James Grippando - Beyond Suspicion

“And I guess some of the soldiers live to fight another day. Like Jessie Merrill.”

Jack poured some ketchup on his french fries. “She called me.”

“When?”

“The day after we went to see Mrs. Marsh. She admitted it was a scam.”

“Hot damn. Now we got her.”

“No. We don’t got anybody. You’re not going to like this, but I’ve decided to let it go.”

“What?”

“What’s done is done. It’s not my place to fix it.”

“Aw, come on. Think in these terms: How much did she pay you in legal fees?”

“I gave her the friend’s rate. Flat fee, twenty grand.”

“There you go, my man. I can get you twenty times that much now.”

“I’m sure you could. But that would be extortion, now wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t care what you call it. You can’t just let her get away with this.”

“I don’t have a choice. I was her lawyer. All I can do at this point is be content with the knowledge that, yes, I was played for a sucker. If I start looking for something more than that, it’s going to be trouble.”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

“I need to move on with my life.” As soon as he’d said it, he realized he’d used Jessie’s own words. Weird.

Theo leaned closer, elbows on the table. “Did she and that doc threaten you?”

“It’s not important.”

“It is to me. Let me talk to her. She thinks she can threaten us, I’ll straighten her out.”

“Don’t. The best thing I can do for myself right now is to forget about Jessie Merrill and the whole damn thing.”

The deep thump of a bass guitar warbled over the speakers. Theo’s band was tuning up for the first set. He pushed his empty bowl of chili aside and said, “You really think she’s going to let you?”

“Let me what?”

“Forget her.”

“Well, yeah. She’s got her money. Got no more use for me.”

Theo chuckled.

“What are you laughing at now?” said Jack.

Theo rose, tossed his napkin aside. The bass had broken into a rhythm, the drums and trumpet were joining in. “Hear that?” asked Theo.

“Yeah, so?”

“They’re playing your song. Yours and Jessie’s.” He snapped his fingers to the beat. The song had no lyrics, but he sang out part of the album title anyway: Thank You for… Fucking Up My Life .”

Theo was only half-smiling. Jack just looked at him and asked, “What are you talking about?”

“You got this old-girlfriend thing going on. Cuttin’ her legal fees, cuttin’ her a break. I’m talking about some kind of a strange love-hate thing going on here. Thank you for… ”

“That’s bull.”

“Sure it is. But something tells me you ain’t heard the last of Jessie Merrill. Not by a long shot, Jacko. Call me after your trial. Or after this squirrel comes back again for your nuts. Whichever comes first.”

Jack watched from his table, alone, as Theo and the rest of the crowd moved closer to the music.

•

Good night, Luther.” The security guard started. Having worked two jobs for eleven years to support a wife and eight children, Luther was a master at sleeping with his eyes wide open. “’Night, Mr. Swyteck.”

The final day of evidence at trial hadn’t done “The Lazy Stalker” any good. Perhaps it was the lingering effects of the Jessie disaster, but an embarrassing loss was the last thing he needed. He’d stayed at the office till almost midnight trying to rustle up a gem of a closing argument that would at least keep the jury out a few hours. The case was still a definite loser, but you do the best you can with the facts you’re dealt. That was every good lawyer’s mantra. It was what sustained you from one day to the next. That, and a good Chinese restaurant with late-night delivery.

“Good luck tomorrow,” said Luther.

“Thanks.”

Jack stepped through the revolving door and into the night. It was warm and muggy for February, even by Coral Gables standards. The rain had stopped an hour or so earlier, but Ponce de Leon Boulevard was still glistening wet beneath the fuzzy glow of street lamps. A cat scurried across the wide, grassy island that separated eastbound traffic from westbound, except that at this hour there was no traffic. Storefronts were dark on both sides of the street. At the corner, the last of the guests at Christy’s steakhouse were piling into a taxi. The humidity flattened their wine-induced laughter, making them seem much farther away than they were. Jack started up the sidewalk to the parking lot.

The car was still wet from the rain. As much as he loved his Mustang, rainstorms and thirty-year-old convertibles were no match made in heaven. He opened the door and wiped down the seat. He could have cursed the dampness that was seeping up through the seat of his pants, but the beautiful sound of that V-8 made all well again. He threw it into reverse, then slammed on the brake. Another car had raced up behind him and stopped, blocking his passage.

What the hell?

The door flew open, and the driver ran out. It was dark, and before Jack could even guess what was going on, someone was banging on his passenger-side window.

“Let me in!”

The voice was familiar, but it was still startling to see Jessie’s face practically pressed against the glass. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Open the damn door!”

He reached across the console, unlocked it. Jessie jumped in and locked the door. She was completely out of breath. “I’m so scared. You have to help me.”

“Help you?”

“ Look at me, Jack. Can’t you see I’m a wreck?”

She looked even more sleep-deprived than Jack was. Bloodshot eyes, pasty pallor. “That’s no reason to ambush me like this. How long have you been waiting for me to come out?”

“I had to do it this way. I can’t go anyplace where they might be waiting for me. I haven’t been home in three days. If I had just popped by your office, they would have found me for sure.”

“They, who? The police?”

“Farthest thing from it. These guys are thugs.”

“What guys?”

“The viatical investors.”

Jack shut off the engine, as if the noise were keeping him from hearing her straight. “Jessie, those investors aren’t thugs. They’re businesspeople.”

“Hardly. That company that sued me-Viatical Solutions, Inc.-is just a front. The real money… I don’t know where it comes from. But it’s not legit.”

“How do you know this?”

“Because they’re going to kill me!”

“What?”

“They are going to put a gun to my head and blow my brains out.”

“Just slow down.”

Her hands were shaking. He could see her eyes widen even in the dim light of the street lamps. “Start at the beginning.”

“You know the beginning. We scammed these guys.”

“You mean you and Dr. Marsh.”

“I mean all of us.”

“Hold it right there. I didn’t have any part in this.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t know what was going on. You let me scam them.”

“Wrong. I was completely shocked when-”

“Just cut the crap, all right? This is so like you, Swyteck. You come along for the ride to add a little excitement to your pathetic little life with Cindy Paige, and then when it all hits the fan, you throw up your hands and leave me twisting in the wind.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about-”

She stopped in midsentence. Her eyes bulged, and her shoulders began to heave. She jerked violently to the right, flung open the car door, and hung her head over the pavement. The retching noise was insufferable-two solid minutes of painful dry heaves. At last, she expelled something. Her breath came in quick, panicky spurts, and then finally she got her body under control. She closed the door and nearly fell against the passenger seat, exhausted.