The Mayor of Lexington Avenue (50 page)

Jack didn’t leave the courtroom that day when everyone else did. He needed to be alone for a while longer. Mikey had told him so many years before that one day he was going to do a great thing and that it would be about the both of them. And now all he could think was how he’d failed to save Rudy and he’d failed to convict Clay Evans. But he’d given his heart and his soul—and he would have given his life.

What was it that Mikey had said so long ago? “
And when it’s over—because you’ll finish it, whatever it is, you finish everything you start—I want you to remember this day and what I told you.”

This case was over but
it
wasn’t finished. In a way,
it
was just beginning.

He picked up his papers, pushed his chair in at the table, and turned to walk out of the courtroom. He knew he’d be back.

E
PILOGUE

Jack and Pat finally told everyone that they were going to get married. It was two weeks after the trial. They were in Joaquin’s room at the hospital. Joaquin had just received clearance from his doctor to go home, and he was awaiting his wheelchair escort. Dick was there with them and everybody was in a lighthearted mood.

“Why don’t we get married together?” It was Maria who made the suggestion. “I mean, we all kind of fell in love together.”

Pat liked the idea. “We could do it at the ranch and we could invite Steve and his family—including his sister.” Everybody looked at Dick.

“Okay, okay, I’ve been seeing Steve’s sister. But I won’t be joining you at the altar,” Dick told them. “I should tell you all that you will be getting married at my house. I made Steve an offer and he has verbally accepted it, which is good enough for me. I’ll be a lot happier over here.”

“Are you going to stand up for me?” Joaquin asked.

“Who else would?” Dick replied.

“I’d like you both to stand up for me,” Jack said.

Pat looked at Maria. “Would you stand up for me, Maria?”

“Of course, Pat, but I have to have my daughter as my maid of honor. Otherwise I’d ask you.”

“I understand. Then it’s all settled. When do you want to do it?”

“I’ll need at least a month to recuperate,” Joaquin said, a twinkle coming into his eyes. “With Maria’s help, of course.”

“Don’t be fresh or I’ll get a sixty-year-old nurse to take care of you,” Maria said and they all burst out laughing. “I’ll get with you, Pat, about timing.”

Six weeks later, there was a small group in attendance, including Steve’s sister—a pretty, pleasant woman in her mid-forties—when Jack and Pat, and then Joaquin and Maria, pledged their love to each other. Afterwards, they had a little reception at the house.

“I’m glad I rented this place to you,” Steve said to Jack, clinking his champagne glass. “I thought I’d have to eat it Now I’ve got a buyer and it still might stay in the family.” They both laughed.
What a wonderful day
, Jack thought.
What wonderful people.

Six months after that wonderful day, Clay Evans stopped at his favorite coffee shop near his home in a rural section of Homestead, a suburb of Miami, to get a cup to go as he did every morning. As he exited the building, someone said they heard what sounded like a firecracker going off. It came from the woods across the road. Clay Evans was killed instandly by the bullet, which pierced his skull and shattered his brain. The bullet came from an unregistered rifle and the police had absolutely no clues as to the perpetrator, although some were sure the shot had to have been fired by a sniper.

The case was eventually put in a pile of unsolved murders. It was the same fate of the case of four murdered men found on a back road in Cobb County.

A few weeks after the trial was over, in the early morning before sunrise, Jack and Pat and Nancy’s father, Jim, went out on the river in Jack’s little outboard. They had two little urns containing the ashes of Nancy and Rudy. A few miles down the river, Jack made a right turn out of the busy traffic into a narrow canal bordered on both sides by thick mangroves and tall pines. He motored a ways down the canal and cut the motor. They sat in the dark for several minutes listening to the crickets drone and the frogs croak. As the sun started to rise, everything turned silent. Jack nodded to Jim and Pat, who placed the urns together, leaned them out over the water and slowly turned them so that the ashes intermingled as they fell. When they were finished, they all sat there silently, enjoying the tranquillity until the voices of the morning broke through. Birds appeared on shore and overhead, and Jack was about to start the outboard when something happened that none of them would ever forget. Two ospreys took off from atop the tall pines and circled the little canal twice, side by side. Then they hovered high above the little boat and flapped their wings before flying off.

After a few minutes, Jack started the boat and headed down the canal. Pat turned from the sights on the shoreline to look at him. He had a smile on his face and tears in his eyes, and he was mumbling something.

“What?” Pat asked gently.

Jack almost couldn’t get the words out.

“I’m sure now,” he told her.

“Sure about what?”

“That I can tell Mikey I’ll remember. I’ll always remember.”

A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS

My greatest joy has always been my family and I have been blessed in that regard. My three children, John, Justin, and Sarah, are my anchors. We have always been there for each other. John’s wife, Bethany, Justin’s wife, Becky, and my five grandchildren, Gabrielle, Hannah, Jack, Grace, and Owen, make up the rest of my inner circle. The next band of that circle is my brothers and sisters: John, Mary, Mike, Kate, and Patricia and their significant others: Marge, Tony, Linda, Bill, and John. You form a unique bond when you grow up in a four-room flat in New York City with your mother and father and five brothers and sisters. My siblings have always kept my feet firmly planted on the ground. I also have an extended family of aunts and uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews, in-laws, close friends, and three godchildren, Ariel, Madison, and Nathaniel, whom I love dearly. And I send a note of special gratitude and love to my mother’s twin sister, Aunt Anna.

At the top of my “other” family, my publishing family, sits my agent and my friend, Larry Kirshbaum. Larry was a great publisher and editor for many years before recently starting his new career as a literary agent. I am proud to say that I am and will always be his first client. His advice and expertise and that of his staff, especially Susanna Einstein, have been invaluable to me. Soon after teaming up with Larry, St. Martin’s Press became my publisher. Sally Richardson and Matthew Shear at St. Martin’s could not have been more enthusiastic and supportive of me and this book. I will always be indebted to Kate Hartson and Yorkville Press for giving me the opportunity to be a successful writer. Kate has not only been my publisher and my mentor for many years, she is also my sister.

I have had the benefit of two editors, Robert Sommerville, my original editor at Yorkville, and Marc Resnick at St. Martin’s. Bob did a fine job to begin with and Marc has made the book even better with his insights and suggestions. I would also like to thank a special friend, Greg Tobin, who worked with me before this project began and helped me to understand the finer points of the writing process.

Thank you to the staff at St. Martin’s for the outstanding layout and cover design of this book and to Tina Taylor for the layout and design of the original trade paperback.

I owe a large debt of gratitude to my friends who have read my work and provided me with their honest analyses and opinions. I am tempted not to name names because I might forget someone. But, having filed that disclaimer, here goes: Dottie Willits, Kay Tyler, Robert “Pops” Bella, Peter and Linda Keciorius, Diane Whitehead, Dave Walsh, Lindy Walsh, Lynn and Anthony Dennehy, Caitlin Herrity, Gary and Dawn Conboy, Gray and Bobbie Gibbs, Teresa Carlton, Linda Beth Carlton, Kerrie Beach, Cathy Curry, Dee Lawrence, Ron DeFillippo, Urban Patterson, and Richard Wolfe.

Special thanks to my brother Mike, the original Mayor of Lexington Avenue.