Born to Run

Chapter 31

Jack went into the office early on Saturday morning to pack boxes.

Technically his lease wasn’t set to expire for another six months, but the rent was more than he could afford, and the landlord had agreed to let him out early-if he could be out before December 31. Under that kind of deadline, he was willing to take help from anyone. Even Theo.

“Do you know where you’re going yet?” said Theo. He was wearing a vintage 1970s Allied Van Lines moving shirt that he’d picked up at Miami Twice clothing store, which made him look all the more authentic loaded down with a stack of boxes as high as the ceiling.

“There’s a little place on Main Highway that I really like. Hope to sign a lease this week.”

Theo went to the lobby and dropped his stack on the floor beside other packed boxes. It sounded like breaking glass.

“Those were my framed diplomas,” said Jack.

“Emphasis on were,” said Theo. “Sorry, dude. But I can make it up to you. In fact, I’m gonna make you rich.”

“Spare me. I still have a garage full of Y2K survival kits from the last time you promised to make me rich.”

“This is different, dude. I been thinking about it since I called you at Grayson’s funeral and we talked about Tara Lee and porn addicts.”

“Vivien Leigh.”

“Whatever. It’s the addicts that’s important. I registered the domain name last night: BringBackPorn dot com.”

“I didn’t know it had left.”

“Your father isn’t vice president yet. Once he gets confirmed he’ll have nothing but time on his hands. All we gotta do is convince him to outlaw Internet porn. And then what do you think the most valuable domain name on the planet will be?”

“Get a Life dot com?”

“BringBackPorn dot com, baby. And we own it. It’s like money in the bank, dude.”

“Really, what planet are you from, Theo?”

There was a knock at the door. Theo went to the window, pulled the curtain aside, and peered outside.

“Can’t really see, but I think it’s your abuela.”

Jack’s maternal grandmother had a way of showing up at his office whenever it had been too long since he’d last visited her. Sometimes it was to wonder aloud if she was going to live long enough to teach Spanish to the great-grandchildren who, by the way, Jack needed to hurry up and give to her. Other times, it was to remind her gringo grandson that half the blood in his veins was Latin. Usually, however, it was just to give him a kiss and make sure that he wasn’t starving to death.

“Probably bringing us her famous tres leches,” said Jack. The tasty dessert was a running joke to just about everyone in Miami but Abuela, who regularly phoned in to Spanish talk radio and told the world that she’d invented tres leches, which the Nicaraguans had stolen from her.

Jack opened the door. It was not his grandmother.

“Mr. Swyteck?” the woman said.

“Yes. Who are you?”

“My name is not important. May I come in, please?”

“The office is not really open today.” Especially to people who won’t tell me their name.

“Please,” she said. “It’s important. It’s about your father becoming president.”

“You mean vice president?”

“No,” she said. “I mean president.”

The woman suddenly had Jack’s complete attention. It was odd that she wouldn’t share her name, but compared to everything else that had happened to him lately, it wasn’t that odd. He showed her inside and closed the door.

“Excuse the mess,” he said. “I’m moving.”

“To Washington?”

“No, I’ll be staying in town.”

Theo said, “Jack’s father fired him.”

Jack shot him a deadly look.

“Fired you?” she said.

“This is my friend Judas,” Jack said to her. “He was just leaving.”

“Nice to meet you, Judas.”

Theo nodded. “Later, dude,” he said, then left through the front door.

Jack showed his guest into his office and took her coat. It was heavy, he noticed, and even though it was a cool December day by Miami standards, it wasn’t winter-coat weather. He moved the boxes out of the way and offered her a seat in the armchair. The clutter made it impossible to get behind his desk, so he leaned on the front edge, facing her.

She sat quietly with her hands folded in her lap as she gazed down at the floor. Jack took a moment to size her up. She was younger than his grandmother, but he could see how Theo had mistaken her for Abuela. Both were attractive, elderly women with dark eyes and olive skin that seemed younger than their years. She had the delicate features of a former beauty, but her hands were those of a working woman. At bottom, however, it wasn’t her beauty or her subtle resemblance to Abuela that gnawed at Jack. There was a deeper familiarity-a distinct sense that he had seen her somewhere before.

“Is something wrong?” she said.

“No, sorry.” Jack was staring, but he couldn’t help it. She was definitely familiar. “Would you like some coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

She was leaning on the arm of the chair with her elbow, as if she were too tired to sit up straight, and her left leg was restless and shaking uncontrollably. She seemed nervous. Maybe even a little scared.

Finally, she looked up into Jack’s eyes.

