James Grippando - Last to die

“Maybe this is his way of saying thank you. You got thirty minutes.”

Tatum popped the rest of his pickle into his mouth. “Where should we start?”

“Let’s start with Sally Fenning. How did you two hook up?”

“You gonna finish those chips?” he said, poking at Jack’s plate.

“Go for ’em.”

He spoke with a mouthful of Ruffles. “She called me.”

“Out of the blue?”

“Yeah. Totally.”

“She had to get your number somehow. What did she do, look in the Yellow Pages under ‘Problem Solvers’?”

“I got no idea how she found me.”

“Stop the bullshit, or your free thirty minutes are over.”

He was looking for a napkin to wipe his greasy fingers, then just licked them, one by one. “Friend of a friend hooked us up.”

“Which friend?”

Tatum leaned back, crossed one leg over the other. Jack felt a digression coming on.

Tatum said, “I don’t know how much you know about this woman, but she had some problems in her past.”

“You mean she was in trouble with the law?”

“No, not like that. Emotional problems. She was attacked, or something, I don’t know exactly. But she hired a bodyguard every now and then, when she was feeling scared, for whatever the reason. Anyway, her bodyguard knew me.”

“He called you?”

“No, we was playing pool together one night.”

“What did he say?”

“Said, ‘I got a client who wants to get in touch with you. Can I give her your number?’ I said sure.”

“What did you think it was all about?”

“Probably she needed me to beat the shit out of somebody.”

“I thought you said you were out of the contract business.”

“I don’t do hits anymore. Puttin’ people in the hospital, that’s another story.”

“You’re okay with serious bodily injury, but you draw the line at murder. Is that it?”

“Somethin’ like that. To be honest, it’s more about the money.”

“I’m not sure I follow you.”

“It’s a tough business in Miami. These days, you got Colombians, Russians, Jamaicans, Arabs, Israelis, Cubans, Italians, Nicaraguans-everybody and his brother willing to do a job for a measly five hundred bucks. How’s a guy supposed to make a living?”

“Join the union?”

“You think this is a joke? This is business, pal, and it’s like everything else these days. You specialize. In my case, I turned myself into the guy who knows how to inflict just the right amount of pain, someone who can get results without killing the goose that lays the golden egg. That’s a real skill. And it pays real money.”

“So, you’re a shakedown specialist.”

“No. I’m in the art business.”

“The art of what? Face rearrangement?”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “The art of persuasion.”

His glare tightened, as if he were trying to give Jack some sense of just how persuasive he could be. Jack didn’t flinch. “So, Sally Fenning wanted to make use of your persuasive powers?”

He settled back in his chair, taking some of the edge off. “That was my first impression.”

“And you went to meet her?”

“Right. I told her to meet me at Sparky’s.”

“Why there?”

“I always meet in a public place. Keeps the unexpected from happening.”

“But why Theo’s bar?”

“He’s my brother. He hates what I do for a living, sometimes he even threatens to throw my ass out. But if I go to Theo’s, I can be sure of one thing: Ain’t no nosy bartender gonna be listening in on my conversation. Theo don’t want to hear none of it. Can’t be so sure of my privacy if I go to some other bar.”

“Okay. You got to Theo’s bar. Then what?”

“She wanted to hire me.”

“To do what?”

“Like I says before. I thought she wanted me to work some guy over.”

“But that wasn’t it?”

“No. She wanted someone dead.”

“Who?”

He chuckled to himself. “This is where it gets…strange.”

“How do you mean?”

“She wanted me to shoot her.”

Jack hesitated. He’d heard plenty of strange stories in his career, but this one was up there. “Would you call that an unusual request?”

“Not unheard of. But yeah, like I said, strange.”

“Why would a person hire someone else to kill them? Why not just go home and stick your head in the oven?”

“You kiddin’ me? People always got their reasons. Buddy of mine did a guy once who lost big bucks in the stock market. Millions. Couldn’t go on, but he didn’t want his wife and kids to think he was a coward. So he hires a hit man to make his death look like a drive-by shooting. Worked like a charm. You should have read the obituary,” he said with a chuckle. “All about how much poor, departed John loved life.”

“Is that what Sally was concerned about? What other people would think?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you shoot her?”

He looked away, laughing.

Jack stuck with it and asked again, “Did you shoot her?”

Tatum’s smile faded. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I told you: I don’t do that anymore.”

“Did you tell her that?”

“Told her lots of things. Mostly I told her she was being stupid. She’s a knockout, obviously loaded with money. I says, this is crazy. Get help, lady. This ain’t like changing your hair color or even gettin’ your tits done. You can’t go back. Know what I mean?”

“Is that how you left it, then? She asked you to shoot her, you said no?”

“That was it.”

“Did she ask for the names of any of your friends who might do the job?”

“No. But I don’t just give out names like that.” He seemed to catch himself, then added, “Because I don’t have friends like that anymore.”

“Tell me about the letter you got from Sally’s lawyer.”

“Not much to tell. Just says she would like me to be in her office for an important meeting relating to the death of Sally Fenning.”

“Can I see it?”

“Sure. Got it right here.” He pulled it from his inside jacket pocket, then handed it to Jack, who gave it a quick study.

“Clarence Knight your real name?”

“Yeah. Not sure how she got it.”

“I take it you didn’t give Sally your real name.”

“No. Just Tatum, nickname.”

“Like Tatum O’Neal, huh?”

“Fucking-A, no, not like Tatum O’Neal. What in the hell planet do you white people live on? Jack Tatum, the meanest, baddest football player-”

“Yeah, whatever,” said Jack. “So, somehow Sally got your real name and passed it on to her lawyer.”

“Like I said, her bodyguard hooked us up together, so he could have given Sally my real name. Which is more proof that I didn’t kill this woman. You think my buddy would give her my name or that I’d give her my actual nickname if I was going to commit murder? I’d be doing aliases, big time.”

“In a normal hit, yeah. But maybe you don’t have to be so careful about throwing your name around when the person doing the hiring is going to be dead after the hit.”

Tatum flashed a peculiar smile and said, “You a pretty sharp guy, Swyteck.”

“Vivien Grasso,” said Jack, reading the lawyer’s name from the letterhead.

“You know her?” asked Tatum.

“Indirectly. She was a big supporter of my father when he ran for governor. Probate is her specialty. So I assume this letter has something to do with the administration of Sally’s estate.”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“Did you ask her?”

“I was hoping you would. As my attorney.”

Jack laid the letter on the table. “I promised Theo I’d meet with you. I didn’t say I’d take it any farther than that.”