Last to die

by James Grippando

  “Son of a bitch,” he said, stepping out of it.

  He continued down the dark alley, though he was suddenly thinking more of his talk with Jack than his bursting bladder. He hadn’t exactly told his friend the whole story about why he was going to Africa. Sure, it would be fun, and even more sure, Jack could use a guy like Theo to keep him out of trouble. But Theo’s real agenda was much more personal. The police were zooming in on his brother as a suspect in Sally Fenning’s murder, and Theo alone knew the depth of his debt to Tatum.

  The alley was getting darker with each step he took, and Theo finally stopped and looked around. On either side were the unadorned backs of buildings-bars, drugstores, Laundromats. A half block ahead, the lights from Sixteenth Street were a big glowing dot in the darkness, like the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. The walls were cinder blocks painted beige and white. Every door and window was covered with black security bars. If he narrowed his eyes, Theo could almost see one set of hands after another gripping those iron bars, hands without faces, hands he’d linked to anxious voices from within boxes during his years on death row. Those were memories he would have liked to flush. But with his own brother in trouble, and with the barred doors and windows all around him, his mind drifted back to a night on death row that he’d truly thought would be his last hours on earth.

  Theo sat on one side of the prison glass; his brother, Tatum, on the other. His brother seemed taken by his baldness.

  “What happened to your hair, man?”

  “It’s just what they do,” said Theo. The prison barber had already shaved his head and ankles so that there would be a smooth connection between his flesh and the deadly voltage of the electric chair.

  “Swyteck is starting to scare me,” said Tatum. “What the hell is taking him so long this time? He ain’t never let it go this far before.”

  “He’s doing what he can. Sometimes you just run out of shit to throw against the wall.”

  “Then get a new lawyer.”

  “They don’t give out new lawyers the night before an execution.”

  “But you need more time. I need more time.”

  From the day of Theo’s sentencing, Tatum had vowed to track down every last member of the Grove Lords, threaten them, beat them, crack their skulls-whatever it took to find the one who had gone into that convenience store and really killed that cashier.

  Theo said, “I appreciate all you done for me, but-”

  “But nothin’. Don’t you start with that good-bye shit now.”

  “We gotta face facts.”

  “The facts is, you didn’t do it.”

  “You think I’m the first innocent man ever to sit on death row?”

  “Sittin’ here is one thing. They can’t execute you, damn it.”

  “They can, Tatum. And they will.”

  Tatum checked the clock on the wall. “Where the hell is that lawyer of yours?”

  “He’s supposed to call in about a half hour.”

  “Good. I want to talk to him.”

  “What for?”

  “I need to know if this is really it.”

  “We’ll know soon enough.”

  “Don’t say that. Because if he’s out of ideas, I got one for him.”

  “What?”

  With a pen, he scribbled onto the notepad in front of him. Then he leaned closer to the glass and turned the notepad so that Theo could see it. It read, “Let’s just say I did it.”

  Theo looked his brother in the eye. “Say what?”

  “I’m shit compared to you,” he said, his voice shaking. “You got a brain in your head, man. You could be somebody. So let’s just say it was me who done it. We look a little alike. That eyewitness was pretty shaky. Maybe she got it wrong, coulda’ mixed us up, you know?”

  “You would do this for me?”

  “You’re my little brother, man. You and me-aw, shit, don’t make me say it. We’re all we got, you know?”

  Theo felt a knot in his stomach, wishing he could break through the glass between them. “Thanks, bro’,” he said as he pressed his fist to the window. Tatum did the same from the other side, the prison handshake.

  “What do you say?” asked Tatum.

  “You’re awesome, totally. But even if I was gonna let you try, it’s just too late.”

  “Damn you, stop sayin’ it’s too late.”

  “It would never work anyway.”

  “I’ll make it work,” he said, his anger rising. “I can make those bastards believe.”

  Behind Theo a door opened, and the dull rumble of club noises rolled into the alley. He turned and saw a man step into the weak glow of a security light by the Dumpster.

  “Jack?”

  “I thought I saw you walk out this way. Your band’s gearing up for the next set.”

  Theo started toward him and said, “Guess I lost track of time.”

  “What are you doing out here?”

  He put his arm around Jack’s shoulder and walked him to the door. “Just strollin’ down memory lane, buddy. And you really had to be there to know what a shitty place that is.”

  “I was there, remember?”

  “Absolutely. I remember everybody who was there. And I do mean everybody.”

  They went back inside the club, the security bars clanging as the door closed behind them.

  Part Three

  Thirty-one

  Côte d’Ivoire is about the size of Germany or New Mexico. Jack’s problem was that getting from Germany to New Mexico is a heck of a lot easier than getting from the airport in Abidjan to the grasslands of the north.

  “I don’t do puddle jumpers,” said Jack.

  “You what?” said Theo.

  “I just don’t. I’ve had some bad experiences, and I just don’t do them anymore.”

  “You represent a badass like my brother, and you’re afraid of flying on a little plane?”

  “No, I’m afraid of crashing on a little plane. Got no problem with flying.”

