about the armored car?" He had to ask; it
was always in his thoughts, and surely now she had
given up on that idea.

"Dodger, I'm just about broke. We have to do
something, and quick. But look, if we lay low here a
few days, then we can plan, decide what next."

"I can tell you right now I'm not having no junkie
along on any kind of job." He felt compelled to
blurt, "And that's final!"

"I agree, but if we can lose him...?" She let the
words hang there, tempting.

"Maybe, we'll see."

*  *  *  *

Later, after she'd showered and changed into a
knee-length nightshirt, Sally prepared ham
sandwiches, opened potato chips and cokes, having
bought supplies at a grocery store in Tavares.

Luther sat at the table, munching chips and looking
at the cramped trailer; it was not much larger than
some cells he'd been inside. But he had to admit it
was adequate - table, stove, fridge, even a tiny area
with sofa, a black-and-white TV on metal stand. Lots
of formica, plastic and linoleum floors, fake pine-
paneled walls. A narrow hall led to a bathroom, and
bedroom at the rear with pull-down bed, closet too
small for more than a few outfits.

Sally was gazing at Joe; he was sprawled on the
sofa, mumbling, nodding off. Her voice low, she said,
"Look at him, a hopeless junkie."

Luther thought he heard a note of sadness mixed
with regret. He watched her face flush, her green
eyes water as she said, "You know, Joe wasn't
always that way. For that first year I knew him, he
was sweet, lovable and clean. His folks live in
Tampa, that's where I met him. I was working a
convention and well, to tell you the truth, I was
taking some college night courses, and Joe was a
student. He was fresh out of prison, and we just
sort of hit it off. He said he was trying to go
straight, and I didn't confess what I was doing for
a living until, well, after we'd been involved for a
month or so."

"Drugs ruin people, that's a fact," Luther offered,
wiping his glass of water droplets, staring at
boarded windows.

"Yes, but...we had a good year together. When he
finally learned what I was up to, well, we decided to
try some burglaries. One thing led to another, and
first thing I knew he was into drugs again."

"What's his family like? They straight, or what?"

"Yes, and he has three older brothers, real
upstanding citizens, one is even a banker. Joe always
said he was the black sheep of the family."

Just then Joe roused himself, looked at Sally and
whined, "Babe, let's get some sack time, huh?"

She glanced at Luther, and he shrugged.

Sally got up, helped Joe off the sofa and they
headed for the bedroom. She asked, "Will you mind
sleeping on the sofa?"

"No, fine," Luther said, feeling resentment rise in his
throat, the bitter taste of jealousy in his mouth.

The bedroom door slammed, and he sat there alone,
discouraged and yet unable to shake a suffocating
jealousy that swelled inside him, making his skin
crawl. He tried to dismiss it; after all, Joe couldn't
be interested in sex - he was stoned out of his
gourd.

Still, Luther felt it necessary to take a walk, clear
his head. He went outside, the cooler wind
refreshing, and night stars overhead like a canopy
of glittering diamonds as he tread a straw-littered
path, circling and coming closer to RVs, hearing
voices from one, then heading back to the trailer.

When he opened the door, it was quiet. He eased
down the hallway, went inside the minuscule
bathroom, ran water and splashed it on his face, a
reflection of his strained appearance, bloodshot
eyes, face haggard and tired in the mirror. He just
wanted to crash, forget everything.

But then the door eased open, and Sally slipped
inside. They were pressed together, and he saw her
put her fingers to her lips, murmuring, "Don't
talk...I'll do all the work."

She traced his eyelids, tiptoed up to kiss him, his
mouth opening, receptive to her wet lips, probing
tongue...

She ran a hand down to his crotch, teasing and
touching him, finding him hard...

Then she unzipped him, put his hand on her thin
nightshirt, her nipples growing erect beneath his
touch, his mouth on her cloth-covered breasts...

She molded to him, their bodies afire with lust. She
urged him to sit on the toilet, and he did it willingly...

He slowly lifted her nightshirt, raising the material
up over her hips, seeing her nakedness and then her
straddling him, guiding his hard-on into her teeming
warmth...

As she rode him, he felt the tension build, his heart
rattling his whole chest, but he didn't care, not at
all...

They fucked, fucked hard and blotted out
everything at the moment of ultimate oblivion...

Only later, as he kissed the back of her neck,
fingering her damp hair, did he begin to wonder if
she'd made it with Joe while he was gone on the
walk?

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


Joe's arm lay heavily on Sally, flung across her
waist, his steady breathing near her ear. She eased
his arm up, slowly stood, crept to the closet, got out
an aqua-colored jog suit, and went to the bathroom,
grinning about last night's sexual escapade; it was
clandestine, hot and made to order, relieved the
tension built up during the crazy twenty-four hour
traveling marathon.

The mirror over the sink was hazy, but she saw
crinkle lines at the corner of her eyes, near her
mouth - the signs a woman noticed when skin aged.
She ran cold water, rinsed her face and briskly
dried it with a towel, brushed her teeth, dabbed on a
touch of makeup and dressed in the loose jog suit.

As she came into the hallway, the welcome scent of
coffee brewing greeted her. Luther was standing at
the front door, peering out an oblong window,
shoulders slumped, a hand customarily on his thin
hairline. He had on jeans, short-sleeve, denim-blue
shirt, and held a cup of coffee in one hand.

She checked on Joe, seeing him sprawled over the
small bed, wound between sheets, his blond hair on
the pillow, peaceful face in repose looking
vulnerable, pale lips parted, shadowy smudges under
eyelids, an extraordinary thinness of body,
scarecrow legs and arms, torso a bony rib cage.

In all honesty, she had to admit to herself he could
still move her; the little-boy-lost syndrome always
got to her heart, made her want to rescue him...but
she knew this was no time for sentimental
attachment.

As she rapidly went to the kitchenette, poured
coffee and then sat down at the formica-top table,
she regained her composure. Leaning on the table,
she sipped coffee, scalding her tongue, snapping,
"Shit that's hot!"

Luther didn't look at her, instead continuing his
vigilant stare outside. "Looks like a jungle out there.
Last night all I could really identify was pines, now I
see wild vines, tangled vegetation I can't name."

"A mixture here in central Florida, some pines along
with bluff oak, chinkapin or ashe, elms and other
leafy trees, usually stunted though, not as large
here as in other southern states. The vines and
stuff are due to moisture, the lake and all." She
stirred her coffee with a spoon, laughed. "But this
place is wild, not kept up, so no telling what all you
might find out there."

"You stayed here before?"

"No, I just know it from my days with fruit pickers.
We worked about a hundred miles south, heard they
stopped off here. Down south the area is called the
Highlands Ridge and it's perfect for growing citrus,
usually picked between October and July. Each
variety has its own harvest time. Navel oranges are
picked between March and July. The large pineapple
oranges are picked between December and
February. Hamlins are the first to ripen, in the fall.
They run from October to December. Temples are
picked in mid-January through mid-March.
Grapefruits have a longer season, red and pink are
available from October through June, while the
white seedless and Duncan varieties are available
from October through July. Tangerines have a
shorter season, Robinsons are from October to
November, Dancys from November to
Honeys from February to mid-April. Tangeloes have
a very short season, the Orlando kind from
November to January, while the Mineola tangelo is
only picked in January."

"Jesus, you're a walking encyclopedia!"

