James Grippando - Last to die

Theo said, “Grab that cooler, will ya’?”

Jack took it by the handles, and Theo gathered up the fishing poles with the other gear. Empty bottles rattled inside the cooler as the men crossed the lawn to the driveway. Theo popped the trunk. Jack put the cooler inside, then helped Theo break down the poles and mount them on the roof rack.

“Anything else?” asked Jack.

“Yeah, actually. I need a favor. Big one.”

“What?”

“Did you happen to see that story in the local section a few days ago? That rich woman who got shot in the head while waiting on the red light to get on the expressway?”

“I might have skimmed it. I’ve been in trial too long. Not seeing much news.”

Theo opened the car door, pulled something from the console, and handed it to Jack. It was a newspaper clipping. “Read this.”

There were only a few paragraphs with a photo of the victim. Jack read quickly. “Sad.”

“Is that all you can say?”

“It’s sad. What more can I say?”

“You could look at her picture and say, damn, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Okay, she’s beautiful. Does that mean I should be sadder?”

“Yes, Mr. Politically Correct, it does make it sadder. That’s what everyone wants to be. Young, rich, beautiful. And now she’s dead. Doesn’t get any sadder than that.”

“Theo, where are you headed with this?”

“Did you read how much she was worth?”

“Yeah. Something like…whatever it said.”

He took back the clipping and pointed to the figure. “Forty-six million.”

Jack read it again. “That’s a lotta dough.”

“Damn straight. Now, this is not a trick question, but I want you to try and guess when was the last time a bona fide babe worth forty-six million dollars came walking into my bar.”

“You saw her in Sparky’s?”

“About two and a half weeks ago.”

“What was she doing there?”

“Talking to a contract killer.”

“A what?”

“You heard me.”

“You mean she was meeting with someone who kills people for money?”

“I don’t mean someone who shoots contracts for a living.”

Jack scratched his head, thinking. “You sure it was her?”

“You think I’m gonna forget a face like that?” he said, showing the photo once more.

Jack saw his point. “So, she talks to a contract killer, and two weeks later, she’s the one who turns up dead.”

“That’s right,” said Theo.

“What do you make of that?”

“Smells bad.”

“I’ll give you that,” said Jack. “But what do you want me to do?”

“First off, there’s a letter I want to ask you about. It’s from the dead woman’s lawyer.”

“Written to you?”

“No. To the contract killer she was talking to in my bar.”

“You have the letter?”

“No. I seen it.”

“How?”

“Never mind that. Let’s just say I’m acting as a go-between here.”

“What exactly are you going between?”

Theo grabbed a pack of Kools from his dashboard, then lit one.

“You and…you know.”

“The contract killer? No way.”

“Hear me out. The whole letter is two sentences long. It simply tells him to be in the law offices of Vivien Grasso Monday for an important meeting about the death of Sally Fenning.”

“So, you want me to advise a contract killer whether he should go to this meeting or not?”

“No. I want you to go with him.”

Jack coughed, as if choking with disbelief. “What makes you think I’d be even remotely interested in that?”

“Because I asked.”

“Why are you asking?”

Theo took a drag from his cigarette, blowing smoke as he spoke. “Because I think this boy’s in a mess of trouble.”

“Is he a friend of yours?”

“Not in the least.”

“Then give me one good reason why I should walk into another lawyer’s office representing a contract killer.”

“First of all, except for me and maybe a few badasses between here and Las Vegas, no one knows he’s a contract killer.”

“Give me another good reason.”

“Because you’re my buddy.”

“Hmmmm.”

“Because I’ve been playing payback ever since you got me off death row, and I ain’t never asked you for nothin’ in return.”

“Okay. We’re getting there. But lay another one on me.”

Theo lowered his eyes, as if reluctant to answer. Finally, he looked at Jack and said in a quiet, serious tone, “Because he’s my brother.”

Jack, too, turned serious.

“So, you’ll meet with him?” asked Theo.

Jack didn’t answer right away, but there was never any doubt what his answer would be. “Sure,” he said. “For you, I’ll meet with him.”

He looked a lot like Theo, was Jack’s first impression. Theo in his badass mode.

Jack met Theo’s brother “Tatum” in the sunny courtyard outside the downtown public library. He was dressed semi-casual, a sport jacket with no tie, as if Theo had told him to try to look respectable. The jacket looked a little tight in the shoulders, a common problem for muscular men who bought off the rack. It was the lunch hour, and plenty of people were seated at the tables around them in the shade of broad white umbrellas. Some were reading, some were talking and sharing lunch with friends, a few were shooing away pesky pigeons. Tables were far enough apart to keep anyone from overhearing their conversation. It wasn’t the normal setting for an attorney-client meeting, but a hit man wasn’t exactly a normal client. Jack wasn’t worried, but he’d nonetheless followed his instincts and set up the meeting not in the solitude of his law office but in a public place with lots of potential witnesses. Just in case.

“Good to see you again, Mack.”

“It’s Jack,” he said as they shook hands.

“Sorry.”

Just what the world needs, thought Jack. A hit man who doesn’t know Jack from Mack.

They sat on opposite sides of the table. Jack had arrived early and had already finished his chicken salad on pita. There was no table service, and Jack offered to wait while Tatum went through the line, but he declined, seemingly eager to get started.

“How long’s it been?” asked Tatum. “Ten years?”

“Eight. Since Theo’s release from prison.”

“I assume Theo’s filled you in as to my goings-on since then.”

“Probably more than you would have liked.”

“And you’re okay with it?”

“Let me put it this way. I’m here because Theo asked me for a favor.”

“But you’re my lawyer, right? Everything we say is, you know-”

“Privileged, yes.”

“You gonna eat that pickle?” he said, pointing to Jack’s plate.

“Help yourself.”

Tatum grabbed it, bit off the tip, wagged the rest of it like an extra finger as he spoke. “Now, Theo did tell you that I’m not in the contract line of work anymore, didn’t he?”

“He said as far as he knew, you hadn’t done a job in three years.”

“That’s the truth,” he said, pronouncing it like troot. “That makes you feel better about this, right?”

“Look, my typical client is not a nun. I’ve even defended people who’d killed for money, just like you. I’m not judging you. I’m doing a friend a favor.”

“Theo says you’re good.”

“Good enough to get an innocent man off death row.”

“That’s not as easy as it sounds. Especially when everyone thought he was guilty.”

“Everyone except his lawyer.”

“And his brother,” said Tatum.

“And his brother,” said Jack, acknowledging it. “You were there, standing right with him.”

“I was the only one who stood by him.”