Lassiter

face mask will take divots out of your flesh.

“Long time ago. Birthday party my teammates threw for me,” I said. “Where’d you get the picture?”

She ignored my question and shot back her own. “Do you know the girls?”

One of them, a big-boned blonde, had her arms locked around my neck, her enhanced breasts squashed against my chest. The other one was younger. Slender. Auburn hair. Girl-next-door looks. She was kissing my cheek.

“The one with coconut boobs was a stripper. Sonia Something-or-other. She hung around with one of my teammates. I don’t know the younger one’s name.”

“Krista.”

I flipped the photo over. On the back, someone had scrawled, “The Whore of Babylon.”

“Okay. The girl’s name is Krista. We’re in a picture together. So what?”

She gave me a look hard enough to leave bruises. “She was my sister.”

“Was?”

“She’s gone.”

“Gone meaning dead?”

“Disappeared and presumed dead.”

Except for the two of us, the courtroom was empty now and silent as a mausoleum.

“I’m sorry. I’m very sorry to hear that.” She studied me through hard, cold eyes. “But what’s all this have to do with me?”

“I think you know, Mr. Lassiter.”

“No, I don’t. So why not stop dancing around and just tell me?”

“You seem agitated, Mr. Lassiter. Why is that?”

“Because you’re playing me and you’re not very good at it. Where’d you learn your interrogation technique, Law amp; Order?”

“Why would I need to interrogate you? Have you committed a crime?”

I stood up. “Cut the crap. If you’re not going to tell me what’s going on-”

“It’s quite simple, Mr. Lassiter.” Her eyes locked on mine, daring me to leave. “You’re the last person who saw Krista alive.”

2 Jake the Fixer

I long-legged it down the corridor, Amy Larkin in pursuit. The Justice Building was emptying now, just a few straggling girlfriends and wives of defendants who show up at hearings, some blowing kisses, others hurling insults about unpaid child support and broken promises.

“So you’re not going to talk to me, is that it?” Amy raised her voice to my back.

“I don’t know anything about your sister’s disappearance. Got nothing more to say.”

“What happened that night? You can tell me that.”

“It was my birthday party. There were some girls. There always were.”

“That’s it?”

I stepped onto the down escalator, Amy right behind.

“It was a long time ago. I don’t remember one night from another, one girl from another, okay?”

I hopped off the escalator and turned the corner, coming alongside Joseph Gillespie, proprietor of Let’em Go Joe Bail Bonds. He tipped his Florida Marlins cap and let me pass, so I could hit the next escalator in full stride. Amy Larkin was a step behind. Three more floors, then the lobby, then the parking lot. She was going to be on my tail for a while.

“So you’re not interested in clearing your name?” she called after me.

“I don’t know what happened to your sister. Hell, I don’t even remember her.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care!”

“Was she just another easy fuck for you?”

“Jesus!”

Three steps ahead, on the escalator, a young female probation officer turned around and glared at me.

“Did you hurt her?” Amy demanded.

I kept quiet.

“Did you kill her?”

Most people would say, “Hell, no!” But having spent fifteen years asking questions under oath and having read thousands of transcripts, I knew the questions wouldn’t end with my simple denial.

Who else was there?

What happened in the strip club that night?

Did you ever see my sister again?

It would be endless, and there would be questions I wouldn’t want to answer. Not truthfully, anyway. It was all so long ago. That guy in the picture. It was me, but a different me. Today, I would behave differently. I would be a better man. Or would I?

“Did you know how old Krista was?” Amy pressed me.

Again, I forced myself to keep quiet. It’s the same advice I give my clients. Even the innocent ones? Yeah. Because no one is a hundred percent innocent. I wasn’t. Not that night.

Amy was still jabbering when we hit the deserted ground floor. The lobby lawyers, guys who scrounge for clients near the elevator bank, had given up for the day.

She grabbed me by the sleeve of my suit coat. “If you had a shred of decency, you’d tell me everything you know.” Her voice tight, her pain palpable.

She had that right. A shred of decency was about my ration.

“Walk with me,” I said, figuring she wouldn’t let up. “But stop pecking at me.”

We exited the building on the 12th Street side and crossed into the parking lot. My old Biarritz Eldo was resting under a skinny palm tree at the far end of the lot, by the Miami River. A rust bucket freighter, its top deck covered with used bicycles, was steaming east, toward the ocean, and a distant port in the islands.

“I’m truly sorry about your sister,” I said. “And for your pain.”

She waited. I wasn’t about to tell her everything I knew. But, ignoring my own counsel, I planned to tell her enough to get her off my ass.

“I do remember her.” Hell, yes, I thought. Krista would be hard to forget.

Still, Amy waited.

I took a deep breath. I looked Amy Larkin in the eyes. Then I told her the story.

It had been Rusty’s idea. Throw his pal a birthday party at Bozo’s, a strip club on LeJeune Road near the airport. Not that I objected. I was a free agent, one year out of Penn State, busting my ass to hang on to the Dolphins’ roster. Rusty MacLean was a flashy wide receiver with deceptive speed, best known for slanting hard across the middle, his long red hair flapping out of his helmet like flames trailing an engine. He was a bad boy and, of course, women loved him.

Rusty knew the guy who owned Bozo’s. Hell, he knew all the guys who owned strip clubs, massage parlors, and peep shows. Rusty paid for the booze and half a dozen strippers. Lap dances included. Anything in the Champagne Room in back was between the stripper and the partygoer. Tips not included.

Rusty had been seeing Sonia What’s-her-name for a couple months. He called her his favorite, but that’s like Tiger Woods calling a seven-iron his favorite club or his wife his favorite woman. There were plenty more in the bag, when the need arose.

On that night long ago, I remember Rusty swooping down on the table where I sat with Sonia and the new girl. Sonia was all plastic boobs and hair extensions. The kid, Krista, had a sprinkling of freckles and a wide,