“Pretty obvious, don’t you think?”
“You tell me.”
“From what I understand, Sally set this up like a game-survival of the fittest.”
“In a sense, yes. Last one living takes all.”
“There’s more to it than that, right?”
“How do you mean?” asked Jack.
“Tatum says there’s two ways to get the money. One is to outlive everybody. The other is to be the only one who doesn’t-what do you call it-renounce his inheritance?”
“That’s right,” said Kelsey. “Anyone can pull out, if they choose.”
“There you go,” said Javier. “You either gotta outlive everybody, or you gotta persuade the others to throw in the towel. In that kind of game, doesn’t it make sense to have at least one person in the mix, like Tatum, who isn’t squeamish about blood?”
Jack narrowed his eyes and said, “Are you saying that Sally intended to have these people fight over her money. I don’t mean legal battles. I mean fighting, literally.”
“If her ex-husband and this Gerry are on the list, yeah, absolutely. I think she would have liked nothing better than for those two guys to end up killing each other trying to get her money.”
“So she made Tatum a beneficiary to do what? Get the fists flying?”
“All I can tell you is that one night, Sally asks me if I know any tough guys. Real tough guys. I say sure. That’s it. I don’t ask questions. I hooked her up with Tatum, and that was that.”
Jack said, “Next thing you know, she’s shot dead, and Tatum’s a beneficiary under her will.”
“About the size of it.” Javier checked his watch and said, “Look, I gotta get back to work. I work for tips, and filling these suites is my big take for the night.”
“Of course,” said Jack, rising. “We’ll clear out.”
“Unless you and the lady want to stay. It’s very private.”
“No, no,” said Jack.
“That’s quite all right,” said Kelsey.
“You sure?” said Javier. “I’m full service here. Whatever you want, I can get. Drinks, breath mints, ecstasy, condoms.”
Kelsey popped like a spring from the couch at his mention of condoms, as if propelled by the thought of what she might have been sitting in. Jack had a feeling that her awesome red dress was destined for Goodwill.
“How about a rain check?” said Jack.
They shook hands and said good night. Then Jack and Kelsey followed the stairs down to the main floor and continued out the exit to the sidewalk. It was almost midnight, and Washington Avenue was kicking into high gear, an eclectic mix of gays and straights, tourists and natives. A stretch limo cruised by, music blasting through the open windows. The back end was an outdoor hot tub bubbling over with twenty-something-year-old hard bodies who were laughing loudly and speaking Portuguese.
“I’m real sorry about this,” said Jack as they reached the curb.
“Sorry for what?”
“I asked you to come because I thought it would be fun for you. A more exciting side of lawyering. I didn’t mean to throw you to a recovering porn addict.”
“You didn’t throw me. I volunteered. I’m not going to shrivel up and die because some pathetic loser can’t look at my face without thinking about…well, whatever he was trying not to think about.”
“So you’re okay?”
“I’m okay. But as for the speech I gave in your office today-about how using your body is no different than using your brain?”
“Yeah?” said Jack.
“After meeting Javier, let’s just say my thoughts are evolving on that front.”
“Fair enough,” he said with a smile. They stood in silence for a moment, a little awkward, as Jack debated the next move. The yellow light from Club Vertigo’s neon sign was playing against Kelsey’s eyes, drawing flecks of gold from the intriguing pools of hazel. The divorce had left him pretty rusty at dating, but he hadn’t completely lost the ability to read the expression on a woman’s face or interpret her posture, the little things that said, “What’s next on the agenda?” as opposed to “I’m tired and I want to go home.” Part of him wanted to take a shot and ask her out for coffee or something, but it just didn’t seem right to be hitting on Nate’s mom.
“I really have to let the baby-sitter go,” she said. “Maybe another time.”
“Another time what?”
She smiled wryly. “For the past thirty seconds you’ve had one eye on me and the other on Starbucks across the street. So…maybe some other time.”
He fumbled nervously for the valet ticket in his pocket. “Sure,” he said, wondering if he was really that obvious or if she was just that perceptive. “Some other time.”
Sixteen
At 1 A.M., the warehouse district west of the Palmetto Expressway had all the charm and personality of Leavenworth after lockdown. The buildings all looked alike, simple cinder-block and sheet-metal construction. Outside each establishment, every inch of ground was covered with nondescript stacks of inventory on pallets. Protecting it all was a nine-foot-high chain-link fence with coiled razor wire running across the top like a man-eating Slinky.
A thick layer of clouds made the night moonless, and street lamps were few and far between. The little red Honda bounced and rattled across potholes so deep that the entire vehicle was coated with muddy splash. Street maintenance was a losing battle here, as countless trucks beyond the legal weight limit pounded the pavement from sunup to sundown, six days a week.
Deirdre Meadows was a long way from home, but instinct told her that she was nearing her destination. She stopped at the end of a deserted street to get her bearings, squinting to make out the dimly lit sign ahead.
“JJ’s Italian Tile and Marble,” she said, reading aloud.
She checked her notes. That’s it. Finally, after driving around in circles and checking out at least a dozen other places named So and So’s Italian Tile and Marble, she’d found it.
She killed the engine and switched off the car lights. The sudden blackness gave her pause. It was darker outside than she’d realized. She flipped on the dome light to check her purse. Pen and paper, of course. Dictaphone. Cell phone, battery fully charged. It was no panacea, but so long as she had her cell phone, Deirdre would go just about anywhere-anywhere for a story, that is.
The phone call had come just before midnight. Deirdre was in her living room, watching Letterman on television, the cordless phone at her side. She had Caller ID, which told her only that it was coming from a pay phone. It rang twice before she answered.
And one last time, she played it over in her mind.
“Hello.”
“You ready?” he asked. Again, it was a deep, mechanical voice that almost sounded underwater.
“You bet,” she answered.
“Go to JJ’s Italian Tile and Marble on One hundred thirty-second Court, west of the eight-twenty-six. Drive around back and find the gate entrance along the chain-link fence. There’s a padlock on it, but I’ll leave it open. Come inside and walk about a hundred yards straight toward the loading dock.”
“Why there?”
“Because I said so.”
“Look, I’m not so keen about meeting a total stranger behind some building in the middle of the night.”
“Then don’t come.”
“You’ll still give me the story?”
“Not if you don’t come. And by the way, when I say come, I mean alone.”
