A Gift of Time

by Beth Flynn

  Nick was surprised at the reporter’s anger and accusations. She must have been living under a rock to never have heard of Jason “Grizz” Talbot. Nick knew he existed for sure because he knew Grizz’s old gang was still out there. They no longer wore the jackets, and they didn’t let themselves be known like they used to, but they were still underground and an extremely well organized group of criminals.

  And if Nick had to guess right, Talbot was still calling the shots from prison. Come on—how simple would it be to have some nobody office-worker on the bottom of the prison hierarchy lie about his history? Too easy.

  Nick knew that not only Grizz’s gang but rival gangs existed because he’d been trying his damnedest to get in with them. There weren’t many of them left, but they were out there. He wasn’t surprised his uncle had bragged about helping to put Grizz in prison. A smart person would’ve been scared of Talbot’s retaliation, but not Uncle Will. When Nick had asked him about it after Leslie’s first visit, his uncle had told him, “He don’t want vengeance on me. His attorney told me to tell the truth about him. He said Grizz wanted it that way. Whatever his reason was, he was looking to go to prison. I was just following an order by telling them what I saw that night.”

  Nick had hinted to his uncle about wanting to get in with the right people, but Will wouldn’t have it. He knew Uncle Will probably only had to make some calls and Nick would be given a chance to prove himself through whatever initiation ritual they required. But his adopted uncle didn’t want that for Nick. Nick was bright and could make a living the legal way.

  Little did William Jackson know that Nick had no intention of earning his way as a respectable American citizen. He would prove himself. He didn’t know how, but he would get someone to notice him.

  Nick’s thoughts were interrupted when his uncle started laughing. Uncle Will threw his head back, sat up to slap his knee.

  “Couldn’t find anything on Grizz, huh? Doesn’t surprise me one damn bit. He was always a clever bastard, owned more than half this city. Prob’ly still does. You have any old newspaper or police contacts? You ask anybody about him?”

  Leslie stiffened and raised her chin.

  “Of course. I’ve asked a few people I know. They all say the same thing. His name sounds familiar, but they can’t remember much about him. It was a long time ago. What? Fifteen years at least?”

  “And you believe them?” Uncle Will snorted. “Like I said, it don’t surprise me one bit that you can’t get anybody to talk. They’re still afraid of him. Were you raised here, Miss Cowan? In South Florida?”

  “No. I’ve been here two years. I was raised up north. Why?”

  “Because you go up to any stranger on the street, ask them if they lived here in the seventies or eighties, and say the name ‘Grizz.’ They’ll remember. They may not wanna talk about it, but they’ll remember.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Is there anything else, Mr. Jackson? Anything else you can tell me before I decide whether or not it’s worth my time to follow your idiotic suggestion that I interview strangers off the street?”

  “Yeah, there’s something else. Why don’t you go talk to the woman he used to be married to? Oh, wait, that’s right. You can’t because you don’t know her name. You’re not even sure she exists.”

  Jackson sat up to reach for his cigarette, which was smoldering in an ashtray on the coffee table. Leslie stared at him without saying anything as he brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled. He blew the smoke out slowly, then leaned back.

  “The new husband used to be called Grunt. He worked at some fancy architectural firm but quit after the trial. The trial you can’t seem to find. You must be one helluva reporter.” He sneered. “I hear Grunt has his own company now. Dillon and Something, somewhere in Fort Lauderdale.”

  This caught Nick’s attention. Dillon? He knew Keith “Blue” Dillon wasn’t an architect. They must be related. Interesting.

  Jackson watched as Leslie stiffened at the insult and wrote something in her notebook.

  “And because I’m feeling mighty generous I’ll even throw you a bone,” he said. “Rumor had it that when Grizz’s wife married Dillon, she was pregnant with Grizz’s baby. Heard it was a girl. She’d be about what, fourteen or fifteen by now? If you can’t find Dillon, maybe you’ll find something through hospital records. Who knows.”

