Last Call

by James Grippando

  "Know anybody who'd want her dead?" said Harmon. 'Not really."

  Harmon made a quick entry in his notebook and tucked it back into his pocket. "Thanks very much for your time, Mr. Knight."

  "That's it?"

  He gave Cy a business card. "Call me if anything comes to mind. Anything at all that you might think is important." The detectives turned and started down the steps. "Hey," said Cy.

  The detectives stopped, but only Harmon looked back. Cy said, "You ain't gonna do squat to find the guy who killed her, are you?"

  Harmon paused, as if to consider his response. It hardly seemed possible, but Cy would have sworn that the old detective looked even more jaded than when he'd arrived.

  "Another black whore gets high on crack and picks the wrong john," he said. "I'll do my best. But we can't work miracles, pal."

  THE BEDROOM SUDDENLY stopped spinning. Cy's memories faded, replaced by a pit of nausea in his stomach. This time, it had nothing to do with blood pressure. It was Theo he was worried about, and the memories of police indifference had only heightened his concern. He grabbed the phone on the nightstand and called Jack Swyteck at home, who answered in a sleepy voice.

  "Sorry Jack. Hate to get you out of bed."

  "It's okay" said Jack, a frog in his throat. "What's up?"

  "I wouldn't bother you like this in the middle of the night, but I just got a bad feelin' in my bones. It's Theo."

  "What about him?"

  "I been layin' here in bed thinking ever since you called me about this Moses. And it finally just comes to me. Theo got shot while Moses was in jail and Theo was on the outside."

  "Yeah, so?"

  "Now Moses is on the outside and Theo's on the inside. See what I'm sayin'?"

  The line was silent as Jack mulled it over. "Makes perfect sense," he said finally. "A convenient disconnect between the hit and the man who orders it."

  Cy's response came from deep inside him, a place laden with emotion. "We gotta get my nephew out of that jail."

  Chapter 32

  The salty taste of his own blood oozed from Theo's mouth. His ribs hurt, his testicles were swollen, his fingers felt like they'd been slammed in a car door, and the back of his legs still stung from MacDonald's nightstick.

  And no end was in sight.

  Theo lay on his side, his back to the guard, the concrete floor cool against his face. There was an art to getting through a beating of this sort, and Theo had been reaching inside himself for all the old techniques. The basic strategy was to leave your body and take a mental journey to some other place as far away as possible. To that end, he'd been thinking a lot about Trina – the passion in her eyes, the softness of her skin, the tingle of her touch. It wasn't working as well as he'd hoped.

  "For the last time," he said in a tired voice. "I got no idea where Moses is."

  MacDonald was sitting in the oak chair, resting and breathing heavily. Apparently, knocking the stuffing out of a man in handcuffs was hard work.

  "Then you have a huge problem, Knight. Because I still don't believe a word you say."

  "Why would I protect Moses like this?"

  "Because he's your brotha'."

  "I hardly know him."

  "Doesn't matter. He helped your buddy Isaac. Just like you did."

  Theo breathed through the pain. His interest was piqued. "What're you talkin' about?"

  "You helped Isaac on the outside. Moses helped him on the inside"

  "How you know that?" said Theo.

  MacDonald rose from the chair and kicked Theo in the lower back. It must have hit the sciatic nerve, because the pain shot down Theo's leg like a lightening bolt.

  "I know it," the guard said, seething, "because you're gonna tell me all about it."

  Theo heard a key in the lock, and the door opened. He didn't turn to look, but the sound of footsteps told him that someone else was in the room.

  Great. A gang bang.

  "What the hell's going on in here?" the other man said.

  Theo didn't recognize the voice, but he seemed to have seniority over MacDonald, based on the tone.

  "Just a little interrogation," said MacDonald.

  The man stepped closer and stopped behind Theo. Theo raised his head to look.

  "Eyes forward," the man said, turning Theo's face away with a prod of his nightstick to the chin.

  The signs of abuse were all over him, and Theo could only surmise that this officer was smart enough to keep Theo from witnessing the reproving looks he was throwing a fellow guard.

