James Grippando - Afraid of the Dark

The string of messages ended with a playful threat: Last chance. kitty8 n88ds a FB.

Shada smiled. She’d sent enough text messages and IMs to know that “8” was code for oral sex, and that “FB” in this context was a kind of buddy, not “Facebook.” A photograph was attached, and upon opening it, Shada had to catch her breath. She’d worked hookups online before, but this was one of those rare instances where the photograph actually lived up to the “as advertised” hype. And it left no doubt as to the kind of buddy that kitty8 needed.

Shada typed a short reply-Let’s meet!-and hit SEND. The message was on its way.

And kitty8 was in the bag.

The lunch crowd was thinning as Jack settled into a booth at Grunberg’s Deli in downtown Miami.

“I’ll have the Reuben,” Jack told the waitress.

“Same,” said Vince.

Vince had called that morning to suggest they talk. Jack hadn’t visited Grunberg’s in years, but it had been one of Neil’s favorites, which made it the first place to come to mind when Vince had asked, “Where do you want to eat?” Real Jewish delis were becoming somewhat of a dinosaur in Miami. Jack could remember bygone places like Wolfie’s, Pumpernik’s, and Rascal House-sticky and shopworn institutions that were last refurbished when The Honeymooners was live on television, where the food was plentiful but never really outstanding. The experience was the draw. As Neil used to say, the hamantaschen were passable and the macaroons were okay, but there was strange comfort in knowing that perhaps it was a long-dead relative who’d left that stuffed cabbage leaf wedged beneath your booth.

“Nothing for me, thank you,” said Alicia.

Jack hadn’t expected Vince to bring his wife to their meeting, but it made sense. Jack had the advantage of being able to read Vince’s expressions. Alicia leveled the nonverbal playing field.

“Eat something,” said the waitress. “You’re too thin.”

It was standard banter between strangers in a deli like Grunberg’s, but Alicia didn’t quite know how to respond.

Vince said, “You do seem to have lost a couple pounds, honey.”

“I’m the same weight I’ve always been.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” said Vince.

It occurred to Jack that the only way for Vince to have gained that impression was through the sense of touch. There was something to envy in a married man who knew his wife’s body so thoroughly. Jack wondered if he could have done the same with Andie.

Alicia caved and ordered a bowl of matzoh ball soup, barely enough to make the waitress tuck the lunch ticket into her apron and leave them alone.

“Again, I wanted to say I’m very sorry about Neil Goderich,” said Vince. “This is not an official police visit, but I did want to give you my thoughts on the man who killed your friend.”

Jack helped himself to a pickle from the platter on their table. “I’m all ears.”

“First, from what I’ve learned, it seems obvious that the killer was not blind.”

Jack did a double take, then glanced at Alicia. She leaner closer to Vince and took her husband’s hand.

“I didn’t know anyone had suggested the killer was blind,” said Jack.

Vince laced his fingers with his wife’s. “The same goes for the man who killed Jamal Wakefield. Definitely not the work of a man without sight.”

Again Jack glanced at Alicia, but she cast her eyes downward as she gently stroked the back of her husband’s hand.

“No one would dispute that,” said Jack.

“Which is what makes the case of Ethan Chang so interesting,” said Vince. “The medical examiner won’t say what killed him, but it was a toxin that entered his body through the top of his foot. The mall security tape captures a highly suspicious moment of contact.”

“Yes, I’ve seen it.”

“Then you know,” said Vince. “Someone pretending to be blind jabbed Ethan Chang with his walking stick.”

“How do you know he was posing, as opposed to really blind?”

“Generally speaking, blind guys don’t have that good of an aim.”

Brilliant question, Swyteck. “I guess you got me there,” said Jack.

“It’s not just that,” said Alicia. “Tell him.”

Vince drew a breath, then let it out. “If you think about it, someone went to a lot of trouble to orchestrate the death of Ethan Chang. If Chang had information about a secret detention site that someone would kill to keep secret, the easiest thing would have been to put a bullet in the back of his head. Instead, the killer pretended to be blind and jabbed him with his stick. You have to ask yourself: Why?”

Jack considered it. “No good reason comes to mind.”

“He’s jabbing me,” said Vince, his voice tightening. “There is no doubt in my mind that this is the work of McKenna’s killer. Which makes him the same guy who took away my sight. He’s jabbing me with the stick he gave me.”

Jack didn’t know how to respond, but the reasoning was far from flawed. “So this is personal,” said Jack.

“Isn’t it for you?”

Jack didn’t have to answer.

Alicia touched her husband’s shoulder, and Jack noted their silent communication, the connection between them. It wasn’t overdone, but it was constant in one form or another-the hand-holding; the gentle touches; the way they sat so close to each other, with shoulders, elbows, and forearms brushing together. It didn’t bother Jack, except for the way it served as such a vivid reminder that he and his fiancee-sighted couples all over the world, for that matter-were moving into the digital world of texting and tweeting, the complete loss of communication through physical contact. Vince and Alicia had what Jack and Andie had lost, in spades.

The gift of blindness. The curse of sight.

“Excuse me for a minute,” said Alicia. She squeezed Vince’s hand as she rose, as if the unsaid words were passing from her hand to his. They had an understanding. This was the predetermined point in the conversation where Alicia was supposed to leave, and she was keeping her end of the agreement. This would be between Jack and Vince, and no one else. She gave him a kiss and left the table. When the click of her heels on the tile floor faded, Vince spoke.

“Chuck Mays knows where Shada lives. She’s in London.”

“I just read in today’s paper that he’s about to be arrested for killing her.”

“That’s a plant,” said Vince. “I fed that story to my contacts in the media.”

“Why?”

“Shada promised to come out of hiding if Chuck needed her. The media coverage about his impending arrest on murder charges will hopefully make her think it’s time.”

“How did he find her?”

“His supercomputers. I can’t tell you the methodology.”

“Have you told the FBI?”

“No. And I’m not going to.”

“Why not?”

“I believe there’s a cover-up surrounding Jamal Wakefield that reaches all the way back to McKenna’s murder. I believe it relates to black sites, and I believe the U.S. government is involved on some level.”

“Neil would have agreed with you,” said Jack.

“Do you?”

Jack suddenly heard Andie’s voice in his head, chiding him for even entertaining such wild conspiracy theories. “I don’t know,” said Jack. “But let me run wild with that thought for a second. Has anyone considered the possibility that Shada works for the government?”

“I’m betting that Shada knows something about the cover-up and who’s involved in it. Chuck wants to know what Shada knows, and he doesn’t trust any government to get that information out of her without also getting her killed.”

“You mean killed by a government agent?”