"You memorize that stuff, know when you'll be at
certain places. All migrant kids know it, nothing
special."

Luther joined her at the table, pulled out a warped
metal chair, sat down and said, "I get the point, lots
of work in this state but this place ain't exactly on
the tourist route."

"No, and I was surprised it's still open. The old
couple used to own it died, and the guy I talked to
last night is a nephew who inherited, in his words,
'the dump'...but he seemed sort of lawless himself,
no threat, so I figured we're in luck."

"If you can call it luck in our situation." He tapped
out a cigarette, lit up and propped an arm on the
table, leaning on his hand.

"Dodger...about the armored car?" Sally wanted to
confirm his participation now, before they had to
deal with Joe.

"I ain't keen on it, but look at the way we are
backing ourselves into a corner, money low and
carrying that excess baggage in there." He pointed
his cigarette at the bedroom, grimacing.

"Listen Dodger, today is October 20th, Saturday. In
a week or so it'll be Halloween."

"Yeah..."

"And with all the costumes, the crowds and stuff,
the party-hardy atmosphere...well, Halloween is on
Wednesday, we could plan our job for that day."

"You real set on that car, huh?" He stretched, arms
going high overhead, his eyes closing.

"It's the best idea I can come up with, at least for
a long-term solution to finances." Sally wanted to
convince him of the necessity and the possibility it
could work; she had hooked him sexually, maybe
emotionally (not without some emotion on her part
she feared) but now the plan had to appeal to his
rational reasoning.

She sipped coffee, running a finger around the rim
of the chipped cup. "We can do it, I know we can.
What we need to do, you and me, is drive into the
city, look over likely prospects, and then come back
here, work out a plan on paper, precise details."

He brought his arms down, slumped, his lanky frame
dangling off the metal chair. "Look Gypsy, it's
possible, yeah, but what about our good buddy in
there?"

"Joe's no threat to it, I'll take care of him."

She saw his face blanch, his mouth thin.

"Like you did last night while I was on the walk?"

"I don't understand..." she began, then caught the
significance of his remark. "Oh...you think we
fucked?"

"It...I don't know, I guess I'm...well, sort of
jealous."

She reached for his hand, stroked his palm, brought
his fingers to her face, kissed them one at a time,
smiling. "I'm glad you're jealous. But no, sugar, Joe
is not up to sex, even if he wanted me."

Luther slowly traced her facial features, the wide
browline, high cheekbones, hollowed beneath, the
perfectly thin nose, full lips, a sharp, defiant chin.
He could get lost in her beauty, but at last asked,
"But the thing is, do you want him?"

"No, sugar, not at all. I have you, and damn, you are
enough man to keep me satisfied!" She leaned close,
gave him a teasing kiss on the lips, then sighed. "So
you game for the job?"

"One more thing, don't you think you should tell Joe
we uh, are...you know?" He let his tongue trace her
lips, a groan in his throat.

"Lovers?" She slowly tasted him, their mouths open,
her hand going beneath the table to dance along his
thighs, up to his crotch, kidding, "Um, what's this, a
present for me?"

"Yeah." He stood, pulled her up and pressed her
tightly against him, mumbling, "I want you."

"Ummm..."

Both heard muffled sounds from the bedroom; they
instantly sprang apart. Joe opened the door, came
stumbling down the hallway, rubbing his eyes,
scratching his head, asking, "Jesus, where's the
coffee?"

Later, Sally went for a long solitary walk beside the
lake; it wasn't an easy path to maneuver, in fact it
snaked through brush, mangled with knotty vines and
interlaced tree branches overhead, shutting out sky.
The day was starting to warm, still clear and sunny,
but she didn't notice that so much as the rugged
terrain. A few trailers, similar to theirs, were
vacant; ahead, about one-half mile, the RVs were
parked on cement pads, and seemed in better shape.
However, Sally saw that farther along the main
highway was an RV park, with recreation area, which
appeared to be in excellent condition, probably
where the majority of tourist stayed in this
particular region.

She poked her way through the underbrush, got
near the lake, saw greenish, swampy grass at the
shoreline, not really suitable for swimming. Out in
the center of the lake, water was a tranquil blue,
reflecting sunlight, tree shapes and ripples from a
fishing boat on the other side, an old man holding a
rod and reel so still he seemed dead.

Satisfied this was a perfect spot to hole up, she
then retraced her steps and passed their trailer,
seeing Luther on the steps, smoking. She dodged him,
went on up the sandy road to the office, and had a
brief conversation with the owner, a boy no older
than twenty, punk-hair in spiked peaks, an earring in
one ear, the strong odor of marijuana in the room,
him not even bothering to conceal the roach-clip
where it lay in an ashtray.

His name was Willy, and he was like, you know, not
into particulars. Just pay the bill, lady, no questions
about their comings or goings.

Sally gave him a big grin, said, "We'll be here at
least till the 30th," and paid him cash in advance, the
last of her money except for the Rolex, which she
planned to pawn in Orlando.

*  *  *  *

That night, before allowing Joe his fix, she sat down
and told him about their situation.

Luther pretended to be listening to the newscaster
drone on about the national budget fiasco, which
was almost nearing a compromise between Congress
and President Bush - more stalling, more finger-
pointing, but certainly about to be settled. Then the
update on U.S. troops in the middle-east, their fun
times in the desert heat.. .the latest fatal accidents
in military practice drills.

Sally said, "Joe, remember the armored car?"

"Right, it's what got me in the mood to escape. Man,
if you pull that off, hey, we'll be rolling in dough!"

Luther squirmed on the hard sofa, trying to avoid
looking at Joe, who was scratching, then getting up
to pace and twitch.

Sally got up, put a hand on Joe's shoulder, stopped
him and said, "Well, I had no idea you'd try to
escape, but now that you have, don't you think you
better keep a low profile?"

"Sure. Sure thing Sal, but man, where's the horse?
I'm running on empty here." He scraped his face,
clawing at the white, stark skin stretched over
prominent bones.

"I know, and I'll get it for you. But I'm going to
handle the supply, dole it out if you get my drift?"

He went rigid, his shoulders a scarecrow structure,
resisting her touch, shaking off her hand. "Who
says? I ain't no little kid, and you damn sure ain't
my mom!"

"I know but..."

Joe raised his hand, as if about to slap Sally, and
Luther jumped to his feet, caught it mid-air before
Joe realized what was happening. They stood
frozen, staring into each other's surprised faces.

Sally had dreaded this confrontation, but now that
it was here, she felt strangely in control. She said,
"Please, both of you sit down, let's act like
grownups!"

Luther let Joe's hand go, and sat down glumly; Joe
did likewise, dragging a chair from the kitchen table,
straddling it backwards, saying, "Shoot, what's on
your mind?"

"I think you should know, Joe, that Luther and me..."
she hesitated, biting her lips then bluntly declaring,
"We're lovers."

"Christ almighty!" Joe dropped his head on the chair
back, holding his hands at either side, gasping,
"Jesus, I thought you two were acting funny, but
getting in the sack, no I didn't dream it."

Luther stood, one hand crammed into his jean's
pocket. "Joe, I never meant it to happen; it just did.
Sally's a beautiful woman and I, well, I'd been
locked up...but it's more than that. I'm real sorry,
sorry as I can be, cause I know I owed you man to
man, for saving my life, but I, well hell...I love her."

