Last Call

by James Grippando

  Gilford started to explain, but he was suddenly afraid. He didn't want to come across as stupid and careless. "I think the FBI helped them."

  "That's great, Lance. Just great. What the hell were you thinking when you put that thing out on the market?"

  "I lost my ass on that gambling website. I'm sorry, but some of the folks I borrow money from don't fully grasp the legal niceties of a nonrecourse loan. So the movie is out there. Knight and his lawyer know I was the cameraman, and even worse, they've tied it to the PAD house in Miami."

  There was stone silence on the line.

  Gilford said, "You still there?"

  "My face is in that movie," he said in a slow, deep voice.

  "I understand that."

  "I was angry that you left: me in there, but I didn't freak. So long as the film wasn't linked to Miami, I figured there was little to no chance that anyone would recognize me thirty-something years after the fact."

  "That was my thinking, too."

  "But you thought wrong. So now I'm angry. Really angry."

  Few things were more chilling than the flat, even voice of someone who was really angry. The room suddenly felt hotter. Gilford was starting to sweat. "I – I don't know how many ways to apologize. But we have to stay together on this, right? We need to stay focused. And the question is, Now what?"

  "I'll deal with it."

  "How?"

  "My way," he said, and the line clicked in Gilford's ear.

  Chapter 42

  It was a big night for Theo's future, and he was trying hard not to let the past spoil his dream of a true jazz bar in Coconut Grove.

  Theo had negotiated the business terms of the five-year lease on his own, but he was smart enough to enlist the services of a lawyer, especially since Jack came free of charge. The final lease agreement was in hand and ready for signature in the morning. Theo and his uncle met Jack at the property around 9:00 p.m. for one final walk-through inspection.

  Jack looked a little frazzled. He had a trial starting in the morning, and somehow fifteen years of courtroom experience and umpteen successful jury verdicts didn't eliminate the night-before jitters. The mega-cup of coffee probably wasn't helping.

  Theo pried the extra-large double latte from Jack's hands and placed it on the bar. "If my well was stocked, I'd give you a drink," he said.

  "Do I seem nervous?" said Jack.

  "As a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rockers," said Uncle Cy.

  Theo and Jack started in the kitchen, and Cy stayed behind in the bar area. The landlord had the propane line reconnected, so this was their first check on the stove and grill, the only major appliance included in the lease. One of the burners didn't light. The room started to smell like gas. Theo pulled a matchbook from his pocket.

  "Don't!" Jack shouted.

  "I was kidding, okay? You're way too uptight. What's going on, man?

  Jack looked around like a junkie, as if in need of another hit of caffeine. "I need your opinion on something"

  "Shoot."

  "What do you honestly think of Andie?" said Jack.

  Theo looked up from the stove. "Why do you ask?"

  "Can you turn that unlit burner off before this place explodes?"

  "Relax. It's not like the deal is sealed and we assumed the risk of loss yet."

  Jack narrowed his eyes with curiosity. "How does a guy with a rapper's vocabulary spit out legal terms like Clarence Darrow?"

  "Prison library. But don't change the subject. What's up with you and Andie?"

  Jack offered a schoolboy's shrug. "I'm thinking about, you know, maybe giving her a call."

  "You mean for a date?"

  "Well… yeah."

  "Let me get this straight. You're gonna pick up the telephone and ask Andie Henning out on a date?"

  "Why is that so incredible?"

  Theo said nothing.

  "Theo?"

  "Sorry, dude. My mind just flashed with the image of pigs flying over a frozen hell."

  "Very funny."

  "What about Rene?"

  "I haven't heard boo from her since she went back to Africa."

  Theo tried the faulty burner again. This time it lit right up. He waved his hand, as if it were a sign. "Call her."

  "You don't think Andie and I are more like putting a match to a gas leak?"

  "Definitely. But what a way to go, huh?"

  They finished the kitchen in twenty minutes, and Jack's punch list in progress had only a few small items on it – low water pressure on one of the sinks, some cracks in the tile floor. At that point, Theo hit him with the lease addendum that the landlord had faxed over that afternoon. Jack remained in the kitchen to read it, where the lighting was better. Theo and his uncle handled the bar inspection.