  And so began the ground segment of their journey, a half-day bus ride on the heels of a seventeen-hour international flight. The road system of Côte d’Ivoire is among the best in West Africa, so it might have been bearable had the nine-hour trip to Korhogo been the end of the line. Unfortunately, Sally’s sister wasn’t in Korhogo, which surprised Jack. Before leaving Miami, he’d managed to contact her by e-mail, and from an Internet café in town she’d confirmed the meeting. A nice retired couple who ran the Children First headquarters gave Jack the bad news.

  “She’s gone to Odienné,” said Mr. Roberts.

  “Oh, damn.”

  “No, Odienné,” said Mrs. Roberts.

  “I know, I meant…When is she coming back?”

  “Don’t know. There was a little medical emergency she volunteered for.”

  “How do we get to Odienné?”

  It was an indisputable fact that any trip, no matter how well planned, no matter how experienced the travelers, had the potential for disaster. It was also indisputable that the trouble usually began with a question like, “How do we get to…”

  They rented an old Land Rover in Korhogo and took turns driving, headed due west. Roads between most major towns in Côte d’Ivoire were paved, with one major exception. The road from Korhogo to Odienné was paved only as far as Boundiali, a town whose name means “drum dried in the sun,” but which might have been more aptly named “dust so thick you can’t even see the goat standing next to you.” If all roads were like the last hundred miles from Boundiali to Odienné, the wheel might never have been invented.

  They reached the outskirts of Odienné just before sunset. In two hours they’d seen only one other traveler, a skinny, naked boy riding a brown-and-white cow. On one level it seemed as though they were in the middle of nowhere, yet Jack could appreciate why leaders of another era had chosen this site as the capital of the entire Kabadougou Empire. To the west, the Dienguélé range rippled over to the Guinean border. To the east rose Mont Toug
oukoli, an eight-hundred-meter peak that was quite impressive, if only because it rose from the midst of seemingly endless grasslands. Jack pulled off to the side of the road, giving them a moment to shake off the dust and savor the view before driving into the city.

  “My back is killing me.”

  “Don’t blame me,” said Theo.

  “Nobody’s blaming anybody for anything.”

  “Which only proves what a great guy I am.”

  “What?”

  “Next time we’re hoppin’ a plane from Abidjan. I don’t care if I have to pistol-whip you and tie you to the fucking wing.”

  Jack cooled his face with a splash of water from his canteen. Theo was working on his second giant liter of Bock beer, which had been ice cold when they left Korhogo, but an afternoon temperature of thirty-four degrees Celsius had taken off the chill in short order.

  “You think we’ll find her?” asked Jack.

  “Yup.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Cuz if we don’t, you’ll bitch all the way home like a teenage girl, sayin’ this trip was all for nothin’. So get it through your head right now, Jacko. We ain’t leavin’ till we find her.”

  “That was truly powerful,” said Jack. “Have you considered a career in motivational speaking?”

  Theo sucked down the last of his beer and pretended to scratch the side of his head with just one finger, the middle one, fully extended.

  They entered the city around six-thirty, minutes after the largely Muslim population of forty-seven thousand had finished the sunset prayer. It was a historic agricultural town, but the grand mosquée was all that remained of its architectural treasures. The rest of the old quarters had been hastily razed as part of a radical urbanization plan that replaced shady streets and traditional old homes with utterly unremarkable modern buildings, one more facet of the development crazy mentality that cost Côte d’Ivoire more of its rain forest than any other country on earth.

  “What’s that smell?” asked Jack.

  “Like charcoal,” said Theo.

  They drove to Hôtel les Frontières, one of the best hotels in town, which was not where Rene Fenning was staying. Her colleagues back at Children First headquarters in Korhogo had drawn a blank on where she was staying, and they could only tell Jack that she was at some joint right next to Hôtel les Frontières. It turned out to be Hôtel Touristel, which catered mostly to budget travelers on their way to or from Mali. The clerk behind the desk was not exactly fluent in English, but he was conversant enough.

  “Was fire in market three day ago,” he said.

  “That explains the smell,” said Theo.

  “Dr. Rene come here to make help. Come. Follow.”

  He led Jack and Theo outside, down a dusty walkway to the back of the building, where a large cafeteria had been converted into a hospital. About a half-dozen beds lined one wall, another dozen cots lined another wall, and dozens of brightly colored woven mats covered the floor. Most of them were empty, as if the emergency had passed. Jack counted eleven patients remaining, many with bandaged hands or arms.

  A woman wearing a makeshift surgical mask, the only white woman in the room, approached them and said, “You must be Jack Swyteck.”

  “Yes. This is my friend, Theo.”

  She removed the scarf from around her face, and Jack realized it wasn’t a surgical mask, but rather an appropriate covering for a woman in a Muslim community, particularly a blond American trying extra hard not to offend. “I’m Rene,” she said as they shook hands. “You fellas mind stepping outside with me? You’re a little dusty, and we’re doing our best to keep down the risk of infection.”

  She led them out the back door. Night had fallen, and it surprised Jack how the temperature had dropped in such a short time since sunset.

