to give it a jump start.”
Jack’s selection finally rolled over on the jukebox-Don Henley’s “Boys of Summer.” It was one of his all-time favorites, but it triggered a thought. “A few selections from artists who’ve actually peaked in the last ten years might do some good.”
“The music ain’t the problem. It’s the image.”
Jack looked around. The building was actually a converted old gas station, the term “conversion” used loosely, the way a high school gymnasium might be converted into Margaritaville for a 1970s retro ball. The grease pit was gone, and only recently had Theo gotten around to blocking up the openings for the old garage doors. There was a long, wooden bar, a TV permanently tuned to ESPN, and a never-ending stack of quarters on the pool table. “Granted, the image could probably use a little polish,” said Jack.
“Polish my ass,” said Theo. “What Sparky’s needs is a signature drink. That’s what got me thinking about martinis.”
“All right, I’m with you. But aren’t martini bars kind of passe?”
“I’m talking about a Sparky’s original. The smoothie martini.”
“Will you quit with the smoothies already? That practically got us killed on the mayor’s boat.”
“It’s not just a smoothie. It’s a smoothie martini. Smartini.”
“Smartini? Sounds like brain food for drunks.”
“What?”
“Never mind. It will never catch on.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because…who in his right mind would put vermouth in a smoothie?”
“Somebody who drinks vermouthies?”
“You need a new concept, buddy.”
“All right, fine.” Theo signaled the bartender and shouted, “Two belt-and-suspenders martinis, Leon.”
“Two what?” said Jack.
Theo grinned. “Belt-and-suspenders martinis. Shaken and stirred. Now there’s a signature drink fer ya, eh, dude?”
Jack shook his head. “You know what? Let’s just do the shots.”
“Now you’re talking.” He handed Jack a glass. The bartender brought over a bottle and didn’t stop pouring until a little drop of tequila spilled over the rim.
Jack raised his glass, careful not to spill any more, then stopped. “Did I really stand up and sing ‘Some Guys Have All the Luck’?”
“Yup.”
“When?”
“About two hours from now.”
Jack downed the shot in one quick hit, then wiped the tequila expression from his face. “Sure hope I didn’t embarrass myself.”
acknowledgments
M aking up stories is a great way to earn a living, and it’s especially wonderful when you’re supported by incredibly talented people. Carolyn Marino has been my editor since the mid-nineties, and this novel feels like the product of a ten-year degree in creative writing. Her assistant, Jennifer Civiletto, is also top-flight. I’m equally grateful to Richard Pine, my agent from day one in my literary career. There is no one better in the business.
Thanks also to my usual cast of early readers, Eleanor Rayner and Dr. Gloria Grippando. Gordon Van Alstyne again lent his expertise on firearms. Of course, any screwups are all mine.
The American Federation for the Blind was of more help than they realize in my effort to understand the world of the visually impaired, but no one was more helpful than my own father, James V. Grippando. He lives by his motto: “It’s about attitude, dummy.” We should all be so courageous and upbeat.
My knowledge of Argentina was limited before I began researching this book. Thankfully, South Florida has a proud and vibrant Argentine community, and I want to thank the many families who shared their stories. All were fascinating, and I’m especially grateful to those who tapped into some painful memories.
This novel also marks the close of a chapter in my life. My “office mate” for the last nine years was my golden retriever, Sam. We did eleven novels together, and this one was our last. I miss him terribly, so don’t be surprised if at some point in the future Jack Swyteck gets himself a sidekick even more loyal than Theo Knight. (If you’re a pet lover, please check out my story about Sam at www.jamesgrippando.com.)
As always, none of this would be possible without the love and support from my wife, Tiffany. People often ask where my ideas come from, and I don’t have a clue. But I do know where my inspiration comes from.
Finally, I often struggle over character names, so I want to thank David Boies for making my job a little easier. In recognition of his generous contribution at a fund-raising auction in support of the Boys amp; Girls Club Marti Huizenga Unit (the largest Boys amp; Girls Club in the country), the “Richard Boies” referred to as “Uncle Ricky” in chapter 4 is named in honor of Richard James Boies, David’s younger brother. He was “Rick” to his friends and “Ricky” to his family, and with his warm heart and mischievous spirit, he was loved by all who knew him. A nice tribute to a good man in support of a good cause.