  "Tell me somethin'," said Cy.

  Theo was on his belly with a flashlight, checking out the beer tap connections. His car keys and cell phone were digging into his groin like a well-aimed jousting lance, so he emptied his pockets and placed them on the shelf. "What?" said Theo, groaning.

  "What is it you're trying to find out?" his uncle said.

  Theo knew the old man wasn't talking about the inspection, but he played dumb. "What do you mean?"

  "What were you runnin' over to South Beach for, talkin' to a guy like Mel Booker?"

  He climbed from under the bar and looked at his uncle. "How'd you know I was talking to Mel today?"

  "Trina told me."

  Theo couldn't really be angry. He hadn't told her not to tell Uncle Cy. "Just following leads, that's all"

  "Is it all about finding the guy who shot you from that red car? Or who killed your momma?"

  "Both."

  "See, that's the problem."

  "Why?"

  "Bad enough someone's trying to kill you. Don't understand why you gotta go looking for a way to kill yourself."

  "I'm not gonna get myself killed."

  "I didn't say get killed. I said kill yourself."

  "You aren't seriously afraid I might commit suicide, are you?"

  "No, no. That ain't it." He struggled for the right words. "What I'm saying is this. Right now you got your detective hat on, sniffing around like a bloodhound for clues, following this lead and that lead wherever it takes you. I'm telling you to stop for a minute. Stop and think."

  "About what?"

  "If you want to go looking into who killed your momma, that's your business. But you better prepare yourself to live with whatever you find out."

  "Some frat boy filmed her getting raped, and she ended up a drug-addicted hooker who got her throat slit. How much worse can it get?"

  "That's a really good question, Theo. All I'm saying is there's gonna be more to the story."

  "You know something I should know?"

  Cy didn't answer right away. Theo wasn't sure what to make of the silence. "This ain't no time to be keepin' secrets, old man."

  "I just knew your momma better than anyone else did. So I can say this without no doubts in my mind: this ain't a story with a happy ending."

  "I appreciate that."

  He took a step closer, his expression very serious. "I don't think you do. Not entirely. And that's what really worries me."

  Theo looked at him carefully, trying to discern his full meaning. His uncle looked right back at him, as if trying to convey something without words. Had Trina been there, she would have kicked both of them in the ass and screamed, "Just spit it out!" But she wasn't there, which left too few X chromosomes in the room for a meaningful conversation.

  The old man walked away from the bar and went back to the kitchen to wrangle up a ride home.

  JACK GAVE UNCLE CY A LIFT, and Theo stayed behind. There was more work to do on site, but the old man was tired and Jack still had to outline his opening statement for tomorrow's trial. They were sitting at a red light three blocks away when Cy realized his mistake.

  "I don't have my house key."

  "You sure?" said Jack.

  "I didn't
bring one. I rode over with Theo."

  "Maybe I can get him to meet us at the town house."

  Jack tried Theo on his cell, but there was no answer. "Probably having phone sex with Trina," he said, as he pulled a U-turn and headed back to the bar.

  Cy tried peering through the windows as they cruised past the entrance, but the lights were out, and it was too dark to see inside. "Did he leave already?" said Cy.

  Jack drove around to the alley. Theo's car was still parked next to the Dumpster.

  "Maybe he's locking up," said Cy.

  "Maybe," said Jack, but he didn't like the vibe he was getting. He flipped open his cell and speed-dialed Theo.

  THEO'S CELL RANG FROM across the room, piercing the darkness. The phone was sitting on top of the bar – right where he'd left it, beside his car keys. Theo was crouched down low behind the U-shaped bar, and the phone was on the opposite leg of the U.

  Theo didn't make a sound, didn't dare move from his hiding spot.

  After Jack and Uncle Cy had gone home, the first noise Theo had heard was something that sounded like the delivery door opening. "Jack?" he'd called out, but he got no reply. Then he heard a series of quick clicks from the kitchen – the breakers – and circuit by circuit, the lights went out. Instinctively, he dove for cover.