More than a little scared.

“You’re in a lot of danger,” she said.

Jack had heard some interesting first lines from people in that chair, but this one was up there with the best of them.

“Can you tell me why?”

She shifted uncomfortably. “I had a lawyer once. He did a will for my late husband and me. If I’m your client, you can’t tell anyone what I tell you. Not even the police. Is that right?”

“That’s the way it normally works.”

“Am I your client?”

“You are now. Talk to me.”

“I think I know who killed that young reporter in Washington-Chloe Sparks. And,” she said, swallowing a lump in her throat, “I think you may be next.”

“Whoa,” said Jack. That last part had hit a little too close to home. “What’s the killer’s name?”

“I can’t tell you his name.”

“That’s okay. But what do you say we back up a little and you at least tell me your name?”

She took a breath, and let it out. “Sofia.”

“Good. A beautiful name.”

“Grazie.”

“You’re Italian?”

“From Sicily.”

“Is that where the killer is from?”

“No.”

“Would I be wrong if I guessed he was Greek?”

She showed surprise. “How would you know that?”

“I’ve been doing a little investigating of my own. Chloe’s sister and I tracked that down after we figured out that Chloe and I got the same curious message from an anonymous source.”

“I still can’t tell you his name.”

“How do you know he killed Chloe Sparks?”

“I’ve known him a long time,” she said, then thought better of it. “No, I knew him a long time ago. We talked recently.”

“He told you that he killed Chloe Sparks?”

“No. In fact, he denied it.”

“You don’t believe him?”

The anguish was all over her face. “I wanted to. I’ve always wanted to. But I’ve known better for a long time, and I definitely know better now. He told me he was in contact with her about President Keyes. He was trying to sell her newspaper a story. It didn’t work out. Now she’s dead.”

“You assume he killed her.”

“He’s desperate for money-a lot of money. The only way he can raise it is to sell what he knows about President Keyes. Once the secret is out, he can’t sell it. Somehow, Chloe Sparks must have figured out what he was trying to sell her before she had to pay him for it. That was a fatal mistake. Then he tried to sell the same information to you.”

Jack processed her words, thinking it through. “So if he thinks I also figured it out without paying for it, then-”

“Then you’re next on his list.”

Jack took it a step further, wondering if that was what had happened to Paulette Sparks.

“Are you on the list?” he asked.

She massaged away the tension between her eyes. “I have even bigger problems.”

Jack took another good look at her. It was a safe bet that she hadn’t slept much last night. “Are you running from someone?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Jack said, “Have you thought about going to the police?”

“No!”

“It’s just a suggestion,” said Jack. “Can we at least talk it out?”

“I can’t go to the police.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t. That’s not possible.”

“What if you were to tell me the killer’s name and then I went to the police?”

“No.”

“I have a friend in the FBI.”

“Absolutely no!”

Jack paused, confused. “The man killed Chloe Sparks. You think he might kill me. You look scared to death. Why are you protecting him?”

“It’s not him I’m protecting,” she said.

“Have you done something wrong, too?”

“No,” she said, almost laughing in frustration. “This is not about me.”

Jack leaned forward and looked her in the eye. “Are you afraid of him?”

Again, she was silent. Then suddenly she rose and said, “I’ve told you everything I can. You know the danger. Now please take care of yourself.”

“Sofia, you are an important witness, and you seem like a good person. I can help you get protection. I’ve done this many times before.”

She closed her eyes, struggling, then opened them. “You have no idea how complicated this is.”

“You’re right. I don’t. But let’s agree on this. We won’t do anything today. For now, we’ll just make you safe. You look like you could use some sleep. Do you have friends or family to stay with in Miami?”

“No one.”

“Do you have a hotel?”

She shook her head. “I rode the train all night from New York. I came straight from the station.”

He noticed that she had no luggage, but the heavy winter coat suddenly made sense.

Really on the run.

Jack helped with her coat, then grabbed a business card from his desk and wrote an address on the back.

“There’s a boutique hotel about three blocks that way,” he said, pointing. “The San Pietro. My out-of-town clients stay there and love it. Use my name. Tell the manager to bill it to my account.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Please. It’s right on the corner of Alhambra. A pink Mediterranean-style building with a barrel-tile roof and bougainvillea vines climbing up the walls. It will remind you of Sicily.”

That brought a smile-just a hint of one, but Jack could see that, trapped deep inside, was a beautiful smile that could have lit up a room.

“Thank you,” she said, as she surprised him with a kiss on the cheek.

“You’re welcome,” he said, and he showed her to the door.