Cy said, 'I don't want to talk about it no more.'
'Well, I do' Theo scooted forward to the edge of his chair. 'Tonight, when you told me you were the killer, that conversation flashed in my mind. It was like I was hearing your words again: 'This ain't a story with a happy ending''
Cy glanced at him nervously, his face clouded by smoke.
Theo said, 'When we was in the bar, I figured all you meant was that my momma ended up dead. But the more I thought about it, that's too obvious. No need to say it, right? I knew my momma got killed, so why would you even bother warning me that the story don't have a happy ending?'
'I don't know. Why would I?'
'Last night, for a split second there, I thought maybe I had the answer. The unhappy ending you were warning me about wasn't my momma getting killed. It was when…'
'When what?'
'You know.'
'When you found out I killed her?'
'Yeah. Like I said: Just for a split second there, that's what I thought you meant.'
Cy was staring off toward the trees, avoiding Theo's gaze.
Theo was all the way to the edge of his chair, resting his forearms on his knees as he leaned toward his uncle. 'That ain't what you meant, was it?'
Cy flicked his cigarette butt over the fence. Finally, he looked Theo in the eye. 'You really want to know what I meant?'
Theo nodded. 'Yeah. I do.'
His uncle swallowed hard, and suddenly Theo wasn't so certain that he wanted to know. But it was too late to stop it now.
Cy folded his arms and said, 'You never was good in math, was your
'What are you talking about?'
'Your momma was raped in the spring of 1972.'
'So?'
'May 20, to be exact. When were you born?'
The question hit Theo like a punch to the chest. 'February 17, 1973.'
The two men locked eyes, and it was as if the earth had suddenly stopped spinning. Theo knew it was his turn to say something, but no words would come.
Cy dug a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. There were just two left. 'You want a smoke?' he said.
Theo reached over and took one. His face glowed in the darkness as Cy lit it for him. Then he sat back in his chair and took a long pull.
'Ain't that a two-footed kick in the head?' said Theo, smoke tumbling from his lips.
'Mmm-hmm,' the old man said. 'With boots on.'
Chapter 51
Theo told no one – except Jack.
Of course the media hounded him. They wanted details about the shootings that had left a distinguished businessman like Fernando Redden dead in his barn alongside a guy like Moses, a gang leader who was wanted for the murder of a Florida state trooper. Theo refused all interview requests. He didn't even watch the news on television, except for one short statement from Andie Henning and the supervisory agent in charge of the Miami field office. The FBI declined to comment, saying that details would follow in the forthcoming official final report of Agent's Henning's task force on security failings at TGK Correctional Center and the escape of Isaac Reems.
Mere mention of a possible connection to Reems's escape was fuel to the proverbial fire, as if an edict had been issued to the media: 'Let the speculation begin.'
Fernando Redden was buried on the Tuesday following his death. Theo didn't attend the funeral, but over breakfast Trina got so angry at the newspaper that she just had to read him the obituary – a quarter-page fluff piece about the son of Cuban exiles who 'personified the American dream.' Redden came off like the best thing to happen to housing for Overtown's poor since the Civil Rights Act of 1964. There were even humorous anecdotes about 'Fernando el Fantastico' – the compassionate friend, the generous philanthropist, the doting husband. Absent was any mention of the fact that, had he lived, he would have landed in jail for fraud and misuse of public housing funds. That information would not become public until the grand jury concluded its secret investigation and returned indictments against his corporation and shady business partners. It would get even uglier with Moses' three-count indictment for murder – Redden, the state trooper, and Portia Knight, though Moses could probably buy his way off death row by testifying against the corrections officer who helped Isaac escape.
Theo tried not to dwell on any of it. Two o'clock Thursday afternoon, however, brought a flash of renewed anger and a mix of other emotions that he didn't fully understand. According to the newspaper, 2:00 p.m. was the scheduled time for Redden's graveside service. 'Family only.'
Before the burial, Jack had offered to try and get a court-ordered DNA test.
Theo didn't want to know.
Theo had heard before that he was of mixed ancestry, though usually it was said tongue in cheek. When he was on death row, a Native American inmate told him he looked part Miccosukee, which earned him the prison- lawyer nickname 'Chief Brief.' With a name like Theodopolis, people said he must be part Greek – which now seemed like an ironic ode to his apparent place of conception.
Theo still had his doubts about Fernando Redden being his father. It wasn't exactly a comforting thought, but simply because Portia was raped on film by one frat boy didn't rule out the possibility of another partner that night. She could have been raped again by someone off-camera. She could have had consensual sex earlier that night, that day, that week, that month. Theo liked the latter alternative best. That was the one he would cling to.
Three weeks had passed since the shooting, and it still felt too soon to be celebrating in any way. But Theo had a business to run at Sparky's, the rent still had to be paid on the new property, and it was time to open his
'Place looks amazing,' said Jack.
It was early Friday evening, and Theo was on the working side of the bar, mixing a pitcher of martinis. For the past two hours, he'd been so busy greeting guests and putting out fires that he hadn't taken the time to look around. Weeks of preparation and hard work had helped take Theo's mind off Moses and Fernando Redden. Everything from cleaning, painting, and decorating to creating a menu, stocking the bar and kitchen, hiring and training the staff, and booking live entertainment – it was finally paying dividends. The U-shaped bar was killer. The lighting was just right. The twenty small cafe tables – the exact number Uncle Cy had recommended – were all taken. The doors were open, and people came. Not just loyal friends. Theo could feel it in the air, and it made his heart swell: he was tapping into the true jazz-lover crowd.
'Want to invest?' said Theo.
'Hmmm,' said Jack, as he scratched his head. 'Let me think about that. You and me, business partners? I'd say that has about as much chance as-'
'You picking up the phone and asking Andie on a date?'
'I told you I was going to call her.'
'And by the time you do, we'll all be playing shuffleboard.'
'Look, last time we started dating too soon after the Salazar kidnapping. This time I'm just putting a little distance between the gunfire and the sparks flying, so to speak.'
'Well, I invited her tonight. She and Trina are bringing Cy. You got a problem with that?'
Jack tried his martini. He seemed to approve. 'I think that's a great idea. Timing's good, too. Rene and I are definitely history.'
'I'd say so. What's it been, a month?'
'Actually, she finally called me. Yesterday.'