Joe's shoulders shook, and they both stared,
frowning with concern. But then his face lifted, and
he was not crying, as they feared - he was laughing,
and he burst out, "Man, is that why you two been
whispering behind my back, and acting like you
wanted to be rid of me? Hell, I thought you was
gonna rat me off, or worse, ditch me before you
pulled this heist."

Sally felt her face become a mask, faking a relieved
smile. "Sure, that's all. You know we'd never turn
you in, never. And I'll tell you what, after the heist,
if it all comes off right, we'll give you enough to
leave the country or whatever you want to do."

Luther relaxed, his hand coming out of the pocket,
going up and then falling to his side. "Shit, I'm glad
you understand."

Joe looked at him intently, said solemnly, "Not that
I don't love Sal, I do. She's a great gal, and sexy as
a stripper, so I can see why you fell for her. But
Sal, if this is what you want, then go for it."

Sally moved to Luther's side; they tentatively stood
together, then sat on the sofa.

Joe jumped up, switched off the TV and paced back
and forth the length of the small area, finally
standing in front of them, his voice sincere, "I wish
you both lots of luck, and as for my baby, Joey,
well I don't think you'd try to keep her away from
me."

"No, you know how I feel about that," Sally said,
curling up on the sofa, leaning into Luther's open
arms.

"Lu, you probably don't know how I feel about my
horse," Joe said, a warm pink glow in his boyish face
now as he went on: "But man, like, horse is MY
mistress, dig? I am stuck on this earth, and to me,
all my life, no matter what, well, it's ugly. I see the
garbage not the beauty. Like say if you and me was
looking at that lake out there, you'd see the pretty
reflections on the water and I'd see the scummy
slime on the surface, or washed up on the shore.
It's just the way I am, and besides," he shrugged,
squinted up at the fly-specked ceiling, "we're all
gonna die man, so what difference does it make if
it's sooner or later, or whether I'm a doper or not?"

Sally had heard it all before; it was Joe's standard
'why-I'm-an-addict' speech, and he loved presenting
it, almost as much as fixing.

Luther was puzzled, scratching his chin, finally
asking, "But why rush death, or go through life-
experiences in a daze?"

"Man, you think a life of crime is safe?" Joe began
laughing, guffawing about the hilarious web of irony
he'd trapped Luther in.

Luther looked at Sally. She shrugged, "You can't
beat Joe's logic. He'll trick you every time."

He finally quit laughing, and knelt in front of Sally,
begging, "So where's my crutch, my escape hatch
babe?"

She reached out and chucked him under the chin,
teasing, "Same ol Joe, in love with his disease."

Luther just sat there shaking his head, noncommittal.

Sally stood up, said, "I'll go get the shit, but then
how about you rack out in here tonight, let me and
Luther have the bedroom?"

"Great babe, whatever you want." Joe flopped down
on the floor, stretching out and sighing.

"And Monday, Luther and me will have to drive into
Orlando, try to work out a plan for the heist. Can
you promise us you will stick here, not attract
attention?"

"Sure babe." Joe's eyes were closed, his hands on
his chest, seemingly defenseless.

Sally prodded him with her foot, advising, "You'll
behave, cause Joe you are wanted, and one little
mistake... we'll all be up shit creek."

He lazily turned on his side, eyes heavy-lidded, voice
slow, "I trust you babe, know you'll do what's
necessary. Always have. Never had any problems
when we's together...only when I left, that's where
I fucked up."

Sally gave Luther a significant look; they seemed to
have a mutual understanding, so she nodded, and
went out into the night, making sure Joe wasn't
following, on down the wooded path, hurrying to
retrieve the heroin for his needed fix.

She knew Joe couldn't really be trusted either; but
at least as long as she handled the dope he was at
her mercy.

That was the best she could hope for, at the time.
But later, well...Sally knew she'd play it by ear, and
as Joe said, do what was necessary for herself and
Joey's future.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


Luther snuggled into Sally's back, pulling her close,
cozy and comfortable despite the small bed which
wasn't long enough, his feet dangling off when fully
stretched out. However, he'd curled into Sally's
form, two snails in a shell, away from the world in
their cocoon of love.

Gently he angled his arm to see his wristwatch,
surprised it was already near noon; they'd stayed up
till after midnight though, Sally having discovered an
old Gary Cooper movie, Ten North Frederick,
insisting on watching it. She'd told him of her love
for old movies, the sentimental melodrama lacking in
today's modern flicks. Her adoration of Cooper was
almost enough to make Luther jealous - she really
dug the actor, said he was a classic heroic figure in
his films.

The door came open slowly, and Luther saw Joe
slinking into the room, going to bend over Sally,
reaching out to shake her. "Babe, uh, hey babe you
awake?"

She moved against Luther, groggily beginning to
waken, her voice soft. "Um...what time is it?"

"Babe, it's nearly lunch time and I need a fix. Tell
me where the horse is, and you can sleep."

Luther lifted his head, looked directly at Joe; he
was scratching, face hovering inches from them.

"Sorry man, but I'm gettin in a real sweat here,"
Joe apologized, standing up and asking, "Why in hell
they got boards on the windows? Can't see shit in
here."

"But neither can anyone see in from outside," Sally
answered, sitting up and scooting over to the edge
of the bed, swinging her feet to the floor, adjusting
the nightshirt as she slipped from the bed.

"Sal, where's the shit?" Joe whined, trailing her
down the hallway, complaining. "I need a fix, don't
you think I should have the dope?"

Luther wished he could return to the seclusion of
their dreamy embrace, but since that was
impossible, he plopped his feet onto the tile floor,
cursed, "Damn!"

Sally's voice snapped, "I'll go get it, but first let me
have a cup of coffee, a smoke, okay?"

Grabbing his jeans and shirt, Luther put them on and
ran a hand over his thin hair, took a detour through
the bathroom and pissed, washed his face, squinting
at his scrubby grey beard, dismissing the idea of a
shave before coffee.

Joe was pacing, his long bony frame a twitter of
nerves, bitching, "Man, this is shitty. I need that fix,
and you two act like it's no big deal."

The coffee was already perking in an ancient
percolator; the strong smell helped Luther grow
alert, and he joined Sally at the table, getting a
cigarette and lighting it off hers, both ignoring Joe's
continuing diatribe.

"So what's on tap today Gypsy?"

"I need to call Joey..." she began, suddenly stopping
as Joe slapped a hand on the table between them.

"I wanta talk to my baby, hear?"

"Fine." She shrugged, let out a spiraling gasp of
smoke, grinned. "We'll go to a pay phone, and you
can come along."

"Great, but how am I gonna stand being cooped up in
this dump the rest of the time?" Joe glared at her,
his jawline working with anger, clenching his fists.

"You sure get antsy when you need a fix, but this is
a palace compared to some of the places I lived in
migrant life."

She paused, swallowed a sip of coffee, languidly put
the cigarette to her lips, inhaled and narrowed her
green eyes.

Luther thought she looked incredibly calculating, yet
pretty even just out of bed, without makeup; her
skin had a golden sheen from the light tan, and her
green eyes always seemed to glow with an inner
vitality.