  Leslie stood to leave, but not before she asked one more question.

  “Why, Mr. Jackson? Why did you say you’d talk to me? Why are you sharing all this? If this guy really is as evil as you say he is, why risk telling me if there’s a chance he’ll send somebody after you?”

  He looked at her seriously. “I’ve got nothing better to do. And besides, I know you’re too smart to let anybody know you actually talked to me. Aren’t you, Miss Cowan?”

  The way he said the last sentence sent a chill up Leslie’s spine. Had she been too casual with this man? She’d interviewed worse criminals than him. How dangerous could a shriveled-up old man attached to an oxygen tank be?

  But what if it was true and he had belonged to a biker gang? Just because she couldn’t find anything didn’t mean they didn’t exist, and if she was going to be honest with herself, she was even more intrigued now that she’d found out all of this could really be true and someone had gone to extreme measures to make sure it was erased. This could be one hell of a story if she could just get some facts to substantiate even a few of the tales William Jackson had told her the last time she was here.

  The one thing she hadn’t told Jackson was that she wasn’t being exactly truthful about talking to newspaper or police contacts. She didn’t really have any. Leslie had pissed off all the wrong people when she’d first started out in Fort Lauderdale. She’d always been the type to not care. As far as she was concerned, even bad publicity was some publicity. Yes, she was making a name for herself, but not in a good way.

  She’d find out more about this Grizz person and she would write her article, have it published. And they could all kiss her ass on their way to hell.

  She nodded at the man and headed for the front door. She was closing the door behind her when she heard William Jackson’s voice call out:

  “Don’t let the oxygen tank fool you, Miss Cowan. Call me idiotic again, and I’ll strangle the life out of that pretty neck of yours. After all, I’ve got nothing better to do.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mimi

  2000, Fort Lauderdale (Five Months Before the Execution)

  “Yes, sir, that’s a dozen white roses, and yes, I can guarantee they’ll be delivered on Friday afternoon to your wife’s work.”

  Mimi was typing the man’s information into the computer and balancing the telephone tightly between her cheek and shoulder. She paused as the man said something else. She repeated the delivery address and message that was to be written on the card, took his credit card information, and patiently explained for a second time that the delivery was guaranteed for the date and time he requested. She ignored his comment that the price for the roses was ridiculous considering they would be dead and in the garbage in a week. Then they hung up.

  “If you’re worried about them dying, buy her something that won’t die,” she grumbled to herself.

  “Somebody giving you a hard time?” a male voice asked.

  Mimi whipped around and came face-to-chest with a customer who’d slipped into the flower shop unnoticed. She quickly looked away, embarrassed she’d been heard. Without looking up, she said to the counter, “I think some people aren’t happy unless they’re complaining.”

  “Well, I hope he wasn’t too nasty. If he was, you’ll have to ask your boyfriend to beat him up or something.”

  She raised her eyes at the comment and found herself looking into the face of the cutest guy who’d ever walked through the doors of the flower shop. She’d been working there since right before Valentine’s Day, and she’d never waited on somebody this young or this handsome.

  His good looks
and wide, bright smile caught her off-guard, and she didn’t know what to say. He must’ve realized he made her uncomfortable, because he quickly added, “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean anything by it. I mean, I’m sure you have a boyfriend, and what he does or doesn’t do isn’t any of my business. I’m just saying I wouldn’t let anybody talk to my girlfriend like that. Not that you’re my girlfriend! I mean, of course you’re not my girlfriend. I don’t even know your name. Not that knowing your name would mean you’re my girlfriend. I don’t know what I’m even saying. I’m shutting up now.”

  Mimi just smiled at him. She realized he was even more nervous than she was. She couldn’t take her eyes off the deep dimple in his left cheek. The cheek that was turning bright red along with the rest of his face.

  She extended her hand over the counter.

  “I’m Mimi.”

  He breathed a visible sigh of relief and accepted her outreached hand.

  “Elliott. I’m Elliott. It’s nice to meet you, Mimi.”