  "You can go, MacDonald," the man said.

  "But I'm not finished." I said go.

  Theo sensed tension in the ensuing silence, but finally MacDonald crossed the room and opened the door. He stopped and said, "I should have cuffed him sooner. Unfortunately I had to use force after the prisoner jumped me. It'll all be in my report."

  "Beat it," the man said.

  The door closed, and Theo was alone in the interrogation room with the other officer.

  "You all right?" he asked Theo.

  "Been better."

  "Can you walk?"

  "If it gets me outta here, I can."

  Theo groaned with pain as the guard took his arm and helped him up. The man was black. Thus far Theo had dealt only with white and Hispanic guards, so he didn't recognize him. He glanced at the name tag. Jefferson.

  "Where's it hurt?" said Jefferson.

  "Everywhere," said Theo. "My ribs, mostly."

  "Come on. Let's get you up to the infirmary."

  "Just take me to my cell."

  "No," the guard said. "MacDonald packs a wallop. You need to spend the night in the infirmary. Doctor can check you out first thing in the morning and get you over to Jackson if need be."

  Jackson Memorial Hospital was where Theo had ended up after the drive-by shooting. If this kept up, they'd be selling him a time-share. "I already got stitches in my head. He bust 'em open?"

  "Doesn't look like it," said Jefferson.

  With the guard's help, Theo put one foot in front of the other and made it to the door. The guard shut off the light, and they started down the corridor. Theo was shuffling his feet more than walking, the pain in his ribs forcing him to favor his left side.

  "Good thing for me you came when you did," said Theo.

  "Good thing for everyone."

  This Jefferson seemed like an all right dude. It was worth a shot to probe for a little information. "MacDonald tells me Moses killed a state trooper tonight."

  "MacDonald talks too much."

  "He thinks I know where Moses was headed."

  "Like I said: he talks too much."

  So much for loose lips.

  Another guard looked on with mild amusement as Jefferson and his battered prisoner passed in the hallway. They walked another thirty feet and stopped at the iron bars. The buzzer sounded, the door slid open, and they entered the next wing. Theo's legs were killing him, but thankfully it only took another two minutes to reach the infirmary. The door was made of chain link rather than iron bars. Jefferson unlocked it with his key and escorted Theo inside.

  The medical staff had gone home for the night, so Jefferson signed Theo's name into the log book at the registration desk and took him inside. The infirmary was a dormitory-style facility with a dozen beds on either side of the rectangular-shaped room and a wide aisle down the center. A crash cart and a gurney were in the corner, next to a row of IV poles. Only one other inmate was a patient, and he was asleep at the other end of the room, snoring loudly. It was lights-out for the entire jail, but the barred windows had no shades, and the nighttime security lighting allowed them to see what they were doing. Jefferson put Theo in the near bed.

  Theo let out another groan as he settled onto the mattress. It was more comfortable than the bunk in his cell, but not even a heated waterbed could have soothed these bruises. That his hands were still cuffed behind his back only made it worse. Jefferson helped him roll onto his side and slid a pillow un
der his head. Theo asked for water, and the guard brought him a cup to rinse the blood from his mouth. Fortunately, the bleeding had stopped.

  Jefferson said, "I'll find MacDonald and see if I can get the keys to these cuffs."

  "That would help."

  "You okay for now?"

  "I think so."

  Jefferson left him there. Theo heard his footsteps fade, heard the door open and then close. The noise was loud enough to disturb the other inmate. He snorted twice, smacked like a toddler eating peanut butter, and mercifully his snoring stopped. Theo lay with his back to him, however, so he couldn't tell if the man was actually awake or simply sleeping in a position that wasn't conducive to snoring. Either way, Theo appreciated the silence.

  Theo closed his eyes, but they soon opened. Oddly, the silence was almost too complete, at least for a jail. Snoring, farting, puking, grunting, cursing, pissing, howling, sucking, fucking – those were the normal sounds of prison in the dead of night. It felt strange to hear none of it. Beyond strange.

