Beyond Suspicion

9

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Jack met Theo for a late dinner. Jack had a burger smothered in cheese and mushrooms. Theo opted for the five-alarm chili. Both were staples on the simple menu at Tobacco Road.

In Jack’s eyes, Tobacco Road was the place in Miami for late-night jazz and blues, and that wasn’t just because his friend Theo was a regular sax player. By South Florida standards, it was steeped in tradition. It was Miami’s oldest bar, having obtained the city’s very first liquor license in 1912 and surviving Prohibition as a speakeasy. The upstairs, where liquor and roulette wheels were once stashed, was now a showcase for some of the most talented musicians in the area-including Theo. Tonight Theo and his buddies were slated to play at least one obligatory cut from Donald Byrd’s Thank You for… F.U.M.L. (Fucking Up My Life). It wasn’t generally regarded as the talented Mr. Byrd’s best work, and Jack was certain that the catchy title alone had put it near the top of Theo’s all-time favorite list.

Theo splashed more hot sauce on his chili, wiped the beads of sweat from his brow, and asked, “What we gonna do about Jessie?”

Jack had been ignoring Theo’s messages all week. It was clear that he’d viewed the interrogation of the soon-to-be-ex-wife of “Dr. Swamp” as just the beginning of the fun.

Jack said, “To be honest, I haven’t had much time to think about it.”

“What a crock.”

“Unlike you, I work for a living. I’ve been in trial the last four days. We still got one more day of witnesses, then closing arguments on Friday.”

“You gonna win?”

“Only if I can explain a miracle.”

Jack took a minute to fill him in. His client was an accused serial stalker, not the kind of case Jack would ordinarily take, but the guy seemed to be getting a raw deal. The government’s star witness was a woman who’d claimed to have seen him running from her building, even though he’d spent the last ten years in a wheelchair. The prosecutor claimed he wasn’t paralyzed at all, just a fat and lazy pig who liked to buzz around town in a motorized wheelchair. “The Lazy Stalker,” the media had dubbed him, and a dozen organizations were speaking out to protect the rights of stalking victims, the physically challenged, and the obese alike. Then came the first day of trial-the day of “the miracle.” His wheelchair set off the metal detector at the courthouse entrance, so the idiot stood up and walked around the machine. Jack was left scrambling to salvage the case.

Theo yawned into his fist. “Can we just talk about Jessie Merrill? The rest of your life is way too fucking ridiculous.”

“You have such a way about you.”

“Least I don’t talk shit. You trying to tell me that for past week you haven’t even thought about these Viagra-kill investors?”

Jack chuckled. “You just can’t get that word, can you?”

“What?”

“’Viagra-kill?’ We’re not talking about a terminal case of erectile dysfunction. It’s ‘viatical.’”

“What the hell kind of word is that, anyway?”

“Latin. The viaticum was the Roman soldier’s supplies for battle, which might be the final journey of his life. Two thousand years later, some insurance guru thought it was a catchy way of describing the concept of giving someone with a life-threatening disease the money they need to fight their final battle.”

“And I guess some of the soldiers live to fight another day. Like Jessie Merrill.”

Jack poured some ketchup on his french fries. “She called me.”

“When?”

“The day after we went to see Mrs. Marsh. She admitted it was a scam.”

“Hot damn. Now we got her.”

“No. We don’t got anybody. You’re not going to like this, but I’ve decided to let it go.”

“What?”

“What’s done is done. It’s not my place to fix it.”

“Aw, come on. Think in these terms: How much did she pay you in legal fees?”

“I gave her the friend’s rate. Flat fee, twenty grand.”

“There you go, my man. I can get you twenty times that much now.”

“I’m sure you could. But that would be extortion, now wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t care what you call it. You can’t just let her get away with this.”

“I don’t have a choice. I was her lawyer. All I can do at this point is be content with the knowledge that, yes, I was played for a sucker. If I start looking for something more than that, it’s going to be trouble.”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

“I need to move on with my life.” As soon as he’d said it, he realized he’d used Jessie’s own words. Weird.

Theo leaned closer, elbows on the table. “Did she and that doc threaten you?”

“It’s not important.”

“It is to me. Let me talk to her. She thinks she can threaten us, I’ll straighten her out.”

“Don’t. The best thing I can do for myself right now is to forget about Jessie Merrill and the whole damn thing.”

The deep thump of a bass guitar warbled over the speakers. Theo’s band was tuning up for the first set. He pushed his empty bowl of chili aside and said, “You really think she’s going to let you?”

“Let me what?”

“Forget her.”

“Well, yeah. She’s got her money. Got no more use for me.”

Theo chuckled.

“What are you laughing at now?” said Jack.

Theo rose, tossed his napkin aside. The bass had broken into a rhythm, the drums and trumpet were joining in. “Hear that?” asked Theo.

“Yeah, so?”

“They’re playing your song. Yours and Jessie’s.” He snapped his fingers to the beat. The song had no lyrics, but he sang out part of the album title anyway: Thank You for… Fucking Up My Life.”

Theo was only half-smiling. Jack just looked at him and asked, “What are you talking about?”

“You got this old-girlfriend thing going on. Cuttin’ her legal fees, cuttin’ her a break. I’m talking about some kind of a strange love-hate thing going on here. Thank you for…”

“That’s bull.”

“Sure it is. But something tells me you ain’t heard the last of Jessie Merrill. Not by a long shot, Jacko. Call me after your trial. Or after this squirrel comes back again for your nuts. Whichever comes first.”

Jack watched from his table, alone, as Theo and the rest of the crowd moved closer to the music.