Authors: James Grippando
J
ack went straight from the prison to Theo’s apartment. His friend was just about ready to head down to Sparky’s Tavern to set up for the lunch crowd when Jack caught up with him. Theo sat on a bar stool at the kitchen counter and listened for almost ten minutes without interruption—a record for him—as Jack recounted his entire conversation with Lindsey. Since Theo was his investigator, Jack didn’t have to worry about breaching any privileges. More important, he was able to give his friend complete vindication on his theory about who torched Jack’s Mustang.
“Johnson was definitely in with druggies,” said Jack.
“I knew it!” said Theo as he slapped the countertop.
“He was feeding information about Coast Guard routes to Oscar, who then passed it along to his old man.”
“Don’t tell me Alejandro Pintado is a trafficker.”
“No, no way. Two totally distinct things were going on here. Pintado used Johnson’s information strictly to avoid border patrol and help Cuban rafters get to shore. But it was Johnson who realized that the drug trade would pay handsomely for the same information. So he started selling it to them.”
Theo nodded, seeing where this was headed. “And Oscar found out about it.”
“Yup.”
“And then Oscar had to go.”
“You got it,” said Jack. “To think I nearly played the drug card at
trial. I probably would have, had I thought the jury wouldn’t lynch me for calling the Pintados a bunch of cocaine traffickers. Turns out Oscar got himself killed doing the honorable thing, saying no to drugs. Go figure.”
“Hindsight, Jacko. It all works out in the end.” Theo popped another mini-doughnut into his mouth, his tenth since Jack had started talking. Powdered sugar was everywhere. All this talk of drugs, the countertop was beginning to look like a snort fest in a South Beach nightclub.
“Still not sure ’bout sumptin’,” said Theo, his mouth still full. “Why’d the drug folks torch your car?”
“Well, we knew from the start that whoever it was didn’t want to see Lindsey acquitted.”
“Why would the druggies care?”
“All I can figure is that they were happier to see Lindsey go down for murder than Lieutenant Johnson. Keeping Johnson out of jail was the only way to make sure he kept feeding them the information they needed.”
“Interesting,” said Theo, mulling it all over. “So bottom line is, Oscar might still be alive if he didn’t go snooping around and find out what else his friend Damont was doing with the Coast Guard secrets.”
“That’s about the size of it. Tough break for Captain Pintado.”
“You kidding me?” said Theo. “He’s the lucky one.”
“How do you mean?”
“That article in today’s newspaper—don’t you remember? It said Lieutenant Johnson is talking to the U.S. attorney, looking to tell all. What do you think these drug folks are gonna do when they read that? Sit around and wait to see if dumbass Damont names some names or not?”
Jack almost smiled. He hadn’t thought of that, but it was the kind of thing Theo was usually right about. “Guess I wouldn’t want to be Lieutenant Damont Johnson right now.”
“Shee-it,” said Theo. “You don’t want to
know
Lieutenant Damont Johnson right now.”
One gentle wave after another broke about twenty yards offshore. Thin sheets of emerald green water rolled up like a tarp onto Hallandale
Beach, churned into white foam where the wet sand gave way to powder, and then retreated into the Atlantic. It was six
A.M.,
and Marvin Schwartz was up with the sun, dressed in his usual Sunday morning uniform: rubber-soled sandals, white cotton chinos rolled up to the knee, long-sleeved gossamer shirt, broad-rimmed straw hat. Early Sunday morning was usually his best hunting time; Saturday night revelers had been known to leave behind everything from pocket change to Rolex watches. Actually, it wasn’t a
real
Rolex, but the boys back at the Golden Beach condo didn’t know a good knockoff from the real McCoy anyway.
The chirping of seagulls gave way to the beep of his metal detector. He marked the spot mentally, then knelt down and dug away the sand with a serving spoon he’d borrowed from the cole slaw bin at Pumpernickel’s Deli in 1986.