She recounted, "Our travels were tough, mostly we
stayed on beaches or under picnic tables but
sometimes we'd rent one of the shelters leased to
us by the growers, and you can imagine those swell
quarters. Usually a leaky tent, a shack with
cardboard walls, or a converted school bus, a pigsty
furnished with cots. We owned only what we could
cram into the trunk of the old 60 Chevy...clothes, a
few pots and pans, an armful of sheets and
blankets."

Joe had turned his back, seemingly studying shelves
in the cabinet, plaintively saying, "I've heard this
before, do we have to go all through it again?"

"I'm interested," Luther interjected, taking her
hand, adding, "it sounds like a bad life, you're lucky
to have survived."

"It does things to you, warps you up so that life is
like a big ugly monster, and you always have to stay
one step ahead of being crushed."

Luther wanted to hold her, end her wretched
lostness and bleakness; his middle-class childhood
seemed like a fairy tale in comparison to hers, and
the shame of it all made him want to kick his own
butt.

"So, right, you had it rough. Me, I was just a snotty
privileged kid, your average Joe." He snickered, gave
a little bow, advised, "But know what? Excuses or
not, thieves like us are born, not bred."

Perhaps Joe was right, Luther reflected, since he'd
known criminals from all walks of life, and their
childhoods lacked the cause and effect reaction
psychologists professed to be the catalyst of outlaw
actions.

Sally got up, put her cup in the sink and went to the
bathroom, yelled, "Taking a shower, then I'll go get
your horse."

Joe slouched around, his boyish face taking on a
sinister grin. "Man, is she a pain in the ass or what?"

"Gypsy has a lot of determination," Luther replied,
wondering if he could elicit a frank discussion.

"Look, she's got no right keeping the shit from me.
And I'm fed up with her bossy ways, always telling
me what to do and what not to do. That's why I split
back when we'd been together a year. She's sexy,
smart and can be candy-sweet, but other times
she's a downright bitch."

Tapping his fingers on the table, Luther just stared
at Joe, sighed and nodded.

"Don't get me wrong, man, I know you dig her, but
you let her get the best of you, she'll have you
wrapped around her finger, doing this and that,
things you don't even want. Or, well...like, she's got
you on this caper against your better judgement."

The shower was blasting away, and Luther was sure
she couldn't hear them talking. He pulled back a
chair, motioned for Joe to sit and asked, "Why'd
you put her onto me anyhow? That was one helluva
spot you put me in, having her say I owed her for
what you did for me."

"It's like this, Lu...I figured she'd get you down
here, and if my plan worked, the escape, then the
two of us could cook up something." Joe sat down,
asked for a cigarette, his hands shaking as he lit it.

"That escape, how'd you pull it off?"

"Got an old buddy to stab me, not as bad as it
looked, but enough so that the guards and prison
nurses were alarmed." Joe lifted his shirt, a big gash
bandaged. "It bled plenty, but was mostly a surface
wound."

"That took guts." Luther heard the shower stop, and
said in a low whisper, "Don't you want me to go
along with her heist plans?"

Joe wiped sweat off his upper lip, put down the
half-smoked cigarette in an ashtray overflowing
with butts. "Yeah, go along for now. But I got my
own ideas, and Halloween is a good time, not for no
car, no way. But..." he inched closer, "I got a deal
cooking in Orlando. It'll come down that night. If we
get a chance later, I'll fill you in and we can cut Sal
loose."

Luther shook his head, whispered, "What about her
idea?"

"Man, we don't need no woman leading us around by
the nose!"

Luther shrugged, didn't say no and privately thought
this was par for the course: One partner was bad
enough, but when you had three criminals together,
the chance of a doublecross was almost guaranteed.

They heard Sally going into the bedroom, and Joe
mouthed silently, "Talk about it later, buddy."

*  *  *  *

After Joe was spaced-out in his own sort of
heavenly bliss, Sally and Luther drove into Tavares,
had a late afternoon meal at a small cafe; she was
talkative, excited about their plans.

Loving to see her happy, Luther let it go on and on,
getting pleasure from her vivid, imaginative
ideas...the way she told him about pin-pointing an
armored car at a mall outside Orlando, her driving a
stolen car, angling in front of the parked vehicle,
acting as though her car was stalled, luring the
guard out to help. Then, Luther coming up behind the
armored car, guns blazing and striking the guards
unaware as they exited the store or bank, grabbing
the moneybags, or even getting inside to pilfer the
loot stashed there...

It was a fantasy, that's all. He realized it had
potential, but with the flaws she missed, they'd be
nabbed before he could get a good deep breath -
probably killed.

Outside, it had begun to drizzle, the sky like an
oppressive grey ceiling when they went to the
Toyota, her still gesturing and talking about the
caper.

Luther slipped into the driver's seat, and they
started back to the trailer camp, his feelings of
betrayal beginning to sit like lead in his gut.

When he pulled off the main highway onto a
secondary road that led back into cattle country,
Sally seemed startled, asked, "Where you going?"

"For a drive, okay? I need to talk to you alone, and...
well, I didn't want to interrupt your speech."

"What do you think about it, my plan?' She turned
to him expectantly, fidgeting with her black blouse
and slacks, prompting, "Well?"

He drove along beside fenced pastures, flat land
occasionally broken by slightly rising mounds some
called hills...cattle grazing in damp green fields. "It's
a big job, needs more fine-tuning."

"Sure, but you can help with that, after we pigeon
an exact armored car."

Hitting the brake, he edged off  the road and
parked near a wooden split-rail fence topped by an
electric wire. His eyes went to her, pleased at her
beauty, the black clothing contrasting wavy blond
hair, wide-green eyes and a pink flush of excitement
on her skin.

Studying him narrowly, she asked. "Penny?"

"Okay sweetheart, here it is. While you were taking
a shower, Joe hit me with a wild notion, namely that
me and him do a job he's already got in mind, and
ditch you."

Her face flamed, eyes flashing."Goddamn him! And
me trying to help the asshole!"

"We've got to unload him, Gypsy."

"I know, but...well, I felt sorry for him. And besides,
he's the father of my daughter."

"In my humble opinion, Joey would be better off
without him around."

Luther cracked the window just as thunder boomed,
a zipper of lightning ripping the heavy skies, rain
pellets hammering the car, the windshield. They sat
there quietly listening to the drumming rain, the far-
off bristle of lightning and thunder claps echoing
across the open flat fields.

At last Sally asked bluntly, "Should we turn him in?"

"No, I have a better idea. Why don't we just
pretend to let him lead. I'll say that I'm with him,
not you, and we can set him up, let him take the fall
for the job."

"Which job?" she questioned, touching his hand.

"Both."

"How can we do that?"

"Leave it to me. I'll think about it for a day or so,
see what he has in mind." Luther laced his fingers
with hers, sighed. "I love you Gypsy."

"Dodger...I...I wish I could say..."

"That's okay. I understand." He cleared his throat,
raised her hand and kissed it. "A rainy Sunday
afternoon, we should be in bed together."

She met his eyes, smiling seductively. "I don't see
any traffic here, we're isolated."

Luther put a hand to her blouse, began unbuttoning
as she said, "Let's try out that backseat..."


*  *  *  *

By dark they were back at the trailer. Sally got Joe
to eat some vegetable soup and crackers. He was
coming out of the stupor, so she insisted they go to
a phone booth and call Joey.

Luther sat alone, the TV flickering shadows on the
imitation pine-paneled walls of the trailer, his mind a
clutter of confusion.

