Jack wasn’t sure how Theo knew, but he figured he must have mentioned something to him about the one-year milestone. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a happy anniversary.”
“Aw, come on. You gonna hold a grudge because I splashed you with a little water?”
“Exactly what anniversary are you talking about?” asked Jack.
“What anniversary are you talking about?”
“It was a year ago today that Cindy and I separated.”
“Cindy? Who the hell gives a rat’s ass about her? I was talking about us.”
“Us?”
“Yes. Ten years ago this week. You and me met for the first time. Remember?”
Jack thought for a second. “Not really.”
“Now you’re hurtin’ my feelings. I remember everything about it. It was a Friday morning. Guard comes and gets me from my cell, tells me I have a meetin’ with my new court-appointed lawyer from the Freedom Institute. Of course, I’m sittin’ on death row without a damn thing to do, except lay there and ask myself, ‘Theo, would you like the mustard sauce or drawn butter with your last meal of stone crabs and fried sweet potatoes?’ So I’m bouncin’ off the walls at the thought of a new lawyer. So I go down, and there you are, sittin’ on the other side of the glass.”
“What did you think when you saw me?”
“Honestly?”
“Honestly.”
“Typical white Ivy League graduate with a save-the-black-man guilt complex.”
“Gee. And all this time I thought I’d made a lousy first impression.”
Theo narrowed his eyes, as if quizzing him. “Remember the first thing I said to you?”
“Probably something along the lines of ‘Got any money, dude?’”
“No, smart ass. I looked you right in the eye and said, ‘Jack, there’s something you need to know right up front: I am an innocent man.’”
“I do remember that.”
“And do you remember what you said?”
“No.”
“You said, ‘Mr. Knight’-you called me Mr. Knight back then-‘there’s something you need to know right up-front: I think you’re a big, fat, fucking liar.’”
“Did I really say that?”
“Oh, yeah. Exact quote.”
“Wow. You must have thought I was an asshole.”
“I still think you’re an asshole.”
“Thanks.”
Theo smiled, then grabbed him by the shoulders and planted a big kiss on his cheek. “Happy Anniversary. Asshole.”
Jack smiled. Theo and his kisses. A last-minute release from death row for a crime you truly didn’t commit could make you want to hug everyone for the rest of your life. Or it could have the opposite effect. It all depended on the man.
Theo said, “Grab that cooler, will ya’?”
Jack took it by the handles, and Theo gathered up the fishing poles with the other gear. Empty bottles rattled inside the cooler as the men crossed the lawn to the driveway. Theo popped the trunk. Jack put the cooler inside, then helped Theo break down the poles and mount them on the roof rack.
“Anything else?” asked Jack.
“Yeah, actually. I need a favor. Big one.”
“What?”
“Did you happen to see that story in the local section a few days ago? That rich woman who got shot in the head while waiting on the red light to get on the expressway?”
“I might have skimmed it. I’ve been in trial too long. Not seeing much news.”
Theo opened the car door, pulled something from the console, and handed it to Jack. It was a newspaper clipping. “Read this.”
There were only a few paragraphs with a photo of the victim. Jack read quickly. “Sad.”
“Is that all you can say?”
“It’s sad. What more can I say?”
“You could look at her picture and say, damn, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Okay, she’s beautiful. Does that mean I should be sadder?”
“Yes, Mr. Politically Correct, it does make it sadder. That’s what everyone wants to be. Young, rich, beautiful. And now she’s dead. Doesn’t get any sadder than that.”
“Theo, where are you headed with this?”
“Did you read how much she was worth?”
“Yeah. Something like…whatever it said.”
He took back the clipping and pointed to the figure. “Forty-six million.”
Jack read it again. “That’s a lotta dough.”
“Damn straight. Now, this is not a trick question, but I want you to try and guess when was the last time a bona fide babe worth forty-six million dollars came walking into my bar.”
“You saw her in Sparky’s?”
“About two and a half weeks ago.”
“What was she doing there?”
“Talking to a contract killer.”
“A what?”
“You heard me.”
“You mean she was meeting with someone who kills people for money?”
“I don’t mean someone who shoots contracts for a living.”
Jack scratched his head, thinking. “You sure it was her?”
“You think I’m gonna forget a face like that?” he said, showing the photo once more.
Jack saw his point. “So, she talks to a contract killer, and two weeks later, she’s the one who turns up dead.”
“That’s right,” said Theo.
“What do you make of that?”
“Smells bad.”
“I’ll give you that,” said Jack. “But what do you want me to do?”
“First off, there’s a letter I want to ask you about. It’s from the dead woman’s lawyer.”
“Written to you?”
“No. To the contract killer she was talking to in my bar.”
“You have the letter?”
“No. I seen it.”
“How?”
“Never mind that. Let’s just say I’m acting as a go-between here.”
“What exactly are you going between?”
Theo grabbed a pack of Kools from his dashboard, then lit one.
“You and…you know.”
“The contract killer? No way.”
“Hear me out. The whole letter is two sentences long. It simply tells him to be in the law offices of Vivien Grasso Monday for an important meeting about the death of Sally Fenning.”
“So, you want me to advise a contract killer whether he should go to this meeting or not?”
“No. I want you to go with him.”
Jack coughed, as if choking with disbelief. “What makes you think I’d be even remotely interested in that?”
