Shot In The Dark
By
Cara Swann
© 2000 by Cara Swann; all rights reserved

An
esspc eBook

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
     Reader response to: authoress1@juno.com

Afterword

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Table of Contents

Shot In The Dark

Prologue

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

Afterword