Last Call (9 page)
“It’s their bad luck if they cross your path, but it’s you or them.”
Isaac couldn’t know for sure, but he figured that the old man had wiggled free from the rags that bound his wrists and ankles, run to safety, and dialed 911. The cops might not have thrown every resource into south Miami-Dade County based solely on a tip from Theo Knight, an ex-con. But a second sighting cinched it. All that could have—
should
have—been avoided with just one swing of the hammer.
Fool!
He kicked over a stack of boxes in anger, then calmed himself.
None of this was his fault.A measly two thousand bucks was what he had expected from Theo’s cash box. He got less then three hundred.That wasn’t nearly enough for a new identity and safe trans-port out of the country. And some OxyContin. Grind those pills to dust and snort ’em.
Oxycotton.
One dollar per milligram on the street. A quick but expensive high, better than heroin.
Gotta have it.
Isaac pushed himself up from the ground.The box he used for LAST CALL
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leverage had contained produce, and there were still a few grapes inside. He sucked the juice out of them and savored the flesh. Even slight nourishment seemed to bring a much-needed clarity to his thoughts.
Isaac could have come up with any number of ways to get his hands on two grand. Hell, that would have been a bad night’s haul back in his days as a Grove Lord. But he’d resisted the impulse to pull off even a simple robbery, save for the relatively risk-free theft of that homeless guy’s clothes. His prison sources had warned him that police would be watching crime reports carefully, looking for indicators of a fugitive on the run—stolen cars, weapons, drugs, and cash. He needed to score in a way that would keep him off police radar—like from a girlfriend or a buddy. Even more, he needed a front man he could trust to make all the arrangements on his be-half. Surely a reward was being offered for his recapture, so showing his face in a pawnshop or the like was out of the question.
His thoughts kept turning to Theo Knight. Isaac still had leverage there.
But he was running out of time to play it.
The blare of police sirens again pierced the night. More squad cars were headed toward the Florida turnpike. Isaac counted three this time, a slightly different sound than the last vehicles. Maybe state troopers. The cops had obviously gotten it into their heads that he was fleeing on wheels, which suited Isaac just fine.That was yet another way in which the likes of a Theo Knight could have worked to Isaac’s advantage—someone to phone in false sightings to 911, orchestrated confusion.
Gotta take another shot at Theo
.
Isaac looked up into the sky. The choppers were back, and it wasn’t just the police.The television media were also getting into the act now. Isaac Reems was no longer the proverbial needle in a haystack. He had to go north, back to where his old friends from the Grove Lords still lived.
72
James Grippando
Isaac had his wind again. He ran across the loading dock and didn’t stop until he reached the chain-link fence behind the building. Intertwined with the fence was a thick ficus hedge, and beyond it was a twenty-four-hour diner. The restaurant was well lit on the inside, but the parking lot behind it was dark. Isaac heard the click of heels near the Dumpster, and he spotted someone walking toward a car. It was a woman—a waitress wearing her powder blue uniform. She was probably just finishing her shift.
Tired, no doubt—her guard down. She was headed toward a Mustang. It wasn’t new, but it looked fast.
Isaac removed the pistol from his pocket—Theo’s gun—and quietly hopped the fence. He made not a sound as he ducked behind another car. She didn’t even look in his direction. She continued walking to her vehicle, in the dark, completely unaware.
Just a teenager, probably six months out of high school.Too young to think anything bad could happen to her, too dumb to ask the manager to escort her to her car.
Damn, I’m lucky
and
good.
He continued along the perimeter of the parking lot, crouched below the cars to stay out of sight. She stopped. He readied himself.
She gave a cursory look around, a woman’s obligatory safety check, and then opened her purse. The jangle of car keys got his heart pumping, and he heard the car alarm disengage by remote control.
As she reached for the door handle, Isaac sprang from behind the parked van and took her from behind. Before she could make a sound, his hand covered her mouth, and the gun went under her chin with so much force that she was staring straight up at the moon.
“Don’t move,” he said.
He could feel her fear and the paralysis that came with it. She was no fighter. Isaac was an expert on these things. Quickly but quietly, he took her behind the car and popped the trunk.