The disappointment was etched all over his sun-weathered face. A bottle cap. The ninth one this morning. Not a good day so far.
“Mah-vin. You find my diamond earrings yet?” It was his wife shouting from her chaise lounge at the cabana. She looked like a big beach ball from this distance, five feet wide and five feet tall.
“No, dear,” he mumbled, making no effort to speak in a voice loud enough to be heard.
“Ten years you been lookin’. Still no diamond earrings?”
“No, dear.”
Diamond earrings
, he thought, scoffing.
She wants diamond earrings, she should have listened to her mother and married Dr. Moneybags.
He was climbing over a big clump of seaweed when the metal detector suddenly went berserk, chirping and beeping wildly. He moved the wand to the left, and the chirping stopped. He moved it back to the right, and it was sounding off like a carnival again. He smiled, his heart racing with excitement. He poked through the strands of seaweed. Barnacles and other shellfish were all over the place. A piece of driftwood was all he could find, but there had to be something metal in there somewhere. He pushed away more seaweed, then stopped. The morning sun caught the gold, and the utter beauty of that reflection sent chills down his spine.
A ring!
He knelt down for a closer look. It looked like a Super Bowl ring at
first, so big and ostentatious. As he reached to pick it up, he noticed the engraving on the side, and the prominent “U.S.” insignia told him that it was from one of the academies.
A Coast Guard ring.
He grabbed it, lifted it, then dropped it on the spot, recoiling quickly. The ring was still attached to a finger. The finger was still attached to a blackish-purple hand.
The hand had been severed at the wrist.
“Sheila!” He dropped his metal detector, jumped to his feet, and wobbled back the cabana as fast as his bony legs would carry him, shouting over and over again at the top of his lungs, “
SHEEEI-LAH!
”
T
he Miami-Dade County medical examiner described it as “Foreign matter, triangular-shaped cartilaginous material, 2.5 cm × 2.3 cm × 2.7 cm, embedded in the palm of the left hand of an African American male.” A marine biologist confirmed that it was a shark’s tooth. Fingerprint and DNA analysis confirmed that it was in the left hand of Lieutenant Damont Johnson. No other body parts were recovered, so the rest of the story was conjecture. But the possibilities weren’t exactly endless: Either he’d decided to swim with a school of hammerheads, or someone had used him for shark bait.
Lindsey told the prosecutor all that she knew about Johnson’s drug trafficker connections. Jack made sure that her proffer implicated only the guilty parties, namely her and Lieutenant Johnson, and not Brothers for Freedom or the Pintado family. Since she hadn’t dealt directly with the druggies, she wasn’t able to offer any specifics that might help law enforcement track down Johnson’s killers. Still, it was useful enough to persuade the prosecutor to back away from the death penalty. Judge Garcia followed the government’s recommendation and sentenced Lindsey to life in prison. Lindsey didn’t seem to think a life sentence was fair, since she wasn’t the trigger person, but she’d have a chance to draw her nice distinctions between murder and conspiracy to commit murder at her parole hearing in about sixteen years.
Jack decided to have no contact with Brian or the Pintado family until he felt that the time was right. On the first Saturday morning
after Lindsey’s sentencing, that time had come. He and Theo drove to Coral Reef Park, where Brian played intramural soccer.
“You sure you want to do this?” asked Theo as they walked across the parking lot.
“Positive,” said Jack.
They followed the wood-chip footpath past several playing fields. Jack glanced at the different games that were being played simultaneously, one field after another. It was like a stroll through the sporting life of a child, everything from the four-to six-year-olds, where a few kids hustled after the ball while others picked flowers, to the middle-schoolers, who were already starting to play like future Olympians. Jack and Theo stopped at the south field.
Jack spotted Alejandro Pintado seated in a lawn chair on the sidelines, and he knew he was in the right place. He and Theo found a spot about twenty yards down the line and watched some of the game, blue jerseys versus yellow jerseys.