  His cell stopped ringing. Theo listened, his ears and inner radar on high alert. He wondered if someone was toying with him, just trying to scare him. Or had someone finally come to finish the drive-by-shooting job they'd botched in Overtown?

  He needed to get to his phone. Slowly carefully he started crawling on hands and knees, moving along the outside of the bar.

  His cell started ringing again – the second time in the past three minutes. Theo kept moving, knowing that the call would roll over to voice mail after six rings. But on the fourth ring, another sound sailed directly over his head – a piercing but muffled sound of a speeding projectile that silenced his phone and shattered it into pieces that flew across the room. Theo froze. His worst fears were realized.

  Someone was toying with him

  And they had come to finish the job.

  "HELLO?" JACK SAID into his cell.

  It struck him as odd that Theo s phone had cut off after four rings. One ring and then to voice mail meant that Theo's cell wasn't turned on. Six rings meant that the phone was on but Theo wasn't answering.

  But four rings and no answer? Weird.

  "Stay here," he told Cy. He climbed out of his car and stepped into the alley.

  Part of him wanted to dial 911, but it seemed silly to call the cops because a six-foot-five ex-con didn't answer his cell after four rings. Each tentative step down the dimly lit alley, however, made the idea seem less silly.

  Jack peeked inside Theo's parked car and tried the door handle. Empty and locked. He continued past the Dumpster, and a sudden movement sent his heart into his throat. A cat jumped down from a stack of crushed cardboard boxes. He gave his pulse a moment to return to mere triple digits – or so it felt – and then he tried the back door. He expected it to be locked, but it wasn't. It creaked open.

  "Theo?" he said, calling inside.

  There was no answer.

  Jack reached around the door frame, found the light switch in the darkness, and flipped it to the on position.

  Nothing.

  Before Jack could even begin to process what it meant, he heard the quick footsteps, caught a glimpse of the blur in the blackness coming toward him, and absorbed the full impact of what hit him like a charging bull. Jack's feet left: the floor, the air fled his lungs, and he landed flat on his back in the open doorway. His arms flailed uselessly in a defensive reflex as the man who'd bowled him over stepped on his chest on the way out.

  "He's got a gun!" Theo shouted.

  Still disoriented, Jack struggled to roll for cover. Theo grabbed his arm and dragged him behind the open door. Jack tried to keep an eye on his attacker, but in the darkness the man was nothing more than a silhouette racing away from him, down the alley.

  Then he heard an engine fire and tires squealing into the night.

  "He took your car!" Theo shouted.

  Jack's head was pounding, but suddenly he was thinking clearly again. "Your uncle came back with me. He's got Cy!"

  Jack's cell rang. The caller ID said it was from Uncle Cy.

  "Are you hurt?" said Jack.

  "Don't call the cops," said Cy, his voice quaking. "And don't report your car stolen. He says he'll kill me if you do."

  Jack could hear the fear in the old man's voice, and he wanted to say something reassuring. But the call disconnected, and Uncle Cy was gone.

  Chapter 43

  Theo didn't even stop to think. He knew what to do. He got in his car and drove.

  Jack had wanted to call Andie. Theo said no. Jack wanted to call the police. Theo said hell no. Jack explained that the cops could run a ballistics test on the bullet that took out Theo's cell, which could be a link to the shooter's identity. Jack asked him to wait. Theo said, "Are you out of your fucking mind?" and bolted out the door.

  Jack knew better than to try and follow him.

  It was after 10:00 P.M., and Theo figured Lance Gilford would be home. A quick call to directory assistance gave him the address. He parked on the street, walked up the front steps, and pounded on the door.

  There was no answer, but Gilford's car was in the driveway, the lights were on inside the house, and Theo could hear the late-night news on television. This time, he beat the door with both fists.

  Theo heard footsteps in the foyer, and Gilford announced in a grumpy voice that he was coming. Theo could hardly wait. The deadbolt turned and the door opened as far as the taut brass security chain would allow.