“Please,” she said, her voice quaking.“Don’t—don’t rape me.”
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“Your bad luck, baby.That ain’t what I’m after.” He stuffed her into the trunk, slammed the lid, and hurried into the driver’s seat.
The engine started right up, and the gas gauge indicated nearly a full tank. He left by way of the parking lot’s rear entrance so that none of the workers inside the diner would see him driving the waitress’s car.
He laid the pistol on the floorboard, between his legs.
Plan C
, he told himself.
No prisoners
.
Jack and Rene were cruising north on U.S. 1 with Uncle Cy in the backseat.
Around ten o’clock, a half-dozen MDPD squad cars had converged on Sparky’s to make sure Reems hadn’t doubled back.
Agent Henning wasn’t part of the sweep, though Jack wondered if she was behind it.Theo was furious—swirling blue lights in the parking lot were never good for business—and Jack told him to go somewhere and cool off before he took a swing at a uniform.
Two hours later, Theo still wasn’t back, but Cy was ready for his ride home.
True to his jazz musician roots, Uncle Cy had the internal clock of a vampire. He seemed to come alive at midnight, which definitely had its drawbacks.
“Say, whatever happened with you and that Andie woman?” the old man asked. He was sitting on the edge of the rear seat, his forearms resting against the back of Jack’s headrest. Jack pretended not to hear him.
Rene said, “Uncle Cy asked you a question.” The guy really was everybody’s Uncle Cy.
Jack tried to catch the troublemaker’s eye in the rearview mirror to convey a silent ixnay. Cy didn’t take the hint.
“I was just wondering about—”
“Hey, look, Rene: It’s a Calvin Klein underwear billboard!”
“—you and that FBI agent,” said Cy, finishing his thought.
Jack dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “Oh, I really don’t think Rene wants to hear about that.”
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“She doesn’t mind,” said Rene.
A red Ferrari flew past them at double the speed limit. “Of course she doesn’t,” said Jack, barely audible.
“What’s that you say?” said Cy.
For some reason, he was not going to let this drop. It was starting to feel as though the two of them had cooked up this little Mutt-and-Jeff routine for their own entertainment. Jack said,“Andie and I had two or three dates back in January. No big deal.”
“January,” he said, his face screwed up like a man dividing fractions in his head. “So, how long have you two known each other?”
“A lot longer than that,” said Jack.
Rene definitely seemed to be enjoying this, but mercifully she spoke up.“I live in Africa.”
“That’s a good place to be from,” said Cy.
“Well, I’m not
from
there. I’ve been running a free health clinic for children in Côte d’Ivoire for a few years now.”
Cy seemed impressed.“Good for you.”
“Thanks. But it’s kind of tough on the love life. So Jack and I have this . . . understanding.”
“You see other people?” said Cy.
“He sees other people,” said Rene.“I’m way too busy for that.
I come visit him every few months.”
“Say
what
?” said Cy, now speaking to Jack. “Let me get this straight.This beautiful woman comes and visits you every so often.
You show her a good time, she gives you lots of lovin’. Then she goes back to Africa and says it’s fine and dandy for you to see other women?”
Jack didn’t like the way Cy was making it sound. But that was basically it.“It’s pretty unusual, I know.”
“Unusual?”
said Cy, shaking his head. “Man, Theo must hate your guts.”
Jack could have explained that Theo wasn’t jealous in the least, 76
James Grippando
that Theo was nuts about Rene. But Theo liked Andie, too.And still in the back of Jack’s mind was Theo’s comment about longing for the woman who makes herself unavailable—the implication that Jack had cut Andie out of the picture only because she was the one who really wanted to be in it. But there he went again, overanalyz-ing everything.
You done, Swyteck?
“Yeah,Theo should hate me,” said Jack.
“Turn here,” said Cy.