  After a brief and uncomfortable pause, Mimi asked, “What can I help you with?”

  “Oh, yeah, flowers. I need some flowers for my grandmother’s eightieth birthday. I want something special, but not too much money.”

  He looked away, embarrassed.

  Mimi almost sighed out loud. Oh, my gosh. How cute was this guy, and he’s buying flowers for his grandmother? She had to stifle a nervous giggle.

  To prevent herself from turning into a full-fledged idiot, she kicked into professional mode. It took about thirty minutes for him to finally decide on a spring arrangement in his price range. Mimi was grateful nobody had come into the shop. She couldn’t be certain, but she was pretty sure he’d been flirting with her and actually dragging out the time it had taken to select such a simple arrangement. Her employer, Maggie, was out making deliveries, and Mimi was in the shop by herself. She was only fifteen, but she’d proven herself to be a trustworthy and competent employee. Maggie was relieved and grateful Mimi could manage the shop alone when Maggie had to make deliveries. They’d recently lost two full-time employees.

  Elliott almost seemed reluctant to leave after paying for his flowers and watching Mimi carefully wrap them.

  “It was nice meeting you,” he said as she handed him his bouquet. He walked slowly to the door.

  “Nice meeting you, too,” Mimi called out after him, an annoyed look on her face as the telephone interrupted their goodbye. She wondered if she would ever see him again.

  It’s probably just as well. This was probably the first and last time she’d ever lay eyes on Elliott.

  “Maggie’s Floral Designs, this is Mimi, how can I help you?”

  Listening to the caller, her demeanor immediately changed. Gone was the girl who was still a little high from flirting with a cute boy. She stood up straight, and in her best business voice replied to the woman on the other end of the phone.

  “I got your message, Leslie. I’ll be there.”

  She hung up unceremoniously and walked to the window to see if she could catch a glimpse of Elliott driving or walking away. She was too late. He was already gone.

  Mimi spent the rest of the afternoon keeping busy and reflecting on the first time she’d met Leslie. It was right after New Year’s. Mimi had been walking around the mall asking some of the smaller shops for job applications. She’d taken a break to sit down on a bench and sort through the paperwork she’d collected when Leslie sat down beside her and struck up a casual conversation. Mimi hadn’t wanted to appear rude by completely ignoring the woman, so she only half-engaged in the conversation. Her friend Lindsay would be meeting up with her in less than twenty minutes to give her a ride home. Lindsay had no interest in working, so she used the afternoon to shop while Mimi gathered applications.

  “You don’t even have to work,” Lindsay had said when they’d first arrived at the mall. “Why do you need to get a job? Your parents are making you, aren’t they?”

  “Yes and no. I don’t have to work, but my parents think it’s a good idea, and I do, too.”

  Lindsay stopped in her tracks and stared at Mimi, mouth agape. “You want to? Are you serious, Mimi?”

  Mimi kept on walking. “You act like work is a death sentence.”

  “It is a death sentence. You are nuts!” Lindsay quickened her pace to catch back up to Mimi. “I’m going to marry the richest guy that comes along. He doesn’t even need to be good looking. I don’t care. I’ll have a cute boyfriend on the side if I need to, but I am not working. Besides, I can’t think of anything I want to do that could earn the kind of money needed to keep me in designer clothes. Nope, I’m not going to even try to get those things by earning them. Well, I’ll earn them all right, but not with a regular job.” She laughed at her own innuendo.

  Mimi shook her head and smiled. She knew Lindsay wasn’t teasing. And she was certain her friend would have no trouble at all finding a man willing to take care of her and finance her expensive tastes.

