“Yeah.”
“How the hell-”
The ring of Jack’s cell phone brought the conversation to an abrupt halt. Jack quickly checked the display. The number made his heart thump. He’d dialed Theo’s cell phone several times in the past half-hour, only to get no answer. Now, a call was coming back. “It’s Theo’s cell phone.”
“Answer it,” said Chavez.
“Wait,” said Malloy as he handed Jack a Dictaphone.
Jack held it to his phone, pressed RECORD, and then hit the talk button. “Theo?”
“Oh, that’s funny, Swyteck.”
It was Falcon. Jack said, “Where’s Theo?”
“He’s, uh…Let’s just say he can’t come to the phone right now.”
“You son of a bitch. If you-”
“Don’t bore me with threats, Swyteck.”
Jack struggled to quell his anger. Self-control was the key to dealing with the clinically paranoid. Particularly when they were well armed. “All right, let’s both of us just take a deep breath here. If anybody’s hurt-you, Theo, anybody-let’s take care of him okay? Do you need a doctor?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“I just want to make sure everyone’s okay, that’s all.”
“Kiss my ass. I want to deal.”
“Good. There’s a negotiator right here with me.”
“I don’t want a negotiator. Tell the cops they can go to hell. Even Vince Paulo screwed me over on that bridge, and we go way back, long before he was blind.”
“Could be different this time. You’re holding the cards now.”
“Damn right I am. That’s why I’m giving you this chance. You got one shot to show me you’re the man.”
“What do you want?”
“You can start by returning the money you stole from me.”
“I didn’t steal-”
“Stop right there!” he shouted.
Jack was silent. It was impossible to tell over the telephone, but Jack could almost see Falcon biting back his rage, fighting to keep control. Falcon’s voice lowered, but it was still tight with anger. “I don’t want no excuses. No denials. Bring me my money. That’s the demand. Got it?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“No. I said, ‘Do you got it?’”
Jack hesitated. “I want to talk to Theo.”
“No way.”
“Tell me who else is in there with you.”
There was a click on the line. It wasn’t a hang-up. It sounded more like the hammer cocking on Falcon’s pistol. “One more time, Swyteck: Do you got it?”
Jack took the warning to heart. “Yeah. I got it.”
“Good. As soon as the money’s here, we can talk about my other demands.”
“What other demands?”
“You’ll see. This is going to get very interesting.”
“This is not a game, Falcon.”
“Couldn’t agree more. This is very serious business.”
“Then cut the crap. Tell me what you want.”
“I got a better idea. Just ask Vince Paulo. He knows what I want. Problem is, I don’t trust him to give it to me no more. Which means it’s all on your shoulders. So bring me that money, and we can talk. But don’t take too long. The battery on your friend’s phone won’t last forever. And when it dies…” His voice trailed off, and the ensuing silence seemed interminable.
“You still there?” said Jack.
“Yeah. Come on, man. I’m waiting. Fill in the blank. When the battery dies…”
Jack didn’t want to say it, but this wasn’t a fight worth picking. “Theo dies.”
Falcon gave him a mirthless chuckle. “Wrong again, genius. Everybody dies.”
The line disconnected. Jack stood frozen for a moment, thinking the kind of thoughts that were anything but helpful in a crisis of this magnitude. An hour earlier, he and Theo were on their way to South Beach. Now, one cop was dead, another was in the hospital, Theo was a hostage, and Falcon was calling the shots. Add to that the unidentified woman’s body in Falcon’s trunk, and it was almost too much to comprehend. Jack closed his flip phone and dabbed away a drop of blood from the bandaged wound at his temple.
The crisis-team leaders were watching him, their expressions filled with anticipation. Sergeant Chavez said, “Well, what’s the word?”
He looked at Chavez, then at the crisis-team leader from MDPD. “I think you’ve just been fired.”
“Who’s fired?” said Chavez.
“All of you,” he said, gesturing toward the SWAT vans. “Except for me and Vince Paulo.”
chapter 20
T ires screeched as a dark green sedan flew around the corner and entered the parking lot via the fast-food restaurant’s drive-thru exit. The brakes grabbed, and the front bumper nearly kissed the pavement as the car came to an abrupt halt just a few feet away from Jack.
Sergeant Chavez was standing nearby, speaking to the traffic-control leader by radio. Jack couldn’t hear every word, but he gathered that media vans with satellite dishes were starting to back up at both the north and south barricades on Biscayne Boulevard. The fleet of television helicopters whirring overhead had grown from one to three, their bright white search lamps cutting through the clear night sky. Meanwhile, the tactical teams stood idle outside the SWAT van, drinking only decaffeinated coffee, careful not to get too stimulated.
The moment the car door flew open, Jack recognized the mayor’s daughter from the recent photographs in the newspaper. The passenger door opened, and the man with the sunglasses and long white cane could only have been Vincent Paulo. As they approached, Jack noted the way Officer Mendoza guided her blind partner through unfamiliar territory, his hand resting in the crook of her elbow. She wasn’t steering him, nor had they locked arms like sweethearts, but Jack detected a level of comfort and familiarity between them, a certain naturalness to the physical contact.
“Any word on McKenzie?” she asked the sergeant.
Chavez cut his mike and said, “Took one in the belly. He’s in surgery now. We’re hoping for the best. I guess you heard about Lopez.”
Her nod was slow and deliberate, conveying only sadness. Jack suddenly wished he were invisible, as if his status as Falcon’s lawyer placed him somewhere between the outsider at a family funeral and an accomplice to murder.
“Any contact with the subject yet?” asked Paulo.
Chavez cast a glance in Jack’s direction. “His lawyer just took a phone call.”
“Where’s his lawyer?” asked Paulo.
“I’m right here,” said Jack.
Paulo turned at the sound of his voice, and they shook hands. Sergeant Malloy then introduced himself as the crisis-team leader from the Miami-Dade Police Department. The round of introductions ended with Jack facing Alicia.
There was always a level of discomfort when meeting your client’s victim, even if she was, relatively speaking, one of the lucky ones. Her demeanor toward Jack was professional, however, no daggers in those big brown eyes. She was wearing a stylish cropped leather jacket, black slacks and sweater, and heels that left her shorter than Jack and Sergeant Paulo but a good two inches taller than Chavez. If any doubt remained, the perfume and makeup