“That’s Brian over there, isn’t it?” said Theo. “Goalie for the blue team?”
Jack looked toward the net, and he smiled. “Yeah. That’s him.” Jack watched him make a couple of nice saves, then turned at the sound of Alejandro’s voice, startled to see that he’d come over to talk.
“You just a big soccer fan, Jack?” said Alejandro. “Or do you have a kid out here, too?”
Jack wondered if he had any idea how ironic the question was. “Actually, I came to see you.”
“In the middle of my grandson’s soccer game?”
“I wanted to catch you at a time and place where I could see Brian do something other than testify in a courtroom. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Depends on what it’s about.”
The referee’s whistle blew. A boy in a blue jersey was down. A group of parents on the opposite sideline was about to have a cow, but the kids just kept playing. Theo wandered off quietly, allowing Jack to have a little one-on-one time with Alejandro.
Jack said, “It’s about a couple things. One is just something I’m curious about. You remember that newspaper article that came out in the
Tribune
right after the trial? The one with the anonymous source?”
Alejandro was watching the game, not so much as glancing at Jack. But Jack could tell he was listening. Jack continued, “I thought
that article was a stroke of genius. It prompted Lindsey to talk to the prosecutor, because it made her think that Johnson was on the verge of turning state’s evidence. At the same time, it effectively put a target on Johnson’s back, since it made the drug people think he was going to rat them out. In hindsight, I have a sneaking suspicion that none of it was true. Johnson had no intention of going to the U.S. attorney. Somebody had a very well-conceived plan, and he got the whole thing in motion by burning a favor with a reporter who was willing to work with an ‘anonymous source.’ ”
Alejandro lit a cigar, saying nothing.
Jack said, “You think I’m on to something? Or am I totally off base, Alejandro?”
They watched the kids battle for the ball in the near corner, then Brian made another save. Pintado said, “The boy’s good, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, he is,” said Jack.
“Being deaf’s a disadvantage most of the time. But out here, it shuts out all the noise and distractions, lets Brian focus on the ball. In some ways I think it makes him a better goalie.”
“Could be,” said Jack.
Finally, he looked right at Jack and said, “It’s like everything else in life. You keep your eye on the ball at all times. You identify your strengths, and you use them. Whatever they are. You know what I mean, Jack?”
Jack considered it, but not for long. He didn’t even want to think about what he might do if his own son were murdered, even if his son had been a lousy husband and an even worse father. “Yeah,” said Jack. “I think I know what you mean.”
They turned their attention back to the soccer game. Then Pintado said, “You said there were two things. What’s the other thing you wanted to talk to me about?”
“Brian,” said Jack.
His expression turned more serious. “What about him?”
“I just wanted to let you know that I think he landed where he belongs. Plenty of bad things have happened to him, but that’s all in the past. I think he’ll have a good life. And I’m happy about that.”
He looked at Jack curiously, as if wondering why he cared. “I appreciate that.”
“Good luck to you.”
“Thanks. Same to you.”
They shook hands, then Jack walked away, leaving Alejandro alone on the sideline to cheer on his grandson.
Jack caught up with Theo a couple of fields away. He was watching the four-year-old players, laughing it up with an attractive mom on the sidelines. He tucked something into his pocket, probably her phone number, then gave her a little wave good-bye as he hurried over to catch up with Jack. They talked as they walked down the tree-lined path that led back toward the parking lot.
“Did you tell him?” asked Theo.
“Tell him what?”
“That Brian isn’t your kid?”
“Didn’t have to. No one ever told him he was mine. Not me, not Lindsey.”
Theo put a hand on Jack’s shoulder, giving him a friendly shove. “Hey, man, I’m sorry it turned out like this.”
“No problem. I’m okay with it.”