  Lindsay was runway model beautiful. Tall and slender, with caramel colored skin and exotic almond shaped eyes, she was a natural beauty. But while she was a sweet girl, she had no ambition—or at least not the same kind of ambition as Mimi’s. Mimi was going to be a journalist, and even though her parents thought it was their prompting that had motivated her to look for a job, she was more than happy to do it. She wanted to put herself out there, get some interaction with people outside of her comfort zones, which were school and church. Retail would be the perfect opportunity. She’d be exposed to all different kinds of characters, and she actually looked forward to it. She’d already applied for a work permit since she wouldn’t be sixteen until next year, and had submitted applications to a local ice cream shop and florist, but she hadn’t heard anything. Yet. When Lindsay had suggested a trip to the mall, Mimi decided to shop for a job instead.

  Now on the bench with the random woman who wouldn’t stop chitchatting, Mimi stifled a yawn.

  “So, looks like you’re applying for jobs. Is that what you’re interested in? Retail?” the woman, Leslie, asked.

  “Nope.” Mimi scanned the shops, not looking at the woman. “Just looking to get some real-world experience. I’m going to be a journalist.”

  This was too good to be true, Leslie thought to herself.

  “Why don’t you try to get a job at a newspaper or something? That’s what I did when I was starting out.”

  Mimi looked over then. “You’re a journalist?”

  “Yep. I work for a little magazine called Loving Lauderdale, and I freelance for other, bigger publications. Right now, I’m working on a story for Rolling Stone. You’ve heard of them, right?”

  “Uh, yeah, I’ve heard of them. Everybody’s heard of them. You write for them?”

  “Working on a story for them right now. It’s a rough story, though.” Leslie shook her head. “I had to take a break from writing and just do something different. That’s why I’m here. Taking a break to do some people-watching. It helps me relax. So why aren’t you trying to get a job with a newspaper or something?”

  “I tried. They flat-out told me they weren’t hiring, and if they were, it would be college-age applicants with a little more experience than me,” Mimi said, the disappointment in her tone unmistakable.

  “What? You’re not in college? I took you for someone much older,” Leslie lied. She knew Mimi’s age.

  “No,” Mimi smiled. “I’m still in high school. I thought a job in retail would at least give me some experience dealing with the public.”

  “Oh, so you’re smart and ambitious. You’ll be a great journalist.” Leslie looked at her watch, feigning mild disinterest and trying to provide a subtle hint that this conversation would soon be over. It didn’t go unnoticed. She had the girl’s attention.

  “So what’s the rough story you’re working on?” Mimi asked. “What’s so awful that you needed to take a break from writing?”

  “Oh, I’m not sure I can tell you. It’s pretty serious, and I’d
have to be able to trust you, and I don’t even know you. I mean, we just met.”

  Mimi sat up straight and looked at Leslie with wide eyes. “You can trust me. I won’t tell a soul. Nobody. Not my friends. Not my parents. Especially not my parents.”

  “You don’t like your parents?”

  “I like my parents. I love my parents. I’m just not sure about them. I’m not sure I really know them. I don’t feel like they’ve been truthful with me about some things.”

  Leslie wasn’t sure what she was dealing with here. Mimi didn’t seem like a rebellious teen, but from her body language and the comment about her parents, who Leslie had already learned were Tommy and Ginny Dillon, she seemed to have some kind of trust issue. This could help Leslie or hurt her. Tread lightly.

  “Well, I don’t know anything about your parents, but with most parents I know who aren’t truthful, it’s usually because they’re trying to protect their children. Trying to prevent them from being hurt by something.”

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right. Either way, I’m not going to tell them or anybody what your story is about. I’ll probably never even see you again after today. Please tell me.”

  “Okay,” Leslie said finally. “You want to be a journalist, so you’ll understand the need for secrecy. I don’t want anyone scooping my story.” She gave Mimi a conspiratorial wink. She leaned in and whispered, “I’m investigating biker gangs. Apparently, there was a real bad one back in the seventies from right around this area. Rolling Stone is dedicating an issue to celebrity bikers and asked me to write a story about real bikers.” Leslie glanced around like she was making sure she wasn’t overheard. “There’s a biker guy sitting on death row right now who’s supposed to be executed this summer. I’ve been told he’s a pretty bad guy. I’m trying to get an interview with him before he dies.”