SHOT IN THE DARK
                         By Cara Swann

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

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


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

PROLOGUE


I. Sally Jasmin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only she had a reliable partner, Sally thought.

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

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

II. Luther Higgins

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER ONE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*  *  *  *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is this where Luther Higgins is staying?"

"Yes, and who is this?"

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

"Just a minute."

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

At last a gruff voice said. "Yeah?" 

"Hi Dodger, how you doing?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Deal. Where you suggest?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER TWO


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Be there shortly."

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

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

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

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

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

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

*  *  *  *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know," she murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lady..."

"My name's Sally."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER THREE


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"These foreign jobs, real uncomfortable."

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

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

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

"Whatever."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you ready to tell me the idea?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jesus!"

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

She said nothing, merely nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're dreaming."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sat forward, seemingly interested.

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

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

"You have a kid?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER FOUR


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*  *  *  *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

"Your laconic nature."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, he thought, why me?

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER FIVE


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER SIX

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Bellfoundain?"

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

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

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

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

"Yeah well Sally..."

"Gypsy remember?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luther shifted, didn't comment.

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

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

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

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

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

"Maybe not, we'll see Monday."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER SEVEN


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What you doing today?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Thought you wanted me to come to Sullivan?"

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

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

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

"Fine, see you then." 

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

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

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

"The one in Titusville was Wells Fargo."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*  *  *  *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER EIGHT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*  *  *  *

"Hey, you devil you." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And your folks, they still alive?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But she was asleep, didn't hear him.

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

CHAPTER NINE

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

"I am, since you." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love ya, Dodger


*  *  *  *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No thanks, already ate."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sally looked away, disgusted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER TEN


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"In Titusville?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*  *  *  *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Right."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER ELEVEN


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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't think I could hack it, Dodger, being in the
joint," she said, sliding to the edge of