But he figured that somehow, if he and Gypsy were
clever and careful, they could not only set up Joe to
take that fall but also reap the profit from
whatever scheme Joe had already planned - one
which had to be more plausible than Sally's insane
armored car idea.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Sally fretted over Luther's confiding about Joe's
betrayal. Was Luther lying, only to assure that they
would unload Joe before he got them in trouble?

As she showered and attended to personal hygiene,
Sally decided to give the men time alone together -
then find out exactly what Joe had planned, if he
had indeed already been preparing to deceive her.
Dabbing on mascara, she felt annoyed; after all,
Joe had never been a paragon of virtue, but she'd
known Luther less than a month, and it was entirely
possible he was not trustworthy, regardless of his
emotional/sexual involvement with her.

She put on print slacks, brown silk blouse and a gold
shawl-collar jacket, slipped into highheels and then
stood before the mirror, fluffing out her wavy hair,
satisfied with the polished product. Checking her
handbag, she made sure she had lipstick, compact
and then headed through the trailer, stopping to tell
both men she was going to Orlando, had business to
attend to, would be gone all day.

Joe half-heartedly attempted a question, but heroin
had him in a docile mood. Luther didn't pose a
problem, knowing she planned to pawn the Rolex
watch.

On the drive into the city, Sally decided to shop for
Halloween costumes, in case they did the job on that
day or night. She located the Colonial Plaza Mall, had
no trouble finding an assortment of outrageous
outfits, but didn't purchase anything.

Walking through the sprawling complex, she
wondered about armored car service...but that was
to come later. Right now, she saw it was close to
noon and her connection with a pawnshop owner had
been scheduled for one.

Sally got a quick bite to eat in the mall, then drove
to the pawnshop. Just as she recalled, Hancock was
an eager, discriminating buyer, and gave her more
for the Rolex than fencing it on the street would
have brought.

Thus she had enough cash to return to the mall,
purchase three costumes, some more groceries and
then call Joey, giving explicit instructions to Iva and
Mel. She told Iva that barring unforeseen
complications, she'd not be contacting them again
until after Halloween. That they should feel free to
get Joey a costume, take her trick-or-treating and
when the time came, Sally would then send for
Joey.

Mel was more discerning, wanted to know the
whereabouts of Joe. She lied, told him that Joe had
separated from her and Luther, and she had no idea
where he went. She hated the deception, especially
toward people she entrusted the care of her child
to, but past experience had taught her precaution
was best, always.

It was near four when she made another
rendezvous with the drug dealer, stocked up enough
supply for Joe till the 31st. She told the black
dealer that Joe might be around, want an extra
stash, but that he was broke, so Black Jack should
only sell to her, since she'd proven good for the
cash.

This street dealer was savvy, said he got the
message. Sally flirted just a tad, even hinted she
might put him in touch with more addicts. It never
hurt to keep an ace in the hole for unexpected
emergencies.

The drive back to Tavares was tiresome, but she
was so preoccupied with the infinite possibilities of
Black Jack's use, she didn't even notice the red-
gold sunset burning the horizon like a torch-fire.

*  *  *  *

It was Tuesday afternoon when Sally said she had
to get out of the stuffy trailer and Luther quickly
agreed to accompany her on a walk, before the
opportunity for her questioning was possible.

Their path began on the sandy road, and Sally
picked her way among the rutted holes, glad she was
wearing durable Reeboks and comfortable jeans.

Luther was in jeans and boots, keeping up with her
fast pace, fighting off a swarm of mosquitoes. He
cursed, "Shit, the bugs here never quit!"

Laughing, she told him, "You wait till you see the
lovebugs; they mate by hooking together, swarm
everywhere and usually wind up stuck all over the
car grille."

He kept walking, his head lowered, his voice slow and
low, "Gypsy...uh, I got the whole nine yards from
Joe yesterday."

"1 wanted to ask last night, but with him just outside
our bedroom door, didn't think it was wise." She led
him into the woods, pulling him by the hand, the thick
foliage tangled underneath their feet, the muted
sunlight falling in shafts through pines and leafy
trees.

He took a deep breath, sighed, "Jesus, smells like
moss and dirt in here."

"Very earthy, yes." Sally stopped, leaned against the
trunk of a gnarled magnolia tree. "So what was his
plan?"

"Believe it or not, the stuff that he told me made
lots of sense. It seems he'd been corresponding
with a little girl who works in a Wal-Mart
department store, at one of the malls, and she..."

"Ah, let me guess. The infamous wily Joe's charms
swept her off her feet!"

"Yeah, that's it. He saw her in Orlando, the morning
before we found him at the flophouse. Anyhow, this
gal told him that she could provide him the
combination to a safe in the store, and she did."

"But...this girl, what's her angle? Is she a thief? Or
just stupid in love with Joe?" Sally patted her
pocket, got out a cigarette and cupped her hand
over it while Luther lit hers and his.

He shrugged, pointed his cigarette at her. "From all
I could figure, the girl is in love, real young, and Joe
sort of told her that unless he had money for junk,
that uh...well, he'd get desperate enough to really
fuck up."

Shaking her head wearily, Sally said, 'That's Joe...he
hooks a girl, then when she's really in deep, he puts
on that desperate crazed act, gets her feeling sorry
for him and bam, hits her with the big score."

"He's a operate, for sure. But look, this plan he's
got ain't half bad. Needs some fine-tuning, but it's
got potential."

Sally wanted to hear it, but asked, "And the
armored car?"

"Look, first we get this score, lose Joe, and then we
can work on that. I mean, sweetheart, he's trouble
with a capital T, you know?"

"Yes, I fully understand that...but how to lose him?'"

"As a matter of fact, I was wondering if you had
any ideas?"

"Yeah, I do." Sally then launched into her recent
idea involving Black Jack...and when she was
finished, Luther was grinning from ear to ear.

He pulled her against his body, kissed her
passionately, declared, "Gypsy, you are a genius!"

*  *  *  *

Wednesday was a crisp, cool day for Florida; that
night the temperature dropped to a record 56 and
they all shivered in front of the little gas oven while
watching TV. Sally made meals of soups, salads or
sandwiches and Luther furnished omelets for
breakfast. Joe, however, was more interested in his
drug than eating.

Thursday morning Sally asked Luther to drive into
Tavares and buy milk, eggs and butter, which was
their pre-arranged plan.

After he was gone, Sally sat down with Joe, who
was anxious for the first fix of the day, and told
him the supply was not going to last forever.

As expected, Joe lashed out angrily, "Damnit Sal,
I'm sick and tired of laying up here, a prisoner. Hell,
that's why I left the joint, to be free!"

"I know, but you're wanted. I heard on the news
just last night that the law is still on alert for you."

"Shit, they will be till I'm nabbed. But look, what say
you and me cut out of here? Who needs that old
fart anyhow?" He stood, began pacing, then dropped
to his knees in front of Sally, eyes bright and
intense.

"Babe, I got a pretty fine deal worked out, and it
could be just you and me."

Sally bit back angry words and asked softly, "Oh? I
thought you were going to let me handle plans for
getting cash?"

"Right babe, but hey, if we cut him out then there's
the more for us, dig?" He reached for her hands,
fingers icy cold but clammy with sweat.

She let him hold her hands, even pulled him up to sit
on the sofa beside her, saying, "I don't know, what
you got in mind?"