  Theo lay motionless in the bed. His left arm was falling asleep from lying on it, but the rest of his body was wide awake. He stayed in that position for five solid minutes. Ten minutes. Almost half an hour. Either Jefferson had forgotten about him or he was having trouble finding MacDonald. He wasn't coming back with the keys to the handcuffs anytime soon. Theo would just have to make the best of it.

  He shifted his weight, trying to get comfortable. Then he heard a noise. "Jefferson?" he said.

  There was no answer.

  He was sure he'd heard something. He remained perfectly still, completely silent.

  There it was again – a kind of scuffing noise, but it was so faint that Theo couldn't determine where it was coming from.

  "Jefferson, that you?" he said.

  The room was silent.

  Theo's pulse quickened. Lying alone on death row for four years had taught him to differentiate sounds. He could tell the difference between mechanical sounds and the sounds of the building. The sounds of falling rain and a leaky faucet. The sounds of his cell and another cell. The sounds of an inmate and a guard. The sounds that meant nothing and those that meant trouble.

  He heard the noise again – louder, closer, a stealthy attacker's misplaced footfall. Theo sprang into action, but with his hands cuffed behind his back, he couldn't react fast enough. The man quickly overpowered him, burying a knee in Theo's back and pinning him facedown on the mattress. Before Theo could even get a word out, the cord was around his neck. He heard himself groan. His vision blurred. His groaning turned to wheezing. The man pulled tighter, his grip tightening.

  Theo kicked and squirmed, but he felt himself weakening. Arterial flow continued in the head and neck, bringing more blood from the heart. The veins, however, were completely compressed, leaving the blood no escape, building pressure on the brain. His head pounded with congestion, like the worst sinus headache imaginable. His eyes bulged, and his face flushed red. He could taste blood, not just from the earlier wounds Officer MacDonald had inflicted, but as additional small bleeding sites erupted in the moist, soft mucosa of his lips and mouth.

  Theo felt the man's weight shift. He was leaning forward, and Theo suddenly felt his breath on the back of his neck.

  "This is for-"

  Before the man could finish, Theo arched his spine and threw his head back like a wild bull, effecting a reverse head butt. It was a direct hit, and the man cried out in pain. Theo seized the opportunity, drawing up his knees, pushing up with all his strength, and sending his attacker flying to the floor. The cord was off his neck. Theo coughed as he sucked in air, but he didn't miss a beat. He rolled off the bed – falling, more than pouncing on his attacker. His arms were useless, but Theo had legs like an Olympic wrestler, and he immediately recognized his serious height and weight advantage over this punk. They were both on the floor. Theo had the guy in a scissors lock, nearly crushing his attacker's skinny neck between his massive thighs.

  "Now it's your turn to choke," said Theo. He knew he could have killed him if he'd wanted to. But dead men don't talk. He squeezed tightly, but not too tightly.

  "Jefferson!" he shouted into the darkness.

  Chapter 33

  Just after 2:00 A.M. Jack and Uncle Cy were in the infirmary with Theo, waiting for the on-call physician to arrive. Theo downplayed his injuries, but the evidence of his beating was obvious. Jack got a full recitation of the evening's events while Andie Henning did a physical inspection of the infirmary and then the two of them went to the warden's office for an emergency meeting. Cy remained in the infirmary with his nephew.

  Warden Beth Johnson was the only person at TGK who knew about Theo's undercover assignment. At least she was supposed to have been the only one. The abuse Theo had taken at the hands of Officer MacDonald and the fellow inmate's attack in the infirmary raised serious questions. Jack had no intention of leaving TGK without the answers.

  Johnson was seated in a squeaky office chair behind a typical government-issue gray metal desk. Jack and Andie sat on opposite ends of an old couch, trying way too hard – as only people trying to deny the attraction do – to put distance between their bodies.

  "You two have some kind of contagious disease or something?" said Johnson.

  Their responses tumbled out together- "Me? Huh? No." But they quickly took her meaning and relaxed a little.

