James Grippando - Hear No Evil

“Jack, I want you to meet someone,” said Harry.

Jack turned to see his father standing beside a distinguished Latin gentleman, his silver and black hair slicked straight back, almost as if he’d just emerged from the swimming pool. Harry’s arm was draped around the man’s shoulder affectionately. “Jack, this is Hector Torres. He’s south Florida ’s new-”

“ U.S. attorney. I know, Dad. I’m a criminal defense lawyer, remember?”

“Don’t be so hard on the old man,” said Torres, smiling. “I was the one who asked to be introduced. We’ve never formally met, Jack, but I feel like I know you, I’ve heard so much about you.”

“You mean from my days as a prosecutor?” asked Jack.

“More from your old man. He and I go way back. I remember his thirtieth birthday party.”

“Boy, that’s some memory.”

“Hey, watch that, son.”

They shared a laugh, then Torres turned more serious. “I don’t think your father ever ran for office without my backing. Can you think of anything, Harry?”

“Nope. You were always there.”

“That’s true. I was always there for you.” He paused, as if to let the reminder hang in the air for a moment. Then he looked at Jack and said, “In all seriousness, your reputation is still sound at the office. I understand you’re quite an exceptional lawyer.”

“Depends on who you talk to,” said Jack.

“Actually, I’ve been talking to a lot of people recently. Matter of fact, just a couple of hours ago I was speaking with Alejandro Pintado about you.”

It was an awkward moment, such a festive atmosphere and yet such a stoic expression on the face of one of Harry’s oldest friends.

Harry grimaced. “Ah, poor Alejandro. I read about his son, and I’ve been meaning to drop him a note. Terrible thing.”

“Yes,” said Torres, but he was looking straight at Jack. “A terrible, terrible thing.”

“How’s he handling it?” asked Harry.

“About as well as can be expected.” Again he looked at Jack, then added, “Of course, he has his setbacks every now and then.”

“Well, give him my best,” said Harry.

“I will. Actually, I left him in pretty good spirits. I can’t get into details-grand jury secrecy and all-but I think we’re pretty close to an indictment. With the victim’s family in south Florida, the case has been assigned to the Miami office.”

“I was wondering about that,” said Jack.

“Yes. Alejandro asked me to handle the case personally. It’s sort of unusual for the U.S. attorney to actually try a case. But Alejandro’s a good friend. I told him I would.”

“That’s nice of you,” said Jack.

“Least I can do,” said Torres.

Outside the house on the back patio, on the other side of the opened California doors, the band suddenly stopped playing. The lead singer grabbed the microphone and announced, “We’re about ready for cake. Could the birthday boy start making his way toward the stage, please?”

“I guess that’s our cue,” said Harry. “Great to see you again, Hector. Thanks for coming.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it.”

Jack said, “And thanks again for the nice words.”

Harry started away, and Jack was about to follow when Torres grabbed him by the sleeve and stopped him. He spoke slightly above a whisper, softly enough so that no one but Jack could hear him amid the party noises. “I hate to have to say this at your father’s birthday, but it needs to be said. Stay the hell out of the Pintado case.”

“Is that coming from you or Alejandro?”

“Both. And if need be, I’ll make sure you hear it from your father, too.”

Jack chuckled lightly. “You really think that’s going to stop me?”

“Only if you’re as smart as he says you are.”

“You’re out of line, Mr. Torres.”

“And you’re out of your league, Mr. Swyteck.”

Jack met his stare, finding not so much as a trace of a smile on the prosecutor’s face. “We’ll see about that.”

Jack turned and worked his way through the crowd, passing one smiling well-wisher after another as he headed toward his father on stage. He wondered if Torres knew something-if somehow he’d discovered Jack’s personal stake in defending Lindsey Hart. Or was he just protecting his old friend Pintado, playing the typical prosecutor’s mind game, trying to screw with the mind of the opposition? It wasn’t clear.

His stepmother hugged him as he reached the stage. Jack hugged her back, but he turned her body just so, allowing himself one last glimpse of Hector Torres amid a jubilant crowd.

The man still wasn’t smiling.

Jack met Lindsey for breakfast at Deli Lane, a popular sidewalk café in South Miami. The street and sidewalk were paved with Chicago brick, and a tidy row of young oaks, each of identical height and limb span, planted at regular-spaced intervals, lent a Disney-like precision to the thoroughfare. The humidity had driven most customers inside, but they chose an outdoor table beneath the shade of a broad umbrella. Every few minutes, an exercise enthusiast jogged or walked past them, while a hungry stray terrier sniffed around for fallen scraps of bacon or French toast. Jack couldn’t help overhearing the cosmetically enhanced supermoms at the next table, one of whom wanted to sue her plastic surgeon for making her a full cup size larger than she’d requested, and she was just, like, so totally pissed, darling, because her husband had blown her entire malpractice claim by sending the doc a two-page thank-you letter and a bottle of Dom.

The women finally finished off their three hundred calories for the day, divided the bill down to the last penny, and sped away in their respective gas-guzzling SUVs, leaving Jack and Lindsey in sufficient isolation to talk privately. Over coffee, Jack laid his concerns on the table.

“Everyone tells me you’re guilty.”

“I told you they would,” said Lindsey. “It’s because they don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“Oscar’s father got pretty specific.”

“Pardon my language, but Oscar’s father is an asshole.”

“I don’t know enough about him to debate you on that point. But he does know some influential people. And he doesn’t want me representing you.”

“Of course not. He never fights fair.”

“He did lose his son, which can skew your perception of fairness. I’m not saying he’s in the right, but he does seem genuinely concerned about his grandson.”

Her voice shook as she said, “He’s evil, Jack. I don’t think Alejandro has come right out and told him that I did it, but it seems like every time he sees Brian, I end up having to explain to my own child why so many people are saying that I killed his father.”

Jack drew a breath, reminding himself that every homicide was really about the innocent victims. And there was always more than one victim. “How is Brian doing?”

“Brian is a great kid. He’s like his dad. He’ll be fine.”

For a split second, Jack thought she was paying him a compliment, but then he realized that she’d meant Oscar. Or had she?

“Has to be tough on him,” said Jack.

“More than you know. Not only did he lose his dad, but then Guantánamo gave us the boot. Bad for morale to have a homicidal wife on the base, you know. So Brian doesn’t even have any friends to lean on.”

“Have you found a place to live yet?”

“Yeah. I got a month-to-month rental in Kendall. Brian will be starting middle school next week. We even went to Disney World a couple days ago. Thought that might help take his mind off things.”

“How did he like it?”

“He loved it. I survived it. Don’t take this the wrong way, but in certain respects I think that’s the one place on earth that’s actually better if you’re deaf.”