Last Call

by James Grippando

  "Okay okay" said Jack, wincing. He stepped out onto the porch and closed the door. "This is my grandmother's house."

  "Sorry man. I just thought you'd be happy for me."

  "I am happy."

  "You don't sound like it."

  "I couldn't be happier. Truly."

  "What'd you and Abuela do last night?"

  Jack was reluctant to say. "Dominoes."

  Theo laughed way too hard. Had they been anywhere but Abuela's, Jack would have flipped him the bird.

  "Why are you here?" said Jack.

  "I need another favor."

  "No, you can't have my place again tonight."

  "I wouldn't even think of asking. At least not till you wash the bedsheets."

  You mean burn them. "What do you want now?"

  "Hey I almost forgot," said Theo. Jack sensed a little misdirection coming before Theo hit him up for the real favor. Theo started to unbutton his dress shirt.

  "What are you doing?" said Jack.

  "Check this out," he said, as he pulled open the shirt to reveal what he was wearing underneath it. "You like?"

  "It's a T-shirt," said Jack.

  "Not just a T-shirt. The idea came to me when I was sitting in jail. I asked Trina to have some samples silk-screened. This is your new marketing angle, a way to build up your criminal defense practice. It's like the advertising campaign for the milk industry – 'Got milk?'"

  Jack took a closer look. "Got caught?" he said, reading aloud, and then he read the smaller print: "Call Jack Swyteck."

  "Good, huh?" said Theo.

  Jack just rolled his eyes. "Theo, really – what do you want?" He buttoned his shirt. "I need you to give me a lift."

  "Don't you have a car?"

  Trina dropped me off. Anyway I need you to come with me." Where we going now?"

  "My favorite place," said Theo. "Back to TGK."

  "For what?"

  "Just put on your lawyer face. Come on, hotshot. I'll fill you in on the way."

  A TGK CORRECTIONAL OFFICER led them to a private visitation room. Coincidentally it was the very same cubicle in which Theo, as inmate, and Jack, as lawyer, had met just a few days earlier. This time, however, Jack and Theo sat side-by-side on what Theo called the suit's side of the small conference table, the lawyer and his "investigator." Together, they waited.

  Finally, the fortified door opened. A guard entered first. The inmate followed immediately behind him.

  It was Theo's old cell mate, Charger.

  "Twenty minutes," the guard said, as he left: the room.

  The empty bunk had been Charger's first clue, and at breakfast he'd heard about Theo's release. The whole cafeteria was buzzing with talk of the attack in the infirmary last night. Charger went to the telephone, dialed Theo's home number, and told Uncle Cy that he had to speak to Theo – in person and in private. Bringing an attorney along was the only way to ensure privacy, so Theo rounded up Jack just as soon as Cy called and delivered the message.

  Charger sat in the wooden chair on the other side of the table, facing Theo and Jack. Theo was about to make the introductions, but Charger didn't seem to care who Jack was. He looked only at Theo.

  "I lied to you," said Charger.

  "About what?" said Theo.

  He looked at Jack. "You got any gum?"

  "Actually, I do." Jack offered a stick, and Charger took the whole pack. He tucked a piece into his mouth and chewed. Interesting, but watching him gently work the gum around in his mouth was the first time Theo had so clearly noticed Chargers effeminate side. He definitely worked on his manliness among the general prison population, not one of the obvious prison bitches who enhanced his lips with powdered Kool-Aid from the kitchen as if it were a tube of Hooker Red No. 105.

  "What'd you lie about?" said Theo.

  "'Bout Isaac."

  "I'm listening."

  Charger crossed one leg over the other, again like a woman. "Me and him, I mean. That was a lie."

  Theo had little doubt as to Charger's meaning, but somehow it just wasn't registering. "What was a lie?"

  Charger looked at Jack, then back at Theo. "Your friend's cute," said Charger.

  Theo jumped up, reached across the table, and grabbed him by the inmate number on his jumpsuit. "You little shit, what are you saying?"

  Jack pulled him back into his chair. "Easy, Theo. Go easy."

