This was during his first year of imprisonment at Starke, the state prison, before being transferred to Glades. One week he skipped calling Dawn to get hold of the Monk, Cundo telling him to find the names of the guardia officers running this place and bribe them. "Man, I need space to breathe." The Monk worked the Internet to learn whatever he wanted to know. He sent a ham and a case of whiskey to the home of each guardia on his list and signed Cundo's name to the card that said: "I am hoping because of my poor health, you will allow me to work in a prison office. I can serve as a writer of letters in Spanish whenever there is a need for one." It got Cundo a manual typewriter and a telephone he could use to call Dawn and reverse the charge. In his quiet corner of the office Cundo would hear Dawn's voice accept the charge and he'd ask:
"Are you being a saint?"
Dawn would say, "Of course I am." Or she would vary the answer and say, "Aren't you my love?" Or sometimes, "Aren't you my undying love?"
Cundo believed saints never got laid, so he'd say, "You swear to Almighty God you being a saint for me?"
"I swear to God I'm being a saint."
"For me."
"Yes, for you."
"I want to hear you say it so I believe it."
After several months of this Dawn began to say, without raising her voice or showing any strain, "How many times do I have to tell you, yes, I'm being a saint for you?"
"Your tone of voice doesn't convince me."
"Because you make me say it over and over and over." Now there was a hint of strain. "Will you please stop asking me if I'm being a saint?"
One day, still during Cundo's first year inside, Dawn said, "If you ask me that again, I swear I'll hang up the phone. I won't be here the next time you call. I'll vanish and you'll never hear my voice again as long as you live. If you don't believe me, ask if I'm being a saint. I fucking dare you."
He believed her.
But how could she remain a saint living by herself in Venice, cool guys around, movie guys who were good with women and would go for her, Dawn Navarro, man, blond hair and cool green eyes, a hot chick with a gift.
The Monk swore to it, yes, she was being a saint. He never got a report of a guy visiting her. They went to a club, she never spent time with any guys. The Monk always had a bodyguard along, Zorro. After a while everybody in the club knew who Dawn was-she could talk to people, different guys, all she wanted. But if one of them tried to take Dawn home, Zorro would step in-Zorro, the Monk's personal bodyguard would step in and open his coat enough to show his Dirty Harry pistol.
Cundo decided, okay, she was a saint. Pretty soon he would be with her-not have to imagine her anymore with different gringos, all these tall white guys.
Today at Glades talking to Dawn on the phone, his bodyguard standing behind him, Cundo said, "Jack Foley got his release this morning."
"Good for Jack," Dawn said.
"I sent him to a guy in Miami's fixing him up with a driver's license and a prepaid credit card. He's gonna fly to L.A. and live in my pink home while he gets the feel nobody's watching him. He don't mind it being pink."
"I'm in the pink one," Dawn said.
"I know you are. I told him to stay in the white one, but switch with you before I come out, I think the week after next." "Why are you so nice to him?"
"I told you he's robbed hundreds of fucking banks. I like to know does he want to do any more." "Of course he does." "But is it something he has to do?"
"I'll let you know," Dawn said.
"I tole him about you, how you can read minds. He goes, 'Yeah?' and listen to every word."
"He won't believe it," Dawn said, "till I tell him to quit trying to picture me naked."
"Don't say that, please. I don't want to think of him getting ideas. You and Foley going to be neighbors across the canal. You meet and sit down to talk, you can tell him his fortune."
"You mean tell you his fortune."
"Look in his eyes, see if they any coming attractions, things you can tell me about. I got money invested in this guy."
"Once he gets the credit card you might not see him again."
"He has to wait two days for the license, but I know he won't run off on me. Jack Foley is the most honest fucking con I ever met, and maybe the smartest. But he's different than the ones here they say have the high IQs."
"What do they do?"
"Have to suck guys off unless they jailhouse lawyers. Foley has his own way of dealing with all the different kinds of bad guys. He's our celebrity, robbed a hundred more banks than John Dillinger or anybody you can name. And, has never had to shoot anybody. He say to a con, 'If you don't understand why I'm proud of that, you and I have nothing to say to each other.'»
"What you don't know," Dawn said, "is how he is with women."
"I know Miss Megan got goose bumps talking to him." "Who told you that?"
"He did. She calls him Jack in the letter she wrote with her bill for thirty-k. Listen," Cundo said, "when he busted out, there was a woman United States marshal chased after him. They met at a hotel and spent the night together before she brought him back."
Dawn's voice on the phone said, "You're kidding."
"And spoke for him in court, tole what a sweet guy he is. Listen, his ex-wife name Adele? She wrote all the time saying she still in love with him."
Dawn said, "You want me to use him."
"With your gift, your spirit guides and ESP shit. I like to see you work Foley into your act, make us some money off him."
"I've got a new client," Dawn said, "another widow in Beverly
Hills."
"You and your widows."
"She came to one of my psychic house parties, stayed after to talk and said she'd been seeing Madam Rosa-" "I remember her, the gypsy queen."
"Rosa has my client believing her dead husband's put a hex on her, the reason she can't find true love." "Wha's a hex?"
"A curse, an evil spell. My client decided Madam Rosa's a fraud, but still believes her dead hubby's bothering her and wants me to help her."
"You know how?"
"I deal with ghosts all the time."
"I got to hang up-these fucking guys…Listen, think of a way to use Foley."
"I'll look him over."
"See if he's any good with hexes."
FIVE
LOU ADAMS, THE FEDERAL AGENT WITH "jACK FOLEY" IMprinted on his brain, had called Glades to learn the date and time of Foley's release. They told him today by ten a.m. they'd have him separated out of there. Lou arrived a little after nine to make sure Foley didn't slip out on him. What Lou had in mind, he'd wait in the car until Foley was coming through the double gates. Lou would get out then and stand in plain sight and wait for Foley to see him. Lou believed Foley would stop in his tracks, remembering what Lou had told him thirty months ago: "From the day of your release, the manpower of the Bureau will be covering your ass like a fucking blanket." Not in those exact words-they were in a court of law when Lou laid it out-but that idea.
Lou Adams's buddies in the West Palm field office thought it was something personal with him, the hard-on he had for this bank robber. Lou said, "I know I looked unprofessional in court. I was trying to make the point this guy is not just another fucking bank robber, and I lost my temper. But if the guy robbed a hundred banks, that's who he is. The Man Who Robbed a Hundred Banks. It makes him special. Who else has done that many bank licks that we know of? Nobody. You remember the press he got? The picture in the paper, Foley and that knockout lawyer, that little broad who practically got him off? I bet you ten bucks he fucked her. Where, I don't know, but he's a good-looking guy, he's our star bank robber."