  Johnson was known around TGK as the hard-ass with the great ass, which was basically a handy way of saying that half the inmates wanted to kill her, and the other half wanted to bed her. She was definitely attractive, though the conservative Laura Ashley attire toned things down. Some said that being the mother of three children was the only qualification she needed to become a jail warden, but she was also smart, tough, and savvy, with framed diplomas from Duke, the University of Virginia, and Emory University hanging on the wall behind her desk. Had she taken her law degree and entered private practice, Johnson would have been a formidable opponent for Jack or anyone else on the opposite side of the table.

  "Whatever," said Johnson. "To put it in bottom-line terms, I can't tell you how this happened tonight. I'm still trying to figure it out for myself."

  "Let's break it down," said Andie. "We have two distinct situations here. MacDonald is an internal disciplinary matter. He abused an inmate as part of an interrogation. Jack and I are both upset about that, but it's not something we need to deal with in the wee hours of the morning."

  Johnson said, "Let me assure you, TGK has internal investigative procedures that can adequately deal with Officer MacDonald."

  "The state of Florida has a few criminal statutes that also come into play," said Jack.

  The warden bristled.

  Andie said, "That will all run its course in due time, Jack."

  Her tone might have sounded condescending if their past dealings had not taught Jack something about the nuances of her voice. Jack knew she was just trying to keep peace between him and the warden.

  "I see your point," said Jack. "But the infirmary is another matter. That was clearly a second attempted hit on Theo. Somebody was trying to finish the job they botched in Overtown."

  "Hold on," said the warden. "Before we go riding off into la-la land with conspiracy theories, we need to deal with prison realities. Inmates attack other inmates. That's a fact. It's usually about nothing – one guy doesn't like the way the other one looked at him."

  "This one wasn't about nothing," said Jack.

  "How can you be so sure?" said the warden.

  "Let me talk to the punk who tried to strangle Theo, and I'll prove it to you."

  "His names Holloway," said the warden. "But I can't let you talk to him."

  "Why not?"

  "He's in solitary and already demanded to speak to an attorney. If I send you down there, some lawyer will claim I used you as my agent to violate his constitutional rights."

  "Then bring CO Jefferson in here," said Jack. "I'll show you."

  The warden stiffe
ned in her chair. "You expect me to let a criminal defense lawyer interrogate my own correctional officer before I've even talked to him myself?"

  Jack said, "You got something to hide, Warden?"

  "No, but-" She stopped and looked to Andie, as if expecting the FBI agent to side with her.

  Andie said, "It beats having to talk to the Miami Tribune!"

  "Is that a threat?" said Johnson.

  "No," said Andie. "It was more of an appeal for a promise from Jack. This stays out of the newspapers, right?"

  Jack had to contain the urge to smile broadly and say, "Smooth move, Henning." She had threatened the warden, and seeing her pull it off so skillfully, with absolutely none of the repercussions flowing in her direction, served to remind him why he'd been so attracted to her. Before. Months ago. Not anymore.

  "Right, Jack?" said Andie.

  "Right," he said, snapping out of it. "I have no interest in talking to the press."

  "Warden?" she said. "Does that sound fair to you?"

  She grumbled, but Andie had left her little choice. "All right," she said. "But if I don't like your line of questioning, I'm shutting things down. Understood?"

  "Sure," said Jack.

  The warden picked up the telephone and told his supervisory CO to send up Jefferson. It was as if the call had been expected. Less than a minute later, Jefferson entered the warden's office.

  The warden made the introductions. The mention of Andie being an FBI agent triggered a twitch in Jefferson's eye. The warden explained that Jack was a criminal lawyer – folks in law enforcement always seemed to omit the part about his being a criminal defense lawyer – and that he had a few questions to ask. Then Jack offered his hand, not merely to be polite, but to get a read on just how high Jefferson had raised his defenses. As expected, it felt like two gladiators meeting just minutes before one of them fell in a pool of his own blood.

  Jefferson took the wooden chair in front of the warden's desk and sat at an angle, half facing the warden, half facing Jack. His spine was as rigid and erect as the chair back.