“Okay, how’s this for help? I got a gun to the black guy’s head. Just let me talk to Alicia, and you can have him alive. Just two words.”
Paulo paused, considering it. “Two words, and you give me Theo Knight.”
“That’s all I want.”
“All right,” said Paulo. “I’ll put her on.”
He hit the mute button and handed her the phone. “When I cut off the mute button, tell him you’re back on the line. But don’t tell him anything more. I’m cutting him off after two words.”
Jack said, “I don’t think he literally meant two words.”
“I don’t care,” said Paulo. “The deal was that he gets to say two words to Alicia and then he releases Theo Knight.”
“Yeah, but he also said that he has a gun to Theo’s head. If by ‘two words’ he meant a sentence or two, you could piss him off bad enough to make him pull the trigger.”
Paulo showed no reaction. He laid his index finger atop the mute button. “Two words,” he said, as if to close all debate. He counted aloud-one, two, three-and then pressed the button.
On cue, Alicia spoke into the phone. “Falcon, it’s me again.”
There was silence on the line.
Alicia waited, and then, on Paulo’s hand signal, she tried again. “Falcon, is there something you wanted to say to me?”
A muffled noise carried over the line. It was unmistakably human, so it was clear that Falcon had not hung up, but no words were discernible. It sounded like crying, perhaps from one of the hostages.
“Alicia?” said Falcon.
Paulo raised one finger, indicating that Falcon had just spent one of his two words.
“Yes?” she said.
The sound of her voice triggered a sob over the line, and the source of the crying was no longer in question. “I’m sorry,” said Falcon.
Paulo seemed confused by the words as much as the tone. He was slow to reach for the telephone, apparently not quite so intent on limiting Falcon to his two-word deal.
“Sorry for what?” said Alicia, but as the question left her lips, the crack of a single pistol shot exploded over the line.
“Theo!” shouted Jack, fearing the worst for his friend.
chapter 62
J ack practically flew out of the mobile command center and ran toward the Biscayne Motor Lodge at full speed. Alicia was right behind him, but with his adrenaline pumping, Jack was gaining separation with each stride.
Jack couldn’t count the number of times Falcon had threatened to shoot Theo, from the carjacking, which had started this whole crisis, to the final telephone conversation, which had ended with a gun blast. By closed-circuit TV transmission, he had watched Theo step into the open doorway with the injured girl in his arms. He’d caught glimpses of Falcon shielding himself behind Theo, pressing a gun to the back of his head. In any hostage crisis, the safest strategy for someone in Theo’s position was to keep quiet and melt into the background, but lying low and playing the wallflower was definitely not Theo’s style. It would have been impossible, Jack knew, for Theo to stand by and watch the abuse of other hostages, especially the girls. After four years on death row for a crime he hadn’t committed, Theo would never bet his life on law enforcement swooping in to save him. Theo was the kind of hostage who made negotiators nervous-strong, fearless, and determined to save himself and to save the others, even at the risk of pushing a crazed gunman over the edge.
Jack had no doubt that if Falcon’s bullet had found a hostage, it was Theo.
“Hold it right there!” a police officer shouted as he nearly tackled Jack. It took the strong arms of two motorcycle cops to keep Jack from breaking through the yellow crime-scene tape. He was at the street entrance to the motel’s parking lot, about thirty yards away from the open doorway to room 102.
“Did SWAT go in?” said Jack.
“They got it under control.”
“Then I need to get by you!”
“You need to wait here,” the cop said with attitude.
Alicia caught up. “He’s with me,” she said, breathless from the run.
“Sorry,” said the cop. “You can’t go either. No one goes past this line until I get the all-clear from SWAT.”
A member of the tactical team suddenly appeared in the open doorway. Jack believed it was Chavez, but he wasn’t sure. He lowered his M-16 rifle and gave a hand signal, which needed no interpretation, but Alicia offered one anyway.
“There’s your all-clear,” she said. “Come on, Jack.”