  “Sorry I had to skedaddle out of Korhogo on you,” she said.

  “That’s all right. Obviously it was an emergency.”

  “The worst is over now. It took some doing, but we finally evacuated the most seriously injured to Abidjan.”

  “Bet they wouldn’t have been afraid to fly,” said Theo.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Ignore him,” said Jack, shooting his friend a look that asked, “Is nothing sacred?”

  Rene said, “Sorry for the way I look. I’ve hardly slept in two days. I know you’ve come a long way and would like to talk about Sally.”

  “We can do it in the morning,” said Jack.

  “Lunchtime would be so much better,” she said with a weary smile.

  “That’s fine.”

  She said, “There’s a maquis next door.”

  “What’s a maquis?”

  “You boys haven’t been here long, have you? It’s like a café. Let’s meet there at noon.”

  “Great. See you then.”

  She smiled and went back inside. As the door closed behind her, Jack and Theo looked at one another, as if sharing the exact same thought.

  “Wow,” said Theo.

  “Uncanny, isn’t it? She looks exactly like her sister.”

  “Ten minutes in the shower, and she is an absolute knockout.”

  “Gee, all these years I thought you were shallow, and here you are, able to look past a woman’s outer layer of sweat and see all the way down to her true, naked, dripping-wet worth.”

  “What the hell did you just say?”

  “I said she looks pretty damn good even without a shower.”

  “That’s what I thought you said.”

  “Come on,” said Jack, walking toward the hotel, “let’s get a room.”

  Thirty-two

  Where’s your friend?” asked Rene.

  She and Jack were at the maquis, the open-air café next to their hotel. It was the epitome of informal dining, just a smattering of rickety wood tables and benches in the sand. They were seated across from each other in the circle of shade beneath a thatched paillote. The air smelled of cooked fish and some kind of steaming carbohydrate, appetizing enough, though the buzzing flies and oppressive heat would take some getting used to. Jack was sweating just sitting there, though Theo had been right about Rene: A shower and a good night’s sleep had vaulted her right into another league.

  “Theo’s still sleeping,” he said.

  “Jet lag?”

  “More like jet fuel. He and a couple of Belgians on their way to Man were up late drinking something called pitasi.”

  She flashed a knowing smile, as if she’d been there. “African gin. Deadly stuff.”

  A waiter brought them sodas and recited the menu in French. Jack let Rene order for both of them, trusting that he wouldn’t end up with boiled eye of impala.

  “You and Theo make a pretty interesting friendship.”

  “I hear that a lot.”

  “Have you known each other long?”

  “Pretty long. He was convicted of murder when he was a teenager. I picked up the case on appeal, after he was on death row. You can get pretty close to someone after counting down the hours to their death five or six different times. Especially when they’re innocent.”

  “So you got him off?”

  “Guilty people get off. Theo got screwed, and we finally made it right.”

  She took a long drink of cola with no ice, enjoying it before it got too warm in the midday heat. “Is that your specialty? Death penalty work?”

  “Not anymore. My first four years out of law school I worked at a place called the Freedom Institute. All death penalty work.”

  “Sounds pretty grim.”

  “Not as grim as some other things. I worked for a Wall Street firm the summer before I graduated from law school. On the last day, I walk into the elevator and punch forty-two, just like every day before. Then a young lawyer walks in behind me, punches forty-one, a little older guy walks in, punches forty-three, and finally a senior partner comes and-well, I don’t know what she punched. I literally ran the hell out of there. I suddenly couldn’t stomach the idea that this wa
s going to be my life, day after day, walking into the same elevator, punching the same button, going to that same little box in the sky.”

  “I can relate.”

  “Really?”

  “Look around. This isn’t exactly a normal career step for someone who just busted her hump through a pediatric residency.”

  She had a great smile, Jack noticed, and he smiled back. He hadn’t thought about it before, but they did have something seriously in common, both having chosen an unconventional start for their careers. He said, “If your experience is anything like mine was, I’m sure you have a lot of friends back home making plenty of money.”

  “Money was never what it was all about for me.”

  “Me neither, but…”

  “But what?”

  His expression turned more serious. “What about Sally?”

  She let out a little sigh, as if she’d known that the conversation would land here eventually. “Sally was a very complex person.”

  “Were you two close?”

  “Yes, most of the time.”

  “Most of the time?”

  She shrugged and said, “We were sisters. We had our differences, we got over them.”

  “I understand she spent some time here with you.”

  “Yeah. I was a bit surprised she came, but I suppose in the last few years nothing should have surprised me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Charity work in Africa is not exactly for Sally. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not for most people. But after her daughter was murdered, Sally just wanted to find a way to heal. She drifted from one extreme to the other, from partying to religion, from charity work to marrying a millionaire. In the end, I guess, nothing worked.”

  The waiter brought their food, a lumpy, grainy dish that looked like rice mixed with a little meat. Jack tried it with caution, but it was surprisingly tasty. “Good choice,” he said. “I like it.”

  “Really? For most people spider monkey is an acquired taste.”