  Charger caught his breath and brushed out the wrinkles that Theo had inflicted on his jumpsuit.

  Charger lowered his eyes, his hands resting in his lap. "I lied when I said Isaac and me weren't lovers."

  "Let's get outta here," Theo said to Jack.

  "Wait," said Jack. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, the way he might during the deposition of a witness who was flip-flopping on his story. "Why did you lie about that before?"

  Charger leaned forward as well, and suddenly Jack's attempt at intimidation looked more like two people on a date staring into each other's eyes. "Because that was the way Isaac wanted it," said Charger.

  Jack sat back in his chair. "He preferred to keep it a secret?"

  "Uh-huh. So that was the way we played it."

  Theo said, "I got two things to say about that. Number one, I don't believe you. Number two, if this is all you got me out of bed with my girlfriend to listen to, I'm gonna jump over this table and snap you in half."

  "Well, then, I'm one lucky boy. Because that's not all I have to tell you. And I can make you believe everything."

  "How?"

  "Isaac and me shared secrets."

  "What kind of secrets?"

  "The best kind," said Charger. "Dangerous ones."

  "How do you mean 'dangerous'?"

  "See, Isaac was a very smart man. Outside our cell, he had to treat me bad. He knew what would happen if he was good to me in front of the other inmates."

  Theo said, "Yeah, they'd kick his ass."

  "No," he said with a light chuckle. "Nobody kicked Isaac's ass. His concern was for me. He didn't want the bad guys to have any reason to think I knew any of his secrets. Especially, you know, if something happened to Isaac."

  Theo and Jack exchanged glances. The same realization had hit them simultaneously: Charger was the safety valve – the person outside the extortion scheme who knew all the secrets and could tell all if the blackmailer turned up dead.

  Jack said, "Was there something specific that Isaac wanted you to tell Theo if something happened to him after the escape?"

  Charger nodded.

  Theo said, "Why didn't you tell me when I was in the cell with you?"

  "I didn't think you'd be leaving so soon. And to be honest, I was kind of hoping we'd get to like each other first."

  "That ain't gonna happen," said Theo.

  "I know. But give me a little credit. I'm sticking my neck out, and there's no Isaac, no Theo, no one at all on the inside to protect me."

  "I'm sure we'll read all about it in the next edition of Profiles in Courage'' said Theo. "So let's hear it."

  Charger smiled like a smart-ass, as if he was just now getting to the fun part. "Reality Bitches dot com," he said. "It's a website."

  Theo said, "That's all you got? A website address?"

  "Yup."

  Again, Jack and Theo exchanged glances, both men reconsidering Charger's role as safety valve.

  Jack said, "What's on this website?"

  "I've never seen it," said Charger, his voice trailing off to a playful whisper. "But from the sound of it, I'd say it has something to do with Santa's naughty list."

  Theo narrowed his eyes. "You better not be messin' with us."

  "If anyone's messing with you, it ain't me. It's Isaac. Thanks for the gum," said Charger, winking at Jack. He pushed away from the table, walked to the door, and pressed the button on the wall. The door opened, and Charger told the guard he was ready to go.

  "See you around, boys," he said on his way out. The door closed, leaving Theo alone withJack.

  "You think he's
for real?" said Theo.

  "Let's visit that website and find out."

  Jack removed his notebook computer from his briefcase and powered it up on the table. The jail made a high-speed wireless Internet connection available to attorneys, and Jack's Wi-Fi picked up the signal. Theo watched as he typed in the address. Even witha high-speed connection, it took a moment for the page to load. The banner emerged first- "Reality Bitches" in bold red letters. Below it were several boxes, empty at first, and then one by one, the images popped into place.

  The first was the face of a pretty redhead who was maybe old enough to vote. A string of letters tumbled across the screen and then settled into place to spell "Party Bitch."

  Then the second box developed, a brunette called "Head Bitch," followed by "Nasty Bitch," "Latina Bitch," and several others, until the final box emerged. This last image, however, was much slower to come into focus than the others. It also seemed to be a much lower resolution, a little grainy, the color and lighting of much lower quality.

  She was "Reality Bitch."