  "Who is-" Gilford started to say, but Theo didn't give him a moment to reconsider. With every bit of force he could muster, Theo laid his shoulder into the door. It practically exploded on impact, the chain ripping off a chunk of the wood frame as the door flew open. Gilford was knocked backward and fell to the ground. Theo slammed the door shut, grabbed Gilford with two hands, picked him up off the floor like a rag doll, and shoved him hard against the wall.

  "Where's my uncle?" he said, seething.

  Gilford's eyes were wide with fright. "Who's your uncle?"

  "Cyrus Knight."

  "I don't know any Cyrus. Honest."

  Theo squeezed him by the throat. "Who are you protecting?"

  He gasped for air. "No… body."

  At that moment, Theo realized that he hadn't come just to find Uncle Cy He felt himself roiling with the rape of his mother. However far she'd nosedived in life, it had all happened after that rape at the frat house. Portia Knight was a mere teenager in that movie. She was not yet any of the things Theo would later come to hate about her. Not many strippers became nuns, to be sure. But a stripper wasn't necessarily a drug addict, a prostitute, or a horrible mother. Something made her that way. And Lance Gilford was part of that "something."

  Theo got right in his face, eye-to-eye. "Portia Knight was my mother. You know who raped her. And whoever it was, he now has my uncle."

  "Can't…breathe."

  "Who was it?" Theo relaxed his grip, allowing him to speak.

  Gilford coughed as he sucked in precious air.

  Theo said, "Who was it?"

  "Nobody… nobody got raped," said Gilford.

  Somewhere in his heart Theo thanked God he didn't have a weapon, but he couldn't ignore the urgency of the situation – not with Cy in danger.

  "Where's your garage?" said Theo.

  Gilford seemed confused.

  "Where is it?" Theo shouted.

  "Side door, through the kitchen."

  Theo twisted Gilford's arm up behind his back, muscled him into the kitchen and pushed through the door. It was a one-car garage with no vehicle inside. Theo shoved him to the concrete floor, took a long orange extension cord from a hook on the wall, and hog-tied Gilford's wrists and ankles. Then he grabbed his gray ponyt
ail, jerking his head back.

  "I'm givin' you one more chance," said Theo. "Who are you protectin'?"

  "No one. I'm not lying to you."

  Theo wanted to hurt him so badly he couldn't stand it. "Where's your tools?"

  Gilford let out a pathetic whimper. "What are you going to do?"

  "Fix your car," said Theo, and then he yanked so hard on the ponytail that it stretched the wrinkles out of Gilford's face. "What do you think I'm gonna do? Where's your tools?"

  "Over there," said Gilford, "by the workbench."

  Theo found a stand-up tool chest and searched quickly through a dozen drawers, not sure what he was looking for, his mind racing with thoughts of creative interrogation. He had a couple of possibilities when he looked up and noticed the power tools mounted on the pegboard. He chose the power drill, plugged it in, and pulled the trigger.

  Gilford winced at the mere sound of it.

  "Come on, man," said Gilford. "You don't want to do this."

  "Where's your bits?"

  "Please. Don't hurt me."

  "I said where's your damn drill bits?"

  "Tool drawer by the light switch. But-"

  "Shut up!

  The bits were organized by size in a plastic case. Theo took the skinniest one, one-sixty-fourth of an inch, and fixed it into position. He took his time walking back to Gilford, giving him time to think it over. Then he untied one of Gilford's hands, stretched out his arm in front of him, and pressed his hand flat on the floor, palm down. Theo stepped on his wrist to keep it in position, and he placed the tip of the bit on the back of Gilford's hand. It was enough for him to feel it, but it didn't break the skin.

  "So you like to film women getting raped, huh?"

  "No."

  "Does that get you off?"

  "It's not what you think."

  "How many other rape victims have you plastered on the Internet?"

  "Just her. I mean none – not even her." Gilford swallowed hard. "Please, man. Don't do this."

  "If my mother had said that, would you have stopped filming?

  "That was thirty-five years ago. You want to hear me say I'm sorry? Okay, I'm sorry. Really, I'm very, very sorry."