Buddy said, "Nothing else pending?"

"Nothing. How about if I go see Foley?"

"You don't want your name on the visitors list out there. Sit tight till you hear from me."

"You talk to him," Glenn said, "see if he remembers Dick the Ripper.

I'd still like you guys to go in with me. You think you might be interested?"

Buddy didn't comment right out and say if they would or not.

Glenn had seen him three times since that phone call. At a bar in West Palm near Glenn's apartment. A hotel in Miami Beach, a dump, where Foley's ex-wife lived. Adele. About forty but not bad looking. Glenn stopped by to see her another time that had nothing to do with the great escape: see if he could get her to put out without begging or buying her dinner. And the third time when Buddy drove him out to Glades Correctional, showed the route he'd take once he had Foley in the car, and where Glenn would be waiting with the second car.

Right here.

Twenty minutes with the Audi parked off to the side of the turnpike's southbound lanes, trouble lights blinking, a note stuck in the side window that said GONE TO GET GAS, Glenn waiting now among scrub pines and palmettos a good fifty feet from the car. If any approaching headlights turned out to be a trooper, Glenn would be out of there, through the trees and down the grade-about where they should be coming up now, with the girl Foley must've used as a hostage. But what good was she doing him now? He should've left her in the trunk of the car.

A few more minutes passed before he heard them coming.

Karen told Foley, climbing the bank in the dark, it would be a lot easier if he'd quit hanging onto her. He let go of her arm and dropped back a couple of steps saying he was only trying to help, so she wouldn't slip in the weeds and fall. Karen said, "You mean and ruin my good suit?" The back and the sleeves stained with his muck, the skirt snagging now in the brush. He said he didn't want her to hurt herself.

Karen hoped she'd be able to tell about it later. The conversation in a trunk full of handcuffs and tactical gear with a bank robber escaped convict who wondered if it would be different if they'd met in a bar.

Like a first date, getting to know one another. Her dad would love it.

"And then what happened?" That was a good question.

Foley stayed behind her now looking at her slim figure, her legs at eye level in the short skirt that hiked up on her, tight against her rear end as she climbed the grade. Buddy was up ahead. Foley said, "Have your clothes cleaned and send me the bill," wanting to say something to her, keep it light, but he felt awkward with her now, tense.

She said, "I'll send it to you at Glades."

Still not acting scared.

They reached the top of the grade to move through the scrub and now he could see the car, amber lights blinking. He didn't see Glenn until he heard him.

"Jesus, what'd you crawl through, a sewer?"

Standing at the edge of the trees with Buddy saying to him then,

"That's a white car?"

"What's the difference? It's the only one here."

Glenn had on sunglasses and a limp, ratty-looking raincoat that hung long on him, open, over a T-shirt and jeans cut off at the knees.

Foley said, "Take your sunglasses off," his tone mild, Karen Sisco standing only a few feet away.

"I see better with them on," Glenn said.

"I'd take 'em off," Foley said, "before they get stepped on."

He was aware of Karen turning to look at him, but kept his eyes on Glenn, who gave a shrug, took the glasses off and stuck them in his jeans.

"Wait in the car," Foley said.

Glenn didn't move. He said, "You're out in civilization now, man, ease up."

"I'd like you to go wait in the car," Foley said.

"How's that?

Take her with you and put her in back."

Glenn said, "In the trunk?"

"The backseat."

"What do you need her for?"

Foley stared at him, waiting.

Glenn said, "Busting out of stir can fuck up your nerves, can't it? I know, I've been there. But I'm hanging my ass out for you, man. I don't need any get-in-the-car shit. I'm here, but I don't fucking have to be here."

Buddy said, "Be cool, Studs. Are you cool? Go on, quit talking so much."

"Studs," Glenn said.

"Now we're old pals again, back in the yard at Lompoc. How come that seems like such a long time ago?" He motioned to Karen saying, "Come on, have to do what I'm told."

She walked past Foley without looking at him and he said, "Wait a minute," to Glenn.

"Let me have your raincoat." He said, "Somebody forgot to bring me clean clothes," looking at Buddy with a straight face.

He didn't get it. He said, "I brought 'em, they're back at Glades in the Cadillac. You wanted to take her car…"

And Karen said, "You can blame me if you want. I don't mind."

What Foley wanted was to tell them he was kidding, for Christ sake, he wasn't blaming anyone, he was trying to lighten up, get rid of this awkward feeling he had. And since he couldn't do that he kept his mouth shut and watched Karen walk over to Glenn as he was slipping the raincoat off.

Glenn saying, "Here you are, sir," folding the raincoat once and then rolling it up. He threw the coat to land in the weeds at Foley's feet.

Glenn got his sunglasses out of his jeans then, put them on and took Karen by the arm toward the car.

Foley watching them.

Close to him Buddy said, "What's wrong with you?"

Foley didn't answer, watching Glenn and Karen standing by the car now, Glenn talking to her, Karen as tall as he was, facing him, listening, Glenn looking back this way before opening the door. Now Karen looked over, ducked her head and got in the backseat.

She watched Glenn walk around the front of the car to the other side, open the door and slide in behind the wheel, the inside light on, Karen getting a look at him before he pulled the door closed. Glenn half turned now, laying his arm along the top of the seats. He hunched a little to look out the side window, running his hand through his hair.

"Like I said, I walked away from a prison myself one time, out in California, so I know what it can do to your nerves, being a wanted fugitive. But if he thinks he can talk to me like that… Shit, I've been here over a half hour watching headlights coming this way, hoping to Christ they don't stop and it's the Florida Highway Patrol, if you think that's fun. I even smoked a doob lurking there in the fucking bushes. I wouldn't mind another one, either, right now. How about you?" He turned his head enough to look at her, at the same time running his fingers through his hair.

"You must be scared shitless, get in a situation like this. You heard me ask him what he's gonna do with you? He wouldn't say. You know why? He doesn't know himself. In stir, he's as cool as they come; but you get a guy like that outside, now he's a fugitive, he's too fucking wired to think straight. Is he gonna let you go or shoot you? It's too bad, but I guess you were in the wrong fucking place at the wrong time. I imagine you just got off a work…" He turned to stare out the window again.

Karen leaned forward to have a look. She saw them against the dark foliage, one holding her shotgun, the other, Foley-it looked like he was unbuttoning his shirt, working at it, his head lowered. They seemed to be talking.

"What I mean is you can be the man inside," Glenn said, still watching them, Karen sitting back now, "but out in the world, if you don't know where you're going, man, you're fucked. I came out, took a trip up north and I had something laid out. I mean something big. The land, one score, you retire. I'd go do it right now, except it's so fucking cold up there in January." He paused for a moment and said, "You know what he's doing? Taking off that filthy uniform. He's gonna put my raincoat on and ruin it. I bought it at a flea market out in West Broward, ten bucks. It's old but, shit, it's a genuine mackintosh. Now I'll have to have it cleaned. It didn't do me much good in Detroit, I froze my ass off and that was in November. California, all the time I was out there I never even owned a raincoat. Come to sunny Florida-I wasn't here for Andrew, but everybody was talking about it so much, and then the end of last summer it started raining like hell, the beginning of hurricane season, so I bought a raincoat. That flea market, any time you go out there it's full of Haitians buying all kinds of shit, radios that don't work, clothes, even canned goods. I'm not kidding."