  Theo slapped the table and walked away. "Damn you, Isaac!" he said, kicking the wastebasket across the room.

  "What is it?"

  Theo turned and faced Jack, mad enough to put a fist through the wall. He needed to hit something – or someone.

  "Theo, what's wrong?"

  "Nothing," he said, trying to breathe in and out, the way Trina had taught him to get himself under control. "There's nothing wrong at all."

  "Tell me," said Jack.

  Theo walked back to the table, glanced one more time at the screen, and then looked at Jack. "That's her," he said. "That's my mother."

  Chapter 37

  Theo wasn't handling it well. Uncle Cy wasn't doing much better.

  So Jack had to deal with it.

  The old photograph of Theo's mother on the website was only the beginning. One click of the mouse set the image in motion, a stream of XXX video. Even if the woman hadn't been Theo's mother, Jack would have had a difficult time watching. He had his own theory as to why Isaac might have wanted Theo to see it, but he needed a professional's evaluation before talking it over again with Theo and his uncle.

  At one o'clock he was in a conference room at the FBI's field office. Andie was seated across from him, and his open notebook computer lay on the table between them. Jack typed in the website address and hit enter.

  The LCD screen blinked, the Reality Bitches homepage lit up – and Andie blinked too.

  "You okay?" said Jack.

  "Sorry," she said. "I'm trying to be professional, but the existential in me can't help but see the absurd side of surfing porn sites with you."

  "This isn't pornography," said Jack. "It's obscenity."

  "Oh, well, that makes me feel better already."

  There was humor in what she was saying, but Jack knew she wasn't making light of the situation. Few law enforcement officers had witnessed the depravity Andie had as a criminal profiler and hostage negotiator, and everyone had his or her own way of staying sane.

  She said, "Does Theo have any idea where this came from?"

  "None"

  "How about Uncle Cy?"

  "He didn't want to see it any more than Theo did. I asked him if he knew of any hard-core porn films she might have made. He didn't. But he said it wouldn't come as a surprise to him."

  "Can Theo put an approximate date on the photo?"

  "It's hard to get him to take a really good look at it. But I can tell you that she was thirty-one years old when she died."

  Andie studied the photograph on the screen. "She looks like a teenager here. Pretty girl."

  "The image is pretty low resolution, so I'm sure that doesn't help."

  "Our tech guys can improve that."

  "Do the computer enhancements later," said Jack. "Right now, I just want you to watch this. Tell me if you have the same reaction I did."

  "What was your take on it?"

  "Watch first. I don't want to sway you."

  "All right," she said, drawing a breath. "Let's see – no, wait. Tell me her name."

  She had reached across the table and grabbed his wrist. Jack didn't pretend to know her every touch – they'd never more than kissed – but he knew instantly that this moment had nothing to do with him. It was between Andie and the woman on the screen – a real person, a human being, not just some pervert's five-minute fantasy in cyberspace.

  "Portia," said Jack. "Her name was Portia Knight."

  Andie let go of his wrist. "Okay. Let's see what we've got."

  "It might be easier to see if we switched off the light."

  Andie considered it, then leaned back and flipped the wall switch. The room went dark, and the glow of the screen that bathed them in strangely colored light only added to the eerie feeling of anticipation.

  Jack clicked on the photograph with his mouse. The frozen image jerked into motion, and Portia came to life.

  Theo's mother was in a dark room, her body illuminated only by the camera's harsh spotlight. The expression on her face could only be described as wary the nervous smile of a young woman who was beginning to realize that perhaps she was in over her head. Her hair was pulled back tightly making her face clearly visible.

  "Theo got her eyes/' said Andie.

  She was moving, and as the camera angle widened, it was clear that she was dancing. Her breasts were fully exposed, and she wore only a red thong, gold hoop earrings, and gold stiletto heels.

  Andie said, "Can you turn up the volume?" There's no sound.

  Even with no music, Portia's movement on-screen seemed smooth and rhythmic, as if Theo's appreciation for all things musical hadn't come entirely from his uncle. Behind her, in a ragged semicircle, a crowd of men stood and watched her dance, all of them smiling, most of them holding large plastic cups in one hand and a smoldering cigar in the other. With such bad lighting, and with the camera's focus entirely on the dancer, the spectators and background images were distorted and obscured.