They ducked beneath the yellow tape and sprinted toward room 102. Two teams of emergency medical technicians had also been waiting for the signal, and even with their gear, they kept pace with Jack. As Jack neared the open door, he could hear other SWAT members inside as they tried to calm the hostages. He heard cathartic crying from the girls and hysterics from a man who sounded nothing like Theo.
Chavez allowed the EMTs to enter, but he stepped up to prevent Jack from entering the room. “Crime scene,” he said. “That’s as far as you go, Swyteck.”
Jack looked past him and saw the SWAT members and EMTs tending to the three other hostages. Then he saw Theo. He was lying on the floor, his face, neck, and shoulders covered with blood.
“Theo!”
Theo sat up, obviously disgusted. “Can somebody clean this shit off me?” he said. On the floor beside him was Falcon, his body in a heap. Beside him was the pistol that he had used to turn the right side of his head into red-and-gray splatter.
“He shot himself,” said Jack.
“Really?” said Theo. “Are you sure your name isn’t Jack Sherlock?”
“Are you hurt?” a paramedic asked Theo.
“No.”
Another team of EMTs hurried past Jack, and Chavez stepped aside to let them enter. They put the injured girl on a gurney and rushed her to the ambulance. The other team stayed behind and checked on the remaining hostages.
Jack turned as Sergeant Paulo came up behind him. Alicia said, “It looks like they’re all going to be okay, Vince.”
“All but Falcon,” said Chavez.
“Go figure,” said Jack. “A guy threatens to jump off a bridge, gets himself arrested, even kills a police officer and takes hostages. He finally gets what he wants and has the mayor’s daughter on the telephone, and what does he do? He falls apart, says he’s sorry, and can’t tell her any of the things he’s been dying to tell her.”
Vince said, “I think he said everything he wanted to say.”
“What do you mean?” said Alicia.
“If I’m to believe that old woman who passed along those files to you, Falcon gave you something that thousands of other Argentine families have never gotten.”
“What?”
“An apology.”
Alicia tried, but she couldn’t dodge the impact of Paulo’s words. Jack took notice.
“Hey,” said Theo. “You guys heard tonight’s forecast yet?”
“The forecast?” said Jack.
“Tell ’em, Wally,” said Theo.
One of the SWAT guys said, “Hey, ain’t you Walt the Weather Wizard? My wife watches you every night.”
The weatherman groaned, as if resigning to the fact that it was time to face the music. “Yes, yes. Walt the Weather Wizard was shacked up in a flea-bitten motel room with a couple of teenaged hookers. I’m guilty as charged, all right? You happy now?”
The SWAT guy checked out the Latina, then, as if the weatherman weren’t even there, he gave his teammate a little shrug and said, “Who knew? I thought he was gay.”
chapter 63
T heo wanted nothing to do with the media.
For two full days, one reporter after another tried to land an exclusive interview and brand him a hero. Theo turned them all away. In his mind, true heroes were never motivated by self-preservation. They ditched their own safety and thrust themselves into danger to save others. The actual words he used to convey those thoughts, however, were slightly less than quo
table: “Ain’t nothing heroic about lifting your own black ass out of a crack.”
In some ways, it took more courage for him to pick up the telephone and call Officer Mendoza.
The Mendoza family had also been hounded by the media, and Theo could only assume that Alicia had managed to avoid the frenzy by crawling into a bunker. Her father, of course, was all over the television and newspapers, praising “a job well done” by the City of Miami Police Department. Chief of Police Renfro was almost as much of a media hound. She and the mayor spoke most highly about Sergeant Chavez and “the brave men of SWAT.” They made little mention of Jack and the active role he had played in the negotiations. Even Sergeant Paulo was relegated to the I-also-wish-to-thank category. Jack and Paulo seemed okay with that. After the hour-by-hour intensity of a hostage crisis, a chance to relax and sleep was more than welcome, and a little time to step back and plan the next move was a good thing. At some point, however, it was time to stop planning. Theo was ready for action.
Alicia sounded somewhat surprised to hear from him, but she took his phone call nonetheless. She was pleasant enough in thanking Theo for doing all that he could to keep Falcon from harming the other hostages. Theo was never one for small talk, however, so he cut to the chase.
