James Grippando - Last Call

"Yeah, but every time Rene comes to Miami she suddenly feels the urge to barter for something other than live chickens and goats. Go figure."

The waitress came with their order on a tray. "Dos cubanos?" she said. Two Cubans? She meant the sandwiches, not the customers. She placed the plates in front of them and handed them their beverages. Materva, a Latin soft drink for Jack. A large mamey milkshake for Theo.

When the waitress was gone, Jack said, "So, what do you think about Isaac Reems? Any idea who would shoot him?"

Theo removed the plastic lid from his milkshake and gulped some down. "You mean other than half the city of Miami?" Theo unwrapped his sandwich. "We gonna talk or eat?"

"Go ahead. Eat."

"First, a tribute." Theo lifted his sandwich from the plate and started singing to it, putting his own words to the tune of Human League's 1986 number one hit, "Human."

I'm just a cuban.

Of cheese and bread I'm made.

I am also ham… please forgive me.

He devoured a third of his cuban sandwich in one huge bite.

"You forgot to mention the pickles and sliced pork," said Jack, deadpan.

"Artistic… license," he said with his mouth full. It was the same license that turned Madonna's first Latin hit into "Last night I dreamt of some bagels," and Stevie Nicks's "Edge of Seventeen" into "Just like a one-winged dove" – a true Theo Knight classic, this mental image of a little white bird flying around in circles.

"I got a phone call from Andie Henning this morning," said Jack. "She's looking into the Reems murder."

Theo chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. "I may not have a law degree, but how does the FBI get involved in a run-of-the-mill shooting of a pissant criminal?"

"You're right, local law enforcement does normally have jurisdiction over homicide. So I asked her that question myself."

A bus rolled by on Coral Way adding diesel fumes to the ambience. "What was her answer?" said Theo.

"It turns out that Andie has been appointed to head up the task force that will be looking for answers about Reems's escape."

"Well, they tapped one sharp agent. But I still don't see how her work on a task force gets her into Isaac's shooting."

"Reems didn't climb out of a barred prison window on a rope made out of bedsheets, hop a nine-foot fence topped with razor wire, and then run to freedom without someone on the inside looking the other way."

"Maybe. But what's that got to do with the shooting?"

"Here's the way Andie sees it. If she finds out who killed Reems, she'll bet dollars to doughnuts that the answer will also point the way to whoever greased the wheels to bust him out of prison."

"Mmm. Doughnuts." hocus.

"Sorry."

Jack turned serious. "Andie wants to talk to you."

"Okay. Like I told you before: I got no problem with Andie. I'm sure she's just doing her job."

"And I gotta do mine, too. So tell me something, and don't get cute on me. When's the last time you had anything to do with Isaac Reems?"

Theo didn't answer right away.

Jack said, "When Rene and I dropped off Uncle Cy at your place last night, we heard Isaac's message."

"Dude, don't tell me you were listenin' to my phone messages."

"We were sitting on your couch when he left it. Heard it all"

"Did Cy hear it too?"

"I don't think so. He was upstairs in bed."

Theo nodded, but he was still silent.

Jack flashed his lawyer expression. Theo knew it well – his don't-you-dare-lie-to-me look. "Give it up, Theo. When was the last time you heard from Isaac?"

"Who wants to know?"

"I do," said Jack.

Theo glanced toward the traffic on busy Coral Way then back at his friend. "This conversation – it's privileged, right?"

"Yup," said Jack. "Attorney-client, all the way."

Theo put down his sandwich. And then he told him.

On Monday morning Jack took Rene to the airport for a 12:50 p.m. flight to Abidjan via Paris. Jack didn't even try to talk her into staying another day – and it wasn't because he thought she would say no.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"It's definitely something ."

They were walking side-by-side across what was arguably Miami's greatest work of public art – the striking black terrazzo floor at the airport's international terminal. Michele Oka Doner's "A Walk on the Beach" was exactly what the name implied. Thousands of inlaid bronze sculptures reminiscent of the ocean and the artist's native Miami Beach dotted the mile-long concourse. Jack's gaze shifted from two-dimensional brain coral to driftwood to starfish, his thoughts churning.

"Are you mad at me for leaving too soon?" said Rene.

"No – well, yes," he said with a flat smile. "But it has nothing to do with that."

"Are you worried about Uncle Cy?"

"Uncle Cy?" he said, but then he clarified his own confusion. The old man hadn't been himself at all when they put him to bed early Sunday morning. "I'm sure he'll be fine. Like you say, the doctor just needs to adjust his blood pressure medication."

"Then it must be Theo."

Jack tried not to bite. "Why would I worry about Theo?"

"Well, duh. It sounded like someone was trying to extort money out of him for information about his poor mother's murder."

Rene knew about Isaac Reems – even if the cops hadn't shown up at Sparky's on Saturday night, the Sunday morning news coverage of the shooting was inescapable – but Jack still hadn't told her that the phone message they'd overheard at Theo's place had been from Isaac. And he certainly hadn't told her that Andie Henning wanted to meet with him and Theo.

Rene was a smart woman, however. Surely she suspected something.

"It wasn't technically extortion," said Jack. "Just someone who wants to be paid for his information. Kind of like checkbook journalism without the journalist."

Rene stopped and took Jack by the arm. They were dead-center in the rotunda, the crown jewel of Oka Doner's masterpiece. Jack almost felt guilty standing on it.

"Talk to me," she said. "What's going on?"

Jack took a breath and let it out. "I'm concerned that Theo might be getting mixed up with something he shouldn't."

"What kind of thing?"

"I don't know exactly" That wasn't a flat-out lie, but Jack didn't like the feel of it. He sensed that Rene didn't, either.

She said, "Who was that man who left: the message we overheard?"

"I – I can't tell you that."

"What?"

"It's attorney-client privilege."

Her look was incredulous. It was almost as bad as the expression he'd seen on Andie's face – right before they broke up.

Rene asked, "Why are you suddenly his lawyer?"

"Like I said, I'm worried about what he might be getting caught up in."

"Did Theo meet with that caller who left the message for him Sunday morning?"

That information was also privileged. But it didn't seem wrong to get a reaction to Theo's version of events from someone more objective than himself – particularly when she was about to board an airplane to the remote reaches of Africa.

"He says he didn't go," said Jack.

"Then why didn't he answer his cell when you called him?"

"I guess he didn't have it on."

"Which seems odd. You told him to go away for a while till the cops satisfied themselves that Isaac Reems wasn't coming back to Sparky's. You'd think he would have left his phone on."

"Maybe he just didn't hear it ring."

"You called him twice before I finally went upstairs to check on Uncle Cy, and you called him one more time as we were leaving his town house. Don't you remember? You were concerned about leaving Cy before Theo got home."

Jack was thinking like Theo's criminal defense lawyer, and Rene's recollection of his client's unreachability on the night of Isaac Reems's death was a little too vivid for his professional comfort. He checked the departure board overhead. Her flight was right on time. "You'd better get going," he said.