The glove box had to be unlocked. It would be his only chance of getting away from these people.
He'd wait… No, he'd better go right now. There was the bell, a bout over with and Maurice was getting up, heading for the stage.
Glenn did wait a few moments before saying, "Man, that beer goes right through me. I got to go take a piss." He hesitated because he expected White Boy or Kenneth to look at him funny or one of them would say he had to go, too.
All White Boy said was, "What're you telling us for? You want somebody to hold your pecker?"
Glenn was glad to laugh. He said, "I have to use both hands, but I can manage."
As he walked away the moron said, "Hey, Glenn? Shake it easy."
Glenn had his back to White Boy by now and didn't have to laugh or even smile. He had to get out of here, fast, away from these morons. And if he couldn't pop the trunk and start the car, fuck it, he'd run to California.
Two young men in red-and-gold Kronk jackets were working security in the outer lobby. Karen came along in her navy cashmere coat, a navy wool cloche covering her hair, jeans and hiking boots, and the security guys smiled and asked how she was doing. She said fine. They asked to look in her bag. She showed her ID and star and said, "This is all you need to know, right?"
They said hey and seemed pleased to see her, grinning, looking her up and down in the long coat, as she walked off through the lighted outer lobby and into the darkened theater. From the bar she scanned the descending row of tables and the stage, the ring empty, looking for white people, rap music coming out of speakers somewhere, a few women rising from their tables to make funky moves with the music. Karen saw a white couple off to the side and two guys down front, in the first row of tables.
The bartender asked what she'd like and Karen said, "Just a minute."
The smaller of the two guys at the table was getting up, the other one laughing. The smaller one turned, not laughing-it was Glenn-and started this way through the tables. Karen turned and looked at the bartender waiting for her. She said, "Not right now," and turned her head enough to see Glenn pause at the end of the bar and look back toward the fables, taking his time, before he moved off and was out of view. Going to the men's room-Karen was pretty sure-wearing a sweater, no coat. She was surprised then, once she came around the bar, to see him heading out through the lobby, hurrying. He couldn't have spotted her; there had to be another reason. She waited until Glenn was out the door and then went after him. Said, "I forgot something," going by the two security guys. Outside, she saw Glenn running across the wide avenue of packed, dirty snow, past car headlights creeping along, and into the parking lot, disappearing into the row of cars facing the street. Karen followed, reached the lot but didn't see him now. She put her gloves on moving in among the cars, stopping to listen, waiting to hear an engine start. The only sounds came from the street. She reached an aisle through the rows of cars and caught a glimpse of a car interior, almost right in front of her, the light on, and then off as she heard a car door slam closed.
Karen walked up to the front passenger side of the car. She saw his shape in the dark: Glenn behind the wheel half lying on his right side, his hair hanging… It looked like he was trying to claw open the glove compartment. His head jerked around as Karen opened the door and she saw the whites of Glenn's eyes, big saucer eyes looking at her in the light that came on, Glenn pushing himself up straight as she got in with him. The door closed and it was dark again.
"Glenn, are you trying to steal this car?"
He said, "Jesus. I don't believe it."
Pitiful. She almost felt sorry for him.
"I'm ruining your life," Karen said, "aren't I?"
He raised empty hands.
"I don't have the keys."
"I see that."
"I mean I'm not stealing the fucking car."
"You're not?"
"I already stole it. Last week or whenever it was, in West Palm. I can't be stealing it again, can I? I can't even get my tools out of the fucking trunk."
"Let me see if I understand," Karen said.
"You want to take off, get away from those guys. Is that it?"
"You see me in there?"
"And one of them has the keys."
He said, "Yeah," nodding, and said, "Listen, I have to take a leak pretty bad."
"The two guys you were with-that one, that isn't Maurice Miller, is it?
I've seen Snoopy's mug shot and it didn't look like him."
"How could you know about him?"
The poor guy, bewildered; desperate, too, looking toward the theater.
Karen glanced that way. All they could see from here, over the tops of cars, was the marquee and the name STATE in lights. Karen said,
"Another one of those days, huh, nothing seems to go right? Glenn, I know your life history, who your friends are, where you've been and now, it looks like, where you're going," "You're gonna bust me for picking up a car?"
"For the car, for aiding and abetting a prison escape, and conspiring to do whatever you came here for. Tell me, Glenn, are you getting into home invasions now?"
He said, "Jesus," shaking his head.
"Like the one last night," Karen said.
"You were there, weren't you?"
"I'm not saying another fucking word, and I mean it. Jesus Christ, I don't even know what you're talking about."
"Put your hands on the top of the steering wheel."
"What for?"
"So I can cuff you."
"You serious? Listen, these guys, they're gonna be out here any minute looking for me. They're fucking animals, they're vicious. I'm not kidding. I was taking off and that's all I want to do, get as far away from those guys as I can."
"They scare you?"
"They scare the shit out of me, and I'm not afraid to admit it."
"Was Foley with you?"
"When?"
"Last night. About what time was it you hit the dope house?"
"I said I'm not talking to you. I'm not involved in whatever they're doing, the same as I didn't help Foley escape. You said so yourself."
"Yeah, well, I was wrong about that. Where do you suppose Foley is right now?"
"How do I know."
"You're telling me you haven't seen him?"
"What I'm telling you is I have to piss. I mean it, bad."
"What time was it you hit the dope house?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Glenn, tell me what those guys are up to and I'll make you a deal."
"Like what?"
"I'll let you take a leak."
"That's some deal."
"Anywhere you want."
He hesitated.
"You mean it?"
"Anywhere," Karen said.
"Glenn, what time did those guys hit the dope house?"
He hesitated again.
"It was early in the evening. I don't know, about seven."
Karen got a cigarette from her bag and lit it with hotel matches. She took a deep drag and blew the smoke out in a slow stream. At seven, and for at least the next couple of hours, Foley was with her at the hotel.
"Can I go piss? Please?"
The way Karen worked it, she let him urinate against the side of the car, the window down, while he told about Richard Ripley, the Wall Street crook, where they were going to pick him up and take him out to his home in Bloomfield Hills, late tomorrow afternoon. Karen nodded as she listened. She had heard of Ripley and knew he'd served time at Lompoc. She wanted to know exactly where he lived and then asked:
"What about Foley?"
"He's supposed to go with them," Glenn said, his shoulders hunched in the window.
"But I don't know, he didn't show up tonight."