Hear No Evil

39

Jack met with Theo over the lunch break. He would have preferred to stay at the courthouse with Lindsey and Sofia, but Theo claimed to have something of ball-busting importance to talk about. A handful of protestors marched up and down the sidewalk outside the courthouse. Jack donned his darkest shades-six-dollar specials, the kind so cheap that you were guaranteed never to lose them-hoping not to be recognized as he made a quick dash for Theo’s car at the corner.

“Whassup?” said Theo as Jack piled into the passenger seat.

Jack didn’t actually hear him, just saw his lips move. The stereo was loud enough to shatter fine crystal, a mind-numbing blast of so-called music, one of the many kinds that Theo liked, one of the few that made Jack wonder how the two of them were actually friends. Jack switched it off.

“How do you listen to that crap?” said Jack.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing, if you like songs where the most commonly rhymed words end with U-C-K.”

“Like the world needs another fucking song about taking a little chance, doing a little dance, and finding a little romance.”

Jack considered it. Maybe the guy had a point. Maybe.

“Got you some lunch,” said Theo as he handed it to him.

“Thanks,” said Jack, unwrapping it. “What it is?”

“The Felipe Castillo special.”

Jack chewed off the corner of his Cuban sandwich-slices of ham, pork, cheese, and pickles on Cuban bread, pressed together with a sandwich iron. “Very funny, Theo.”

“How’d it go this morning?” asked Theo.

“I don’t know. I think it might have been a mistake to put him on the stand at all.”

“You’re probably right.”

“You think?”

“Oh, yeah. Bad mistake, Jacko. Right up up there with Napoleon charging into Waterloo, Hitler turning his tanks against Russia, Dustin Hoffman going to see Elaine’s portrait.”

“Dustin Hoffman what?”

“The Graduate, dumbshit. You know, when Mrs. Robinson asks Benji if he would like to go upstairs and see her daughter’s-”

“I saw the flick. You equate a movie with a military decision that was probably the turning point of World War Two?”

“No. But I don’t think a Cuban soldier in Miami is in the category of earth-shattering, either. So get some perspective.”

“Do you live to see me scratch my head? Is that what makes you tick?”

The car stopped at the traffic light. It was a ride to nowhere, just cruising around the block long enough to hold a completely private conversation before Jack returned to court. Theo looked at Jack and said, “I’m making some headway on your Mustang.”

Jack opened his bag of chips. “You kidding me?”

His expression was deadpan. “I kid about sex. I kid about death. I kid about everything. Except cars.”

“What’d you find out?”

“I found the guy who did it. Some little weasel. Not even Cuban. Couldn’t give a shit about Castro.”

“Then why did he burn my car and write ‘Castro lover’ on the pavement?”

“Because somebody told him to. Hired him to, I should say.”

“Who?”

“Don’t know yet.”

“He wouldn’t tell you?”

“He would have, if he knew. It was a very thorough interrogation. The guy still couldn’t give me a name.”

Jack winced at the thought of a “thorough” investigation. Better not to know. The traffic light changed, and Theo turned the corner back toward the courthouse.

“So what’s your take?” said Jack. “Some anti-Castro group hired him through a go-between? Tried to scare me into not bringing the Cuban soldier into the courtroom?”

“Not sure it was an anti-Castro group.”

Jack swallowed one last bite of sandwich. “What, then? You think the anti-Castro message was just window dressing? Something to make it look like the work of an exile group?”

Theo steered his car toward the curb. They were a half block from the courthouse, as close as any vehicle could get with the added security. “Maybe so.”

“Who else would even care if a Cuban soldier came into the courtroom or not?”

“Maybe that’s not the right question. Maybe the right question is: Who else would try to make the defense too scared to call its best witness?”

“Or even more to the point, who else would be perfectly happy to see Lindsey Hart take the fall for the murder of Oscar Pintado?” Jack thought about it, then crumpled his sandwich wrapper into a ball. “You got any leads?”

“One good one. The people who hired the little pyromaniac didn’t pay him in cash.”

“Don’t tell me they wrote a check.”

“No. They paid in cocaine.”

Jack was reaching for the door handle, then stopped cold. “A drug connection?”

“Maybe.”

“That could change everything.”

“Yup.”

“Stay on it, Theo.”

“What are you gonna do?”

Jack glanced out the windshield, then looked at Theo and said, “I’m thinking maybe it’s time for another face-to-face with Alejandro Pintado.”

Theo nodded once, no disagreement, and then gave Jack one of those closed-fist handshakes. Jack got out the car, closed the door, and started down the sidewalk to the courthouse, ready to face yet again that ever-present group of Pintado-family supporters.