“Someday I’ll give you the stand-up comedy routine I’m working on,” I said.
They both laughed.
I got my bike and drove to the Y on Main. I did my usual workout using all the machines and the steps. I had a good sweat going, finished in forty-five minutes, took a shower, and pedaled back.
Dave and his kids were at a DQ table. I said hi, parked my bike, and went up to my office. No calls. No papers to serve.
I went to pull down my window shade. I could see the dance studio across the street. Through the large floor-to-ceiling windows of the studio, I could see a man all alone, arms held as if he were dancing with an invisible woman. The mans eyes were closed. He had a smile on his face.
I watched Digger dance for a few minutes and then pulled down the shade.
All I had to do now was memorize my jokes. I went to bed instead.
The barbecue at Flo’s started at eleven and went on till about seven. Ames, who had come unarmed, spent most of the time listening politely to whomever wanted to make small talk with him, but he devoted his really serious time on the screened deck at the back of the house listening to Adele and holding Catherine.
Flo kept the volume on the stereo system down, but not so low that we wouldn’t know we were being serenaded by a never-repeating concert of bluegrass, cowboy, country-and-western, and mountain music.
“That’s the soundtrack of O Brother, Where Art Thou?” Flo told me at one point. “You’d like the movie, Lewis.”
Flo saw to it that everyone kept eating.
“No beer. No wine,” she had announced to each guest as they arrived. “I’m driving now and I’m taking no chances. I should be facing the devil, but every time I’ve done that in the past, the bastard won.”
Sally’s Susan ate the most, helped Flo with the grilling, and waved at her mother, who stayed close to me, saying things from time to time like, “Hang in there, Lewis. You can be happy for a few more hours.”
Michael, with a huge platter of ribs, coleslaw, and potato salad and an oversize glass of Coke, had settled himself, with his mother’s permission, in front of the television in what used to be Flo’s husband, Gus’s, office. He spent most of the day watching movies and reporting the score of the Cubs doubleheader with San Diego. The Cubs split. Sammy hit one home run.
Everyone looked happy. Everyone thanked Adele and Flo and said nice things about Catherine.
“I’ll help with the cleanup,” Sally said.
“I’ve already got a volunteer,” Flo said, looking at Ames. “I’ll drive him home later.”
“Call me, Lew,” Sally said in the driveway, touching my cheek.
“I will,” I said.
And I did.
Epilogue
Janice and Kenneth Severtson got a good lawyer, but not good enough. I had a lawyer, Tycinker himself, who cut a deal with the Orlando prosecutor. I testified. I walked with no charges. The Severtsons made a deal and pleaded to conspiracy to commit murder. Kenneth Jr. and Sydney went to Charleston with Janice’s sister.
With Trasker dead and my statement, Viviase didn’t go after Hoffmann. When enough newspapers and mail had piled up at Hoffmann’s gate, a neighbor called the police. They came. Hoffmann couldn’t be found, nothing seemed to be missing except for the baseball collection.
No one in Sarasota has seen or heard from Kevin Hoffmann, wherever or whoever he might be now.
Three months later there was a hotly contested special election to fill the place of the deceased William Trasker on the commission. One of the biggest voter turnouts in Sarasota history. A Hispanic named Gomez who owned a big auto-repair business was elected. There was talk of another vote on Midnight Pass.
I did my stand-up act for Ann Horowitz on a Wednesday morning.
“You’re funny,” she said.
“I’m not trying to be.”
“That is precisely why you are. Comedy, like life much of the time, depends on timing and delivery. In your case, you are afflicted with Cassandra’s curse, doomed to say funny things, which you do not find funny. We’ll work on that.”
Later that morning, after I had discussed it with Ann, I called Sally and told her I’d be Darrell Caton’s Big Brother.
Life went on.