He told her the whole thing, rapidly and excitedly,
his blue eyes blazing with cunning, ending, "So that
little whore will give us the ticket, dig?"

She swallowed down her revulsion; Joe was
descending lower and lower into treachery and
betrayal, hallmarks of addictive behavior, but she'd
be damned if he'd drag her and Joey down with him.
Nodding, she enthused, "Sounds great, and to be
honest, I didn't have the armored car plan
perfected and we're getting low on cash."

"Great babe! Now about that fix?" He planted a
sloppy kiss on her cheek, asking sheepishly, "You still
love me Sal?"

She sat there thinking about the three-way circus,
her knowledge of each man's weaknesses, and her
control of them; she also realized that Joe
apparently had no idea of the Rolex sale, which
showed her Luther could be trusted, at least so far.

"Do you babe?" Joe whined.

She nodded, patted his face and said, "I'll go get
the junk."

He pouted, lips puckering up in a petulant, childish
way. "Why won't you tell me where it's at?"

Sally suddenly said, "Okay, I will. In fact, let's go
get it together, but first you have to promise me
something."

"Sure, what?"

She pulled him to his feet, stood face to face with
him and demanded, "Next time, YOU go get the junk
from Black Jack, the dealer."

"Why of course I will darlin, if you give me his
location. Hey babe, it was YOU insisted on buying my
junk, remember?"

She grinned, gave him a warm hug and thought her
idea of setting him up for a fall at Black Jack's was
the best scheme she'd dreamed up in a long, long
time.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER TWENTY


Luther couldn't sit still; his nerves were taut, and
being confined in the tiny trailer was making it
worse. For the past three days, he'd stared at the
small TV set, listened to the world crisis, the mid-
east tension mounting as surely as their heist plans,
the federal budget quandary, at last getting a
tentative proposal passed through Congress, signed
by President Bush but derided by the public at large,
Democrats and Republicans yammering heatedly
about rising gas prices now to be taxed; the cost of
troop deployment in Saudi Arabia; the probable
recession; the new taxes on liquor, cigarettes,
tobacco, and general outrage by John Doe citizen
over the insurmountable national debt, many people
screaming, "Throw the bums out of office!"

He ate, he smoked, he listened; it was enough to
drive anybody nuts, and he remarked to Sally,
"Jesus, how can people listen to this crap every
day?"

She had been raptly following the developments,
seemingly intelligent about all aspects of politics,
budget hassles and public concerns. Her answer was
that world and national news kept her current, up-
to-date in case she had to spring this knowledge on
unsuspecting businessmen at conventions when she
posed as a professional working woman.

Joe had guffawed at that announcement,
commenting wryly, "You won't be doin that no more
babe, if you stick with me."

And Luther had grimaced, wondering who Joe's
loyalty was really with -- if anyone other than his
childish self?

Sally had told Luther of Joe's sneaky backstabbing,
propositioning her to ditch Luther, instead of the
other way round. It was a puzzlement to him...and
apparently to her. But she told him she was sticking
to her original idea - the setup with Black Jack.

By Monday, they all three needed a breather from
the close quarters. Sally went for a long walk alone.
Joe couldn't leave the trailer just yet, but had the
time to himself alone.

Luther took the car and just went for a random
drive on country roads. He reviewed the specific
plans: Sally and he had paid a visit to the Wal-Mart
store in Orlando. It was included in a central mall
complex, adjacent to the vast circular conclave of
businesses though. That put it to their advantage, as
the location gave them a better perspective on the
getaway route.

Roads led into other roads; he drove with whimsy,
unconcerned as to destination. Luther felt such
overwhelming love for Gypsy; he didn't want to
allow doubts to creep into his mind, but couldn't
stop the vaguely annoying distress that plagued him.

He drove down a blacktop highway that wound
through a scenic region, and finally pulled into a
roadside park, got out and sat at a cement picnic
table, looking at floating thin clouds above, flat
acres of cultivation away in the distance.

Was Sally being honest with him? Was Joe the real
culprit of deceit or would he become a victim of
their conspiracy?

Luther ran a hand through his thin hair, wiping sweat
from his forehead. He popped a blood pressure pill
into his mouth, tasting the bitterness as he
swallowed it without water. His heart kept
threatening in an erratic pattern; he had some fear
of his ability to withstand a dangerous predicament,
with greater stress than his poor endurance record.

But he'd promised Gypsy; he couldn't let her down,
because whatever the real truth of their situation,
he did love her and had to stand by her, regardless
of the outcome. Having come to this poignant
revelation, Luther stood, stretched and yawned, got
in the Toyota and drove back to the rental trailer.

*  *  *  *

Tuesday was a day of preparation. Luther tried on
his Dracula cape, dabbled with the white mask
makeup, helped Sally with her witch outfit, and even
gave Joe a hand in putting together his Freddy
Krueger costume, the scariest of the three. It had a
skin-like mask, the gruesome blood-gore and skeletal
facial features, gloves with long thin razor-sharp
nails for his hands and a scare-crow black hat.

When Joe had it completely together, he looked
terrifically frightening. Even Sally said, "Christ, you
will scare the shit out of everyone!"

Joe gave a long high-pitched scream, and Luther felt
a chill shoot down his spine.

Later they sat at the formica-top table and studied
the sketch Sally had drawn of the Wal-Mart store.
It was done with careful design and detail, no room
for error. She pointed out their entrance at the
front; where they would meet for a fast getaway at
the rear exit; and their procession through the
department store, how to enter the office, go up
the stairway and then surprise the women, Luther
tying up the office personnel and Sally at the safe,
twirling the combination and then sacking the loot,
both leaving in a flash...Joe at the wheel of a stolen
car outside, waiting.

Joe had been reluctant about being the driver, not
going inside, but Sally had assured him that it was
better the gal not suspect him being there, give them
an advantage, an edge if they had to reveal
themselves. The girl would be stunned, and have no
idea who they were - couldn't identify them. And
though he said she could be trusted, Sally pointed
out the mistake that might prove to be, should she
squeal on him.

Luther was a bundle of frazzled nerves, so when
they finally went to bed, Sally nuzzled him, cooed,
"Hmm Dodger, think I need a sleeping pill, how about
you?"

He nodded, put his arms behind his head, and in the
low lamp glow, lazily watched her slither out of her
nightshirt, caress her own breasts, slide her hands
seductively down her slender, shapely body, offer
herself up to him with eager, willing body.

The heat went through his body, into his limbs, into
his groin and he grew hard as an iron bar; she
climbed astraddle of him, her nipples rigid and
pointy, her lips parted, tongue licking temptingly and
moving lower and lower to meet him fully.

They rocked, they moved together in unison...and
made no effort to conceal the lustful groans and
moans of mounting passion...culminating in her cry of
urgency, mingling with his hoarse voice, "God, I love
you Gypsy!"

*  *  *  *

She woke him before noon the next day, saying,
"Well, well....trick or treat, mister!"

He playfully tugged her down to the bed, kissing her
face, running his hands through her soft, wavy hair.
"Happy Halloween sweetheart...but I got my treat
last night."

"Yes you did, you devil you!" she kidded, pulling him
out of bed, adding, "And now, it's down to business."