  Andie said, "Looks like this even predates VHS recorders. Probably a handheld sixteen-millimeter."

  "I guess that would have been state of the art when Portia was a teenager."

  "Yeah, early seventies."

  Jack said, "And from the amount of jerky footage, I'd say the cameraman was one of the drunkest guys in the room."

  On-screen, Portia showed her back to the camera, and the cameraman zoomed in on her ass. She bent over and grabbed her ankles, knees straight, and slid the thong down her legs, kicking it across the room with a flick of her foot. The cameraman tried to follow the thong as it sailed into the crowd, but it was just a blur.

  She continued to dance nude, wearing only her spiked heels. One of the men came forward and started dancing with her. Staggering would have been a better word for it. Portia didn't pay much attention to him, but that only made him bolder. It was a silent video, but the other men appeared to be shouting and egging him on. The closer he came to her, the more she pulled away. He stumbled after her, apparently trying to kiss or lick her breasts, but he managed only to spill his cup all over her.

  Portia stopped dancing. From her reaction, the contents of the cup must have been ice-cold. She said something to him. He spoke back to her, clearly angry. Another man tried to pull him back into the crowd. He made some kind of remark to Portia as well. She responded in kind – the same nasty body language – and he threw his drink on her. Another man did the same. Soon, plastic cups filled with beer were flying through the air. Portia was being pelted. She gathered up her white tube top and orange hot pants from the floor, but another man snatched them right back. Suddenly surrounded, she started looking for an escape route. Cups were still flying, and even with no sound it was clear that people were shouting and that things were getting out of hand.

  Portia ran.

  The cameraman followed.

  So did the mob.

  The screen was one bouncy frame after another as the cameraman and his drunken friends chase
d Portia out of the room and down the long hallway. The heels snapped off her shoes, and she gathered speed. She glanced back over her shoulder, tripped on a step, and hit the floor hard. She lay there, naked, sprawling.

  Two men grabbed her, their images a blur in the confusion. Portia kicked and punched, but other men grabbed her arms to restrain her. Someone else took her legs. The cameraman zoomed in on her face. Portia was screaming.

  Jack looked away from the screen. He'd watched it twice already and didn't need to see it again. He glanced at Andie, her face aglow with the on-screen events. Even with no audio, it seemed as though Andie could hear Portia's screams. The notepad in front of her had not a single notation on it. Andie simply watched the filmed frenzy unfold on the computer.

  It went on for several minutes. Close-ups of the penetration, close-ups of the terror in Portia's eyes. The men's faces, of course, had been carefully edited out. When it was over, the red letters tumbled back onto the screen to spell out a final message in lieu of credits. It read: "Reality Bitches get what they deserve."

  Jack closed the website.

  Andie was silent. Then she looked at Jack and said, "I'm glad Theo didn't watch."

  "So you see it like I do? This is not acting. 'Reality Bitches' means it's real?"

  "No doubt about it," she said. "Theo's mother was raped. Before she was his mother."

  Chapter 38

  Andie ate dinner at her desk. This was becoming a bad habit. Nearly four months had passed since her last date with Jack. Fifteen weeks since he'd wigged out over her remark about Theo and called it quits. One-hundred-something days without another date of any promise. Two-thousand-plus hours without any hope of… "it."

  Suddenly she was counting minutes as the theme song from Rent played in her head.

  She popped open another diet soda and unwrapped her spicy tuna roll from the local sushi-on-wheels. The bright side was that she was impressing her supervisors and proving herself worthy of advancement to the elite criminal profiling unit at the FBI Academy in Quantico. With every dinner alone at the office, however, the computer dating option seemed less absurd. That so-called cyber expert she'd blown off on Miami Beach had been dead right about one thing: it was hard for a female FBI agent to find love outside of law enforcement. Andie got plenty of interest from men who wore badges. That was one reason she'd been so attracted to Jack. That and… "it."