Jack headed up Douglas Road, the southwest entrance to Coconut Grove. The questionable area near the busy highway was Theo’s childhood neighborhood. The worst of the old wooden shacks were long gone—including Theo’s old house. They’d been razed and replaced by new single-family homes that were freshly painted in pastel colors. Much of the business district, however, retained the look and feel of the old ghetto. Groups of young men hanging out on the sidewalk with nowhere to go. Drug dealers and whores at work behind the boarded windows of dilapidated buildings. Rap music blaring from low-riding cars with metallic paint jobs and shiny chrome wheels. Bars and package stores marked by crude wooden signs that looked as if they’d been painted by Tom Sawyer on crack.
Cy suddenly fell quiet. He was sitting back in his seat, looking out the window. The dramatic mood swing reminded Jack of the time he and Theo had taken this same shortcut into the Grove. In the span of a single city block,Theo—just like his Uncle Cy—had gone from his usual animated self to staring vacantly out the passenger-side window. It had happened some years earlier, and it was the only mention Theo had ever made to Jack about his mother.
Theo had pointed out where she lay dead in the street.
“You okay, Cy?” asked Jack.
“Mm-hm,” he said.
Soon, the ghetto’s vapor lights and tall fences topped with spirals LAST CALL
77
of razor wire gave way to gated streets and oak trees.They were approaching Theo’s new neighborhood. Central Grove wasn’t crime-free, but the sound of gunshots in this area could just as likely be a doctor shooting his wife’s tennis pro as a holdup.
Jack parked in the visitor space outside Theo’s town house. Cy thanked him for the lift and climbed out of the backseat. He appeared a little unsteady walking up the steps. Jack got out and helped him to the front door.
“Are you okay?” said Jack.
“It’s this damn medicine I’m on,” said Cy. “Makes me woozy when I stand up after sittin’ for too long.”
Uncle Cy had always seemed old to Jack, but he suddenly looked
very
old.“Let me help you up to your room.”
Jack sensed that the old man was about to protest, but another one of those dizzy spells came upon him. “I’d appreciate that,” Cy said.
At Jack’s behest, Rene followed them upstairs to Cy’s room. She switched on the lamp as Jack seated him on the edge of the bed.
“Rene’s a doctor,” said Jack.“You want her to check you out?”
“I don’t need no doctor. Doctors is what got me all screwed up. All these medicines they give me.” The old man lay back against his pillow.
Rene said,“What kind of medication are you on?”
“I don’t know. It’s sittin’ right there on the nightstand.”
“He had a mild stroke last summer,” said Jack.
Rene read the label.“This is to lower your blood pressure.Your doctor might have to adjust the dose or prescribe something else if you’re getting light-headed.” Rene took a minute to check his pulse.“Ticker seems fine.”
“Of course it’s fine. Everything’s fine. Now get lost, you two.
Go have fun.”
The old man’s eyes were already closed. Rene pulled off his shoes, and Jack switched off the lamp. Then they said good night 78
James Grippando
and went downstairs. Jack suggested that they hang around for ten or fifteen minutes so that Rene could check on him again before they left.
They sat on the couch in front of the television. Rene snatched up the remote, and Jack was hard-pressed to deny such a pleasure to a woman who was headed back to the primitive corners of Africa’s cocoa region in less than thirty-six hours. Jack watched in silence as she switched from Tom Hanks in
Sleepless in Seattle
to George Clooney in
Sisters
to an old episode of
Thirty Something
—again and again.
“You sure you can’t stay past Monday?” said Jack.
The question brought her surfing to an end. Jack was apparently stuck with
Sisters.
Not a terrible choice—if you had no testicles.
“I really can’t,” she said.
“Why not?”
They were seated so close that she was leaning against him, and Jack had both arms wrapped around her. He could feel her body stiffen.
“I’m the clinic’s only doctor.”
“I understand that. But whenever you come to see me, you always leave sooner than planned. Five days is never five days. A week is never a full week.”
“Something always comes up.”
“I—” Jack measured his words, but he decided that it needed to be said.“I honestly don’t buy that, Rene.”
His arms were still around her, but it was as if their blanket of comfort had been yanked away and thrown to the cold tile floor.
They sat in silence, both staring at the television but neither one watching it. Jack wished they were sitting face-to-face so that he could read her expression.
“You’re right,” she said quietly.
“I am?”
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“Yes. I don’t really have to get back to the clinic on Monday. I could stay a week. I could stay two weeks.”