In the shower, piercing cold water hitting him in the
face, Luther briefly thought of his parents back in
Missouri; this undertaking today would end his
promises of going straight. But hell, he reflected,
they were already suspicious and doubtful of his
doing so; and besides, if this worked, he might not
ever try to contact them again. If he and Gypsy
made a go of it, they could head to another state,
maybe even California...

It was a long, tense rainy afternoon; they all
discussed the plan over and over, trying to discover
any flaws, deciding what to do should this or that
unforeseen incident occur, as sometimes happened in
the best of heists.

Joe had fixed around ten, but was sobering up fast
by three. Sally came up with a snort of cocaine for
all three, and it hit the spot. Not that Luther
considered himself into drugs, but the coke did
enhance alertness and steady nerves.

Around four, they left the trailer, glad the rain had
let up, only a fine mist falling. According to plan,
they would come back to the trailer for a final
dividing of the money - afterward.

Sally drove, her plain black pants and blouse
unremarkable; they would change into their
costumes in a mall bathroom.

Darkness was drowning dusk when they pulled into
the Orlando mall. Sally directed them inside where
she went to the ladies' restroom, Luther and Joe to
the mens'.

Helping one another dress, Luther asked, "You
change your mind about Gypsy?"

Joe was pulling on the razor-edged handgloves, and
struggling with the mask. "No, we're gonna ditch
her, but after this goes down, okay?"

"How?"

"Well, she's told me where Black Jack deals and
I'm going there for some junk, but when I get it I'll
leave and tell her he wouldn't sell, so that way she'll
go to Black Jack and I'll inform the heat, they'll
nab her."

Luther had on the long black cape, twisting his neck
against the high collar, looking in the mirror and
smearing white pasty makeup on his face. "Sounds
good."

"Damn straight it is. I'm tired of that woman
bossing me around." Now Joe stretched on the
ghastly mask, transforming him into a Freddy
Krueger lookalike.

The door flew open, and a young boy came running
in, stopped short at seeing the two ghouls, shouting,
"Hey you two got great costumes, where'd you buy
them?"

Joe made a lunge at the kid, and he ducked into an
empty stall, screaming. They laughed, and headed
out, Joe saying, "This is where I split, catch you at
the exit, man!"

Sally stood just outside the womens' restroom, the
replica of a mean, wicked witch, black pointy hat,
perfect makeup, long crooked nose, darkened front
teeth, full-length black dress.

She saw Luther coming, and they linked arms,
walking through the mall, receiving interesting
comments, a few laughs when Sally cackled and
kidded a couple of little girls about losing her magic
broomstick.

The rain had ended outside; they walked the short
space to Wal-Mart, their outfits suited to many
other such costumes - employees and customers
alike had dressed up for work or shopping, and
there were displays of holiday decorations at every
turn, carved pumpkins, hay bales and autumnal
arrangements.

At the entrance to Wal-Mart, Sally stopped and
looked across the lot asking, "Think the asshole got
a car?"

"Let's wait and see."

Soon a snarling Freddy Krueger driving a BMW
came by, gave them a wave and went past the
building, turned and vanished.

"We're on!" Sally declared, and they walked toward
the double-doors, weaving through the crowded
entranceway and casually taking a basket, pushing it
down the aisle of Wal-Mart.

Luther fingered his high collar, bent to Sally's ear,
whispered, "Big crowd, thought it might not be, since
it's time for kids to go out."

"This place is always crowded," she replied, edging
by an elderly couple bickering over a camera on sale.

As they came abreast of the rear enclosed office
area, Luther took the lead; he stepped up to the
circular opening of glass, said in outrage, "Ma'am, I
want to see the manager!"

"I'm sorry sir, but he's not in right now. Maybe I
can help you?" The plump, middle-aged woman
smiled with cheery friendliness; a standard Wal-
Mart employee, trained to be down-home pleasing.

Luther turned to Sally, asked, "What you think
honey? You said that pair of boots had thin soles,
leaked in the rain and you wanted a refund for the
whole costume."

"Oh, we have a refund/exchange desk out front,"
the woman instructed, "just go back up to the
desk..." the woman trailed off, seeing Sally's quick
flash of gun pointed from between folds of her
dress.

"Okay sister, you do as we say, no one gets hurt."

Luther glanced at Sally's clenched mouth; she had
the fiercest voice he'd ever heard in a woman.

"Sure, uh, sure..." the woman stammered, glaring at
them.

Sally made certain the gun wasn't visible except to
the woman, and they entered a side door as the
woman unlocked it as instructed.

"What do you want?" the woman asked nervously,
her friendly facade replaced by alarm, fear.

"The safe, upstairs. No tricks, just treats," Sally
advised, a sharp snicker escaping.

Luther followed along, the woman heading up the
narrow steps, saying, "Please, don't hurt me."

He barked, "Just do as we say, no one will get hurt!"

At the top, Sally stopped the woman, held her aside
and said tightly, "Now you get us into this office,
and no stalling, no surprises."

The woman simply took hold of the doorknob,
opened the door, ushered them inside. Surprisingly
there were only two young girls seated, one at the
two-way mirror which scanned the floor for
shoplifters; one at a computer terminal.

They looked toward the door, but Sally was into the
room swiftly, pulling out the gun, and in a low, fierce
voice commanded, "Okay, you two over here, now!"

The girls, both pretty young blondes, stood and held
up their hands as though scared stiff. Luther took
out rope from his cape pockets, and began tying
them up, motioning for the older woman to let him
tie her also.

Meanwhile, Sally was busily working on the safe,
which she'd discovered to be exactly where Joe had
said it would be, concealed underneath a wooden
wall panel. When she got it open, her eyes quickly
surveyed the many bags of money, exclaiming,
"We're in luck! Looks like the whole day's take is
here!"

"Jesus!" Luther gasped, finishing up tying the woman
and muttering, "You ladies sure are being nice." He
then removed masking tape, and leaned down to
place a strip on the woman's mouth, but she begged.
"Please don't. We won't yell."

"Right, but this is my way of making sure you don't."
He put tape on both girls, their eyes wide with fright
- even he couldn't determine which one was Joe's
source.

Just before he put a strip on the woman, she
bitterly said, "We're shorthanded tonight, people
had to get home...that butthole manager too, had to
take his kids out, damn him! The armored car is late
for pickup..."

"Ain't that our good fortune. But why take it so
hard? This ain't your personal money!" Luther said,
pressing on the tape.

Sally now had the bags out, was putting them rapidly
in black pillowcases, handing one to Luther. When
finished, they concealed the loot under their
voluminous clothing.

At the door, Sally looked at the women, cackled and
said, "Say dearies, thanks for the treats!" unable to
resist the ironic parting shot.

And then they were out the door, hurrying down the
steps but then slowing to a casual walk toward the
back exit, slipping outside into a narrow back
alleyway.

Luther looked around, not seeing the BMW, saying,
"Where the hell is Joe?"

Sally frantically ran to the nearby corner, looked
along the side of the building, came scurrying back.
"Shit, I knew he'd fuck this up!"

Just then the BMW whirled around the opposite
corner, screeching to a halt, the door flying open,
Freddy Krueger screaming, "Let's hit it!"

Sally made for the rear car door; Luther went
around the car, jerked open the door on the
passenger side, and slipped inside to see a gun
pointing in his face.

"Put the moneybags on the seat, then get out!" Joe
snarled.

