The Deep Blue Alibi

'Pretty tough?' Steve broke his vow of silence. 'Tell that story in court, better bring your toothbrush, because you're taking a long vacation.'

'What are you saying?' Griffin asked. 'You don't believe me, or a jury won't?'

'I believe you can't see the truth because you're blinded by love for your son.'

'That again?'

'Ste-phen, don't.' Victoria's warning tone.

Steve gave them his victory smile. 'Don't you get it? You solved the case. Junior's the other bidder. He gave Stubbs forty thousand as a down payment but didn't trust him. The day you're coming to see us, Junior dives off the boat then comes back on board and hides below. When he hears Stubbs accept your offer and turn him down, he waits till you go back up to the bridge. Then he comes out and kills Stubbs.'

'That's ridiculous.' Griffin laughed but there was no joy behind the sound.

'There is one more possibility.'

'There damn well better be.'

'None of this is news to you. You come down the ladder and find Junior standing over the bloody Mr. Stubbs. Sure, you're angry. Your son just offed the one guy you need to build Oceania. But he's still your son and you love him more than a floating casino. So you put Junior ashore, fake the hit on the head, run the boat onto the beach, and hope your lawyers can get you off. And why shouldn't they? You're an innocent man.'

Steve sat back, triumphant. He felt like lighting up a cigar, except he didn't smoke. But he savored this moment, distracted only by the discomfort caused by the cedar slats of the lawn chair sticking to his bare butt.

Griffin leaned forward, his neck seeming to lengthen, like a tortoise extending from its shell. 'How you gonna represent me if you don't believe me?'

'I represent liars all the time. I just like knowing the truth.'

'Uncle Grif, Steve's been under a lot of strain. He suffered a concussion.'

'Don't make excuses for me, Vic,' Steve commanded.

'This is just the way Steve's mind works,' she continued, ignoring him. 'He comes up with different scenarios. Maybe Junior killed Stubbs. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe you were there. They're just guesses and theories.'

'Dammit, Vic.' Steve didn't want her help. 'I know what I'm doing.'

'Then do it somewhere else,' Griffin barked.

'Meaning what?'

'Meaning you're fired.'

'You might want to think that over,' Steve said. 'Trial's set and you won't get a continuance.'

'I don't give a shit. You're fucking fired.'

Steve stood, aware his private parts were now at eye level. 'Fine. C'mon, Vic. We're out of here.'

Griffin stabbed a finger at him. 'I said you're fired, Solomon. Victoria's still my lawyer.'

'Doesn't work that way, Griffin. Vic and I are partners. One goes, we both go.'

Steve was aware of the crashing silence at the table. From the pool, he heard splashing, Junior plowing through his laps.

'Vic? You coming?'

'Uncle Grif is my client. I let you come along for the ride.'

'Aw, shit, don't do this.'

'You promised to sit second chair, to let me take the lead. But instead, you steamrollered me. Like always.'

'We're a team. Ruth and Gehrig, Gilbert and Sullivan, Ben and Jerry.'

'I've given you every chance, but you-'

'Big mistake, Vic. You need me.'

'What!'

'You're good, but you'll never be great on your own.'

'That's it. I've had it with you.' Her voice a serrated blade. 'We're done. There is no more Solomon and

Lord. Good-bye, Steve.'

'You can't mean it.'

'What part of adios don't you understand?'

Steve's mind went blank. He needed a retort. An exit line. Something that would set them both straight. Show them that Steve Solomon was The Man. That Victoria would fail and Griffin would be convicted. But he couldn't come up with a thing, so he stood there a long, ego-crushing moment, until. .

'Hey, Solomon.' Griffin grinned at him. 'You're shrinking.'

Thirty-three

DREDGING UP THE PAST

'What a horse's ass! What a damn fool!'

'Thanks, Dad.'

'You putz.' Herbert Solomon's diatribe shifted to Yiddish with a Savannah accent. 'How could ah have raised such a schmendrick?'

Steve knew a tongue-lashing was the price of hitching a ride back to Miami. Herbert piloted his old Chrysler north on U.S. 1, taking Steve and Bobby home. The car-underbelly rusted and carpets mildewed-was redolent of bait fish. The night air smelled of moist seaweed and crushed shells. A three-quarter moon cast a milky glow across the smooth inky water of the Gulf.

'You ever think that maybe you're jealous of this guy?' Herbert prodded. 'What's his name?'

'Junior Griffin.' Even saying his name left a rancid taste.

'IF RUN JOIN FRIG!' Bobby contributed from the backseat. Making an instant anagram out of the bastard's name.

'I'm not jealous. I just can't stand him.'

Herbert had a three-day growth of white stubble. He wore tattered khaki shorts, a gray T-shirt with permanent sweat stains in the armpits, and his white hair was crusted with salt from an early-morning snorkel run. To Steve, his old man looked like a cross between a pirate and a serial killer.

'You're afraid he's gonna take away your gal,' Herbert said, 'so you got no credibility when you accuse him of murder.'

'I've got logic and evidence on my side.'

'You got jack shit.'

'Junior's as likely the killer as his old man. In a reasonable-doubt case, I have an ethical obligation to tell the jury that.'

'Since when did you start caring about the ethical rules?' Herbert hacked up a wad of phlegm and spat out the window. 'Ah see right through you. You're running scared with Victoria so you lash out at this Junior Griffin.'

'JUROR IN FIG FIN,' Bobby proclaimed, still working on Junior's name.

'Doesn't make any sense, kiddo,' Steve said.

'I JOIN RUFF RING. 'Ruff' is with two 'f's.'

'Doesn't count. There's no such word.'

'Yes there is. It's a big ruffled collar. Everybody knows that.'

'Are you listening to me?' Herbert said. 'You haven't learned self-control. You open your big mouth and boom! You lose your paramour and your client.'

'But I still have my principles.'

'Gonna sleep with your principles?'