James Grippando - Last to die

Theo sat on one side of the prison glass; his brother, Tatum, on the other. His brother seemed taken by his baldness.

“What happened to your hair, man?”

“It’s just what they do,” said Theo. The prison barber had already shaved his head and ankles so that there would be a smooth connection between his flesh and the deadly voltage of the electric chair.

“Swyteck is starting to scare me,” said Tatum. “What the hell is taking him so long this time? He ain’t never let it go this far before.”

“He’s doing what he can. Sometimes you just run out of shit to throw against the wall.”

“Then get a new lawyer.”

“They don’t give out new lawyers the night before an execution.”

“But you need more time. I need more time.”

From the day of Theo’s sentencing, Tatum had vowed to track down every last member of the Grove Lords, threaten them, beat them, crack their skulls-whatever it took to find the one who had gone into that convenience store and really killed that cashier.

Theo said, “I appreciate all you done for me, but-”

“But nothin’. Don’t you start with that good-bye shit now.”

“We gotta face facts.”

“The facts is, you didn’t do it.”

“You think I’m the first innocent man ever to sit on death row?”

“Sittin’ here is one thing. They can’t execute you, damn it.”

“They can, Tatum. And they will.”

Tatum checked the clock on the wall. “Where the hell is that lawyer of yours?”

“He’s supposed to call in about a half hour.”

“Good. I want to talk to him.”

“What for?”

“I need to know if this is really it.”

“We’ll know soon enough.”

“Don’t say that. Because if he’s out of ideas, I got one for him.”

“What?”

With a pen, he scribbled onto the notepad in front of him. Then he leaned closer to the glass and turned the notepad so that Theo could see it. It read, “Let’s just say I did it.”

Theo looked his brother in the eye. “Say what?”

“I’m shit compared to you,” he said, his voice shaking. “You got a brain in your head, man. You could be somebody. So let’s just say it was me who done it. We look a little alike. That eyewitness was pretty shaky. Maybe she got it wrong, coulda’ mixed us up, you know?”

“You would do this for me?”

“You’re my little brother, man. You and me-aw, shit, don’t make me say it. We’re all we got, you know?”

Theo felt a knot in his stomach, wishing he could break through the glass between them. “Thanks, bro’,” he said as he pressed his fist to the window. Tatum did the same from the other side, the prison handshake.

“What do you say?” asked Tatum.

“You’re awesome, totally. But even if I was gonna let you try, it’s just too late.”

“Damn you, stop sayin’ it’s too late.”

“It would never work anyway.”

“I’ll make it work,” he said, his anger rising. “I can make those bastards believe.”

Behind Theo a door opened, and the dull rumble of club noises rolled into the alley. He turned and saw a man step into the weak glow of a security light by the Dumpster.

“Jack?”

“I thought I saw you walk out this way. Your band’s gearing up for the next set.”

Theo started toward him and said, “Guess I lost track of time.”

“What are you doing out here?”

He put his arm around Jack’s shoulder and walked him to the door. “Just strollin’ down memory lane, buddy. And you really had to be there to know what a shitty place that is.”

“I was there, remember?”

“Absolutely. I remember everybody who was there. And I do mean everybody.”

They went back inside the club, the security bars clanging as the door closed behind them.

Côte d’Ivoire is about the size of Germany or New Mexico. Jack’s problem was that getting from Germany to New Mexico is a heck of a lot easier than getting from the airport in Abidjan to the grasslands of the north.

“I don’t do puddle jumpers,” said Jack.

“You what?” said Theo.

“I just don’t. I’ve had some bad experiences, and I just don’t do them anymore.”

“You represent a badass like my brother, and you’re afraid of flying on a little plane?”

“No, I’m afraid of crashing on a little plane. Got no problem with flying.”

And so began the ground segment of their journey, a half-day bus ride on the heels of a seventeen-hour international flight. The road system of Côte d’Ivoire is among the best in West Africa, so it might have been bearable had the nine-hour trip to Korhogo been the end of the line. Unfortunately, Sally’s sister wasn’t in Korhogo, which surprised Jack. Before leaving Miami, he’d managed to contact her by e-mail, and from an Internet café in town she’d confirmed the meeting. A nice retired couple who ran the Children First headquarters gave Jack the bad news.

“She’s gone to Odienné,” said Mr. Roberts.

“Oh, damn.”

“No, Odienné,” said Mrs. Roberts.

“I know, I meant…When is she coming back?”

“Don’t know. There was a little medical emergency she volunteered for.”

“How do we get to Odienné?”

It was an indisputable fact that any trip, no matter how well planned, no matter how experienced the travelers, had the potential for disaster. It was also indisputable that the trouble usually began with a question like, “How do we get to…”

They rented an old Land Rover in Korhogo and took turns driving, headed due west. Roads between most major towns in Côte d’Ivoire were paved, with one major exception. The road from Korhogo to Odienné was paved only as far as Boundiali, a town whose name means “drum dried in the sun,” but which might have been more aptly named “dust so thick you can’t even see the goat standing next to you.” If all roads were like the last hundred miles from Boundiali to Odienné, the wheel might never have been invented.

They reached the outskirts of Odienné just before sunset. In two hours they’d seen only one other traveler, a skinny, naked boy riding a brown-and-white cow. On one level it seemed as though they were in the middle of nowhere, yet Jack could appreciate why leaders of another era had chosen this site as the capital of the entire Kabadougou Empire. To the west, the Dienguélé range rippled over to the Guinean border. To the east rose Mont Tougoukoli, an eight-hundred-meter peak that was quite impressive, if only because it rose from the midst of seemingly endless grasslands. Jack pulled off to the side of the road, giving them a moment to shake off the dust and savor the view before driving into the city.

“My back is killing me.”

“Don’t blame me,” said Theo.

“Nobody’s blaming anybody for anything.”

“Which only proves what a great guy I am.”

“What?”

“Next time we’re hoppin’ a plane from Abidjan. I don’t care if I have to pistol-whip you and tie you to the fucking wing.”

Jack cooled his face with a splash of water from his canteen. Theo was working on his second giant liter of Bock beer, which had been ice cold when they left Korhogo, but an afternoon temperature of thirty-four degrees Celsius had taken off the chill in short order.

“You think we’ll find her?” asked Jack.

“Yup.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Cuz if we don’t, you’ll bitch all the way home like a teenage girl, sayin’ this trip was all for nothin’. So get it through your head right now, Jacko. We ain’t leavin’ till we find her.”

“That was truly powerful,” said Jack. “Have you considered a career in motivational speaking?”