“I’m calling because there are things Falcon told me while I was stuck in that motel room with him. Things that I think you should know.”
She hesitated, as if not sure how to respond.
“Did you hear me?” said Theo.
“Yes, sorry. What kind of things are you talking about?”
“Personal stuff. Family matters.”
“Do you mean my family?”
“I don’t mean the Sopranos.”
“There’s no need to be sarcastic about it.”
“Sorry, but being a smart-ass is kind of like therapy. It’s about the only thing that separates me from the guys who tell the mayor’s daughter that they’re sorry and then blow their brains out.”
“I have no idea what you mean by that.”
“That makes two of us. But look, what I called to tell you is that Falcon talked plenty before he killed hisself. I haven’t gotten into the details with anyone yet. Not the police, not the newspapers, not even Jack.”
“Do you plan to share with them?”
“Right now, I ain’t got a plan. I think you and me need to talk about it first.”
“What could we possibly have to talk about?”
“For starters, a guy named Sikes.”
“Are you talking about the guy who deposited two hundred thousand dollars into Falcon’s safe deposit box in the Bahamas? Do you mean that Sikes?”
“Sort of. Dude used a phony name, you understand? So maybe you’d like to know who this Sikes really was.”
Again, she paused. “Falcon told you who Sikes was?”
“Yup.”
“Who was it?”
Theo laughed. “Not so fast. I had to work real hard to get that information out of Falcon. Real hard.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t work for nothing.”
“Are you asking me for money?” she said, suddenly indignant.
“Money? Nah. That wouldn’t be right.”
“Then what do you want?”
“Well, I hope I don’t sound too much like Falcon the crazy man,” he said with a light chuckle, “but I just want to meet with you.”
“Why?”
“Because this is too important to discuss over the telephone.”
“And if I refuse, then what?”
“Then you’ll never know who Sikes is.”
“You do want money, don’t you?”
“Like I was saying, this is way too important for you and me to handle over the telephone.”
There was silence, as if she were mulling things over. “All right. I think I’d like to talk with you, Theo.”
“Good. Let’s say eleven o’clock tonight at my bar. I own Sparky’s Tavern down on-”
“I know Sparky’s,” she said.
“Cool,” said Theo. “And if you decide to come, you’ll know Sikes.” He said a quick good-bye and ended the call with a touch of the speakerphone button. His use of the handheld receiver had made it impossible for Alicia to know that she was on speaker.
“Did I do good, boss?” asked Theo.
Jack was sitting across the table from him. “You were perfect,” he said. “Just perfect.”
chapter 64
J ack reached Sparky’s Tavern around ten forty-five p.m. Tuesday was not Jack’s regular night, as it was common knowledge that a visit to Sparky’s was best followed by at least a full weekend of detoxification. Tonight, however, he made an exception.
Theo was blowing on his old Buescher 400 saxophone and just finishing up a set when Jack entered the tavern. A few appreciative regulars stood to applaud Theo’s efforts, but most of the patrons kept right on drinking, talking, and laughing, as if Theo were little more than elevator Muzak. Sparky’s was not a true jazz club by any stretch, and on most nights, it was whatever the paying clientele wanted it to be. If the Latino band of bikers craved a little meringue with their cerveza, so be it. If the pretty redneck girls raced to the jukebox for yet another round of the electric slide, it wasn’t Theo’s place to stop them. Any bartender worthy of his honorary degree in pop psychology could see that Sparky’s struggled with a multiple-personality disorder Sunday through Thursday just so that Theo could pay the rent and do Charlie Parker proud on the weekends.
Theo stepped down from the stage to meet Jack at the bar. Jack had a beer, and Theo drank bourbon, which told Jack that he was done playing for the night. Theo never drank alcohol when he was performing, but he sure made up for it when he wasn’t. Time passed quickly, as it always did for Jack at Sparky’s. By eleven-fifteen p.m., it was pretty clear that Alicia would be a no-show.
By eleven-thirty p.m., it was equally clear that Jack’s plan was working perfectly.
“Well, look who’s here,” said Theo, pointing with a nod toward the door.
