James Grippando - Last to die

Jack didn’t think he’d ever duplicate the sense of symmetry that came from nailing Tony “the Big Tuna” Dilabio at a place called the Big Fish. But he still felt a rush of adrenaline as he shook hands with Sally’s ex-husband.

“Thanks for coming,” said Jack.

“No problem.”

They took a small table by the window, which overlooked an old fishing pier that had been half-submerged in the river for as long as Jack had been coming here. Miguel was wearing a short-sleeved white shirt and blue, form-fitting bicycle pants. He’d joined the City of Miami Police Department near the tail-end of his marriage to Sally, and he was now part of the downtown bicycle brigade, a small team of officers who patrolled the parks and streets by pedal power on twelve-speeds.

Miguel’s full name was Miguel Ortiz Rios, a first-generation Cuban-American. Jack’s mother had actually been born in Cuba, but he didn’t mention it to Miguel. She died just hours after his birth, so his Latin connection was purely genetic, and he came across about as Cuban as Yankee pot roast. He knew from experience that if he told Miguel he was half Cuban, Miguel would start speaking Spanish, Jack would do his best to respond in kind, and Miguel would quickly revert to English, surmising that Jack was a lying sack of shit gringo who was trying to forge an instant rapport by claiming to be Latino.

“I assume you didn’t invite me here to turn me on to the conch fritters,” said Miguel.

Jack gave a little smile and said, “That’s true. Though the conch fritters are pretty good.”

“That’s what I’m having,” he told the waitress. “Just water to drink.”

“I’ll have the big tuna,” said Jack.

“It’s all pretty much the same size,” she said.

Jack caught his own Freudian slip. “Sorry. I mean just the tuna. Seared, rare. And an iced tea.”

The waitress took their menus and left them alone at the table. The lunch crowd was streaming in, and the conversations around them had merged into a single, steady rumble.

Jack said, “Before we start, Mike-”

“It’s Miguel. Only Sally called me Mike.”

“Sorry. I just wanted to remind you that you do have the right to have your lawyer here.”

“Forget it. Parker Aimes gets a big hit if I take home the forty-six million, but I still gotta pay him a reduced hourly fee if we lose. I’m using him as little as possible.”

Interesting, thought Jack, that Miami’s top probate lawyer didn’t like the ex-husband’s chances well enough to take a straight contingency fee arrangement. Jack said, “I have a few things I want to ask about you and Sally, but let me start with the big question. What do you think Sally was up to here?”

“Like I said at the meeting. As far as I know, there isn’t a single person on that list of beneficiaries who Sally loved. And a few of them, I know for a fact Sally hated them.”

“So she decided to leave forty-six million dollars to people she hates?”

“No,” said Miguel. “She left her enemies to fight over forty-six million dollars that they would probably never get their hands on.”

“You consider yourself one of her enemies?”

“That’s a little complicated.”

“Give it a shot.”

“I never thought of Sally as the enemy. Never. Not even in the darkest times.”

“But you did hire yourself a pretty tough divorce lawyer.”

“I didn’t really hire him. Gerry Colletti did it for me as a friend, freebie.”

“He still your friend?”

“I don’t think of him as one.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing, really. I just finally came around to realize Sally was right about him. He is a scumbag.”

“You think that’s one of the reasons Sally considered you the enemy? You used a scumbag divorce lawyer?”

“I can see where you might say that, but no. Truth is, I wouldn’t let Gerry put the screws to her. I’ll give you an example. Sally and me had this restaurant. In fact, we bought it from Gerry. It was a disaster, and we had to close it. All that debt went with me. Whatever assets we had went with Sally. The way I saw it, she was never going to recover psychologically if I put her in a financial hole.”

“That’s pretty fair-minded.”

“After what happened to our daughter, the rules are a little different. You try to work things out.”

“Is that the way Sally saw it?”

He gave Jack a sad smile, a slow shake of the head. “Unfortunately, no. Sally was a sweet, loving person. But she changed.”

“What changed her?”

His smile was gone. “Our daughter was murdered in our house. That can change you, don’t you think?”

Jack lowered his eyes, a little embarrassed for having asked. “It’s the most terrible thing I can imagine. And I’m sorry that happened to you and Sally.”

“Thanks.”

A party of six walked by on their way to another table. Jack waited for them to pass, then said, “But even something as horrible as the death of a child doesn’t always tear a marriage apart. Sometimes the parents turn to each other for strength.”

“You’re talking about the ones who don’t blame each other for what happened.”

The waitress brought their drinks, then left as quickly as she’d come. Jack stirred a packet of sugar into his iced tea and asked, “Is that what happened to you and Sally? The blame game?”

“I don’t know what happened to us. We tried. I really tried to be there for her. But she just didn’t want help. Not from me, anyway.”

“Did she blame you for what happened to your daughter?”

“No.”

“Did you blame her?”

He paused, as if not sure how to answer. Finally, he said, “She thought I did.”

“How did she get that impression?”

“I’m not sure, exactly.”

“What’s your sense?”

Again he paused, seeming to struggle. “Sally had this…job. I didn’t really like it.”

“The Hooters gig?”

He blinked twice, as if ashamed that Jack knew. “Look, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about Sally. She was a terrific mother. It wasn’t like she was going out dancing on tables or something. It’s just that, we owned that lousy restaurant I was telling you about. We had a terrible flood, no insurance, and we lost everything. We were bad in debt, needed money like you wouldn’t believe. We both had to work crappy jobs to get back on our feet. I just wish she could have found something better.”

“Did you ask her to quit?”

“We talked about it. But tips are pretty good at a place like Hooters. Tourists get a little drunk, you know how it is. Anyway, four hours a night there was like eight hours someplace else. So it left her some time for Katherine.”

“So she kept the job?”

“Yeah. Big mistake.”

“How so?”

Miguel tore open a pack of oyster crackers. “She ended up getting stalked by some loser.”

“Stalked?”

“That’s the sort of thing I was most afraid of. Some of these creeps who go to these bars think all the waitresses want it, that they’re easy. You know what I’m saying?”

“What happened? Somebody started calling her on the phone, following her home-what?”

“I don’t know all the details. She didn’t even tell me about it till after our daughter was killed.”

“Why not?”

“She knew I’d make her quit if I thought some guy was hassling her at work. And she also knew I’d break his neck if we found out who he was.”

“Did you ever find out who he was?”

“No. Chickenshit son of a bitch. Sally said he just kept taunting her with anonymous calls from pay phones, hang-ups, that sort of thing. Never got a look at him. Maybe the cops could have helped, if she’d reported it, but she said she didn’t want to antagonize him. She thought if she ignored him, he’d go away.”