Startled, Luther froze; he glanced at Sally, but she
was busy trying to get her tall pointy hat into the
car, removing it angrily.

Joe poked a razor-sharp fingernail in Luther's face,
growled, "Do it, or I'll kill your ass right here!"

The sound of a truck engine briefly distracted them.
Luther looked up, and saw an armored car coming
around the same corner of the building where
moments before Joe had appeared.

"Shit!" Sally shouted, "Let's get going!"

Luther squirmed on the seat, flinging his arms wide,
starting to get out before Joe could shoot him...

At the same instant, Sally realized what was
happening, and leaned over the front seat...

But Joe, alarmed by the sudden appearance of the
armored car, pulled the trigger, unleashing a roar of
noise as the gun went off, echoing loudly in the
narrow alleyway...

Luther heard wind in his ears, a shriek from Sally
and then a hot burning sensation in his chest...

The armored car was almost upon them. Luther fell
back against the seat, then slid limply toward Joe.

Sally panicked, jerked her gun out and quickly put it
to the back of Joe's head, screaming, "Get out you
fuck-head!"

He jumped out, and started to run...but a guard had
climbed from the back of the armored car, saw Joe
holding a gun, shouted, "Stop, hey you, stop!"

Joe took a shot at the guard, who then aimed at the
fleeing Freddy Krueger, fired and brought Joe
down, stumbling and cursing.

Sally had quickly slid into the driver's seat, put the
BMW in motion and sped away from the armored
car, screaming at Luther, "Goddamnit, don't you die
on me, don't you do it!"

He was having trouble breathing, gasping and feeling
pressure on his chest, as though all the air in the
world had got stuck in there, swelling his lungs, but
he still couldn't breathe.

Luther heard shots fired at them, the guards having
leaped into action, training their weapons at the
BMW.

Screeching tires and racing the motor, Sally laid
rubber down the street, made a fast run through
the crowded parking lot and hit the highway, all the
time crying and begging, "Don't die, don't die..."

Luther tried to speak, but only managed a gurgling
sound, his eyes staring at Sally as she gunned the
BMW out on the highway.

"Don't talk, damnit, don't!" She drove like a bat out
of hell, screaming, "I should have killed that
sonofabitch Joe the first time I laid eyes on him in
Orlando!"

Luther took labored breaths now, the pain in his
chest like fire raging out of control, feeling sick to
his stomach, the motion of the car producing ship-
swaying nausea.

And then the car stopped, dead still.

Sally was suddenly hovering over him, crying, her
voice near his face. "Oh Dodger...oh God, I'm so
sorry. I oh, I love you..."

He opened his eyes to look into her face...and he
could see she meant it, meant it with all her heart
and soul.

She kissed his forehead, his cheeks, tears wetting
his face as he coughed, sputtered but managed to
choke out, "I...know. It wasn't...your...fault." He
laughed weakly. "I never...even...seen the goddamn...
ocean..."

"Oh God Dodger, don't leave me! We'll see it
together, I promise, I promise..."

Her voice faded, got farther and farther away as
Luther faded, got farther and farther away,
somewhere closer to a bright, shimmering
light...maybe the ocean-sparkling in sunlight... No it
was...just out there in the dark, a light that was
glowing only for him, embracing him in its soft,
welcoming radiance...

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

EPILOGUE

December was a wonderful month in New England.
Sally had a dazzling evergreen decorated with lights
and tinsel for their Christmas tree. Joey raved over
it, and kept wanting to open her wrapped gifts, but
Sally warned her she couldn't until Christmas
morning.

The days were short, and dark came early; snow
was piled high outside and the restored Colonial
house creaked with winter wind, but it had a
permanence about it...security and safety, centuries
of heritage in the very timbers.

Sally loved the feeling of being settled, of having a
real home and she cherished the quaint town she'd
chosen to give Joey an ideal childhood, hopefully
erasing any lingering bad memories of Joe.

After that holdup, it hadn't been easy to come to
terms with what had happened. At first, Sally tried
to deny her guilt; she laid the blame for two deaths
on Joe, and his vicious, two-faced behavior. But then
as days lengthened into winter, she squarely dealt
with her own deception. In the end, true, she'd
suddenly been confronted with her love for Luther -
but it had been too late.

Often, retracing the events of that October, she
saw how she'd led Luther to the slaughter...but he'd
come along willingly. After all, she reminded herself,
she didn't hold a gun to his head.

Florida was a wasteland for her after the robbery
at Wal-Mart. She had to leave that night, taking a
flight out to New York, staying at a motel in the city
for a couple weeks, then buying a car and driving up
to New England, assuming an alias identity, making a
down payment on the Colonial home in an historic
sector of the lovely small town. The take from the
store robbery had supplied her with a modest bank
account, and she'd managed to get a solid, legit I.D.
Then she applied at the realty agency where she'd
bought the house, and was hired, and began taking
classes so she could eventually get her license.

After Thanksgiving, she'd finally contacted the
Kilbors, had them send Joey to her via plane. She
met the child in New York, on the off-chance that
the Kilbors had informed the law, or that Joey was
being watched as a link to her.

When the robbery had been investigated, the law
had asked questions about Sally's whereabouts;
however, the Kilbors had apparently convinced them
Sally was out-of-state at the time of the holdup.
And the detective in charge of the investigation had
implied the two losers who got killed were not a
priority case, although there would be an ongoing
search for their unknown accomplice and the
considerable loot that had been taken from Wal-
Mart's safe.

But now, sitting in front of the crackling fire in the
big old fireplace, she prayed they'd never figure out
what had happened...for she felt free of the past.
And too, the new I.D. would give her a bit of an
edge, even if the law ever did start looking for her.
The late armored car arrival had indeed been
fortunate for Sally...even if it had brought about the
death of Luther and Joe. And to think she'd been
wanting to rob an armored car, and it figured into
their scheme so haphazardly.

"Salina, darling, can I get you some hot cocoa?"

She looked toward the arched doorway, smiling at
the handsome man who was her husband. They'd
met the day she looked at the house; he was a
realtor, an eligible bachelor. They'd had a whirlwind
courtship and married last week.

"Sure Charles, get us both a cup."

She stared at the flickering fire, sighing.

Chance, she thought...it was all chance. In spite of
her designs, her schemes...it all had been subject to
chance!

Sally had a startling thought - that the underlying
truth of life itself, our very existence, was all mere
chance, a shot in the dark!

Because no matter how greatly we humans wanted
to be in control, chance could haphazardly wreck
everything. She felt weak, helpless, her fate a
random chance occurrence: the bleakness of her
childhood; hard times and hurt through brutality;
meeting Joe, a rough time but yielding the gift of
Joey; Luther, herself, Joe and their deadly,
untimely end...

Even now, meeting and marrying this wealthy realtor
soon enough to convince him that the baby she was
carrying was his - not whose it actually was,
Luther's.

Sally shook her head, clearing away such a wild
notion. There had to be more to life than blind
chance! A God, or Fate... but not just random dice-
throws....that would be too crazy!

She couldn't accept being at the mercy of whimsical
chance. She dismissed the idea, and immediately felt
strong again, in control, pleased, self-satisfied with
her situation. Partly chance, yes...but also her own
initiative.

Smiling, she sighed contentedly as shadows swam
across the polished hardwood floor, seeing her
husband walking toward the sofa, eyes of love only
for her.


                           The End

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