Jack swiveled his barstool to see a handsome Latino coming toward him. He was built like a football player, had the haircut of a marine, and bore the chilling expression of a racist cop who’d just spotted a busload of rap musicians doing eighty in a thirty-five-mile-per-hour zone. He walked up to the bar, ignored Jack, and spoke directly to Theo. “You Theo Knight?”
“Who wants to know?”
“My name’s Felipe.” He didn’t offer a handshake. “I work for Mayor Mendoza.”
Jack said, “Did the mayor send you?”
Felipe didn’t even acknowledge the question. “I need to talk to Theo.”
“He’s cool,” said Theo, speaking about Jack. “These days, I don’t talk to anyone without my lawyer at my side.”
Felipe wouldn’t even look at Jack, seemingly determined to keep the lawyer out of the picture. “The mayor just wants to talk to Theo.”
“What about?” said Jack.
Felipe’s gaze finally shifted toward Jack, but the look in his eyes made it clear that only big hunks of humanity named Theo were welcome. “The mayor said that Theo would know what it’s about.”
“Fine,” said Theo. “Let’s talk. Where is he?”
“On his boat.”
“That’s rough. Dixie Highway’s a bitch by boat.”
“He wants you to come to him, asshole.”
Theo glanced at Jack. “He must have been talking to you, counselor. Because the last guy who talked to me like that ended up swallowing his teeth.”
Jack raised his hands like a boxing referee. “Time out, guys. Can we take the testosterone level down just a wee bit here?”
Theo locked eyes with Felipe. Jack didn’t like the way the conversation was going, but he respected Theo’s street smarts. If the big guy took an immediate dislike to someone, it was usually for good reason. Jack said, “How do we get to the mayor’s boat?”
“There’s no we,” said Felipe. �
�It’s just Theo.”
“If he doesn’t go, I don’t go,” said Theo.
Had it been up to Felipe, Jack would have expected to hear something along the more profane lines of “Go take a flying leap.” But Felipe obviously had his orders, and returning without Theo was not an option. “Fine,” said Felipe. “The both of you can come.”
“I need five minutes,” said Theo. “Let me close out the cash register.”
“I’ll meet you in the parking lot,” said Felipe. He turned and headed toward the door.
Theo removed the cash drawer from the register and went to the back room. Jack followed him. An elderly woman was seated at Theo’s desk. She looked up hopefully, then reacted quickly to the expression on Jack’s face. It was as if she’d seen that same look of disappointment too many times before.
“I told you she wouldn’t come,” she said.
“It has nothing to do with you,” said Jack. “She just doesn’t want to get involved in the whole Bahamian bank-account mess. Alicia didn’t even know you were going to be here waiting for her.”
“So, if I invite her myself, do you think she will agree to see me?”
Jack and Theo exchanged glances, neither of them sure how to answer that question. “I think we’ll know more after we talk to the mayor,” said Jack.
chapter 65
I t was after midnight before Jack and Theo reached the Coconut Grove Marina. A gentle breeze blew in from the bay, and Jack’s ears tingled from the steady ping of halyards slapping against the tall, barren masts of countless sailboats. Motorboats and yachts of every size and description slept silently in their slips, though a few figurative snorers gurgled from their bilge pumps. Somewhere in the distance, a diesel engine rumbled toward home, and the lonely sound in the darkness only added to the moonlit marina’s eerie aura. Felipe spoke not a word as he escorted Jack and Theo to the end of the long, floating pier, where they boarded a forty-six-foot Hatteras Convertible.
For a career politician, Mayor Mendoza did not lack for the finer things in life. His house, though not a mansion, was loaded with Old Spanish character; his yacht, though more than two decades old, was still a floating lap of luxury. It was technically a fishing boat, but the mayor had rigged the salon for entertainment, complete with club chairs, a wet bar, handcrafted teak cabinetry, and even a flat-screen television. The mayor invited his guests to take a seat at the old wooden wheel of a ship that had been turned into a round, glass-top table-floating proof that money doesn’t buy taste. Felipe stepped aside, removing himself from the main circle of conversation, but he remained in the salon.
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