Jack had been glad to find out the truth, though he didn’t condone Theo’s tactics. When Jack had visited the Pintado house during the trial, Alejandro had told him how worried they’d been for Brian’s safety after some fool had stolen his backpack. That fool turned out to be Theo. Unbeknownst to Jack, Theo’d snatched the boy’s backpack from under the bleachers at soccer practice. Inside, there was a goal tender’s protective mouthpiece, which contained more than enough traces of saliva for a DNA test. It took weeks to get the lab results, and Theo didn’t tell Jack about it until after they were in.
“I’ve been wondering,” said Jack. “The lab needed my DNA to make the comparison. What’d you end up giving them? Or should I say, what did you end up taking from me?”
“Well, uh…”
“What?”
“I actually got your sample first. Sort of had a doctor help me out with that.”
“A doctor?” Jack stopped cold. Just one night in town on her way from Africa to L.A., and Dr. Wham-Bam-Thank-You-Jack was suddenly in the middle of it all. “Damn it, Theo. Why’d you go and drag Rene into this?”
“What are friends for?”
Jack considered it, as if it were high time someone actually answered that question. “Let me get back to you on that one, okay, buddy?”
They walked in silence for a moment, then Theo seemed to read Jack’s mind. “You knew even before I told you about it, didn’t you, Jack? You knew Brian wasn’t yours.”
“I wouldn’t say that. Lindsey had me pretty convinced.”
“Personally, I never saw that much of a resemblance between you and Brian. I think you wanted it to be true, so you saw it when she showed you those pictures.”
“Maybe. But I still had my moments of doubt. I suppose that’s why I never told her that Jessie had left a nice inheritance for the boy she’d given up for adoption.”
“Nice?” said Theo, his voice almost shrill. “As I recall, she left him everything she had, including that settlement on her life insurance policy. That’s more than nice.”
The shady footpath gave way to sun-baked asphalt. Jack looked around for his car. Even after all this time, he half expected to see the old Mustang.
Theo said, “So, now what do you do, Jacko? Even though Brian’s not your son, he’s still Jessie’s. Which means he’s still entitled to her inheritance.”
“I know.”
“So when do you tell Alejandro about the cash windfall?”
“I’ll let Jessie’s estate handle that. I’ll call the lawyer on Monday. And tell her we finally found Jessie’s heir.”
Jack opened the car, got inside. Theo slid into the passenger seat, and their doors closed simultaneously.
“You think Jessie knew all along that the kid wasn’t yours?”
Jack considered it. “No. I think she managed to convince herself that he was mine. For whatever reason.”
Theo flipped down the sun visor and checked his reflection. He seemed utterly fascinated with the fact that Jack’s rental car had a light-up mirror that worked. “Why don’t we ask God what he thinks?”
“What?” said Jack as he started the car.
“It’s a special offer, limited time only. The last guy to get a chance like this totally blew it, so don’t you screw up. God has decided to let you ask Him just one question. What’s it going to be?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Maybe you want to ask Him something like, ‘Did Jessie know you weren’t the father when she filled out that birth certificate, or didn’t she?’ ”
“I don’t like this game.”
“Then think of something else to ask. Come on. What’s your one question?”
“Okay. How about, Why did my mother have to die?”
Theo made a face, as if he’d just sucked lemons. “Shee-it, man. You’re such a fucking downer sometimes, you know that, Swyteck?”
“You’re the one who brought it up.”
“Yeah, but—
damn.
A few more people like you in the world, poor God’s gonna end up on Prozac.”
“Okay, smart ass. What would your one question be?”
“Whattaya havin’?”
“Huh?”
“Whattaya havin’? As in to drink, moron. That’s what I’d ask Him.”
“God gives you one question, and all you want to know is what He’d like to drink?”
“Isn’t that the way all great conversations get started?”
Jack shook his head and backed the car out of the parking spot.
Theo looked at him and said, “So, Jack: Whattaya havin’?”
Jack hit the brake, then shifted in to gear. “It’s eleven o’clock in the morning.”
“True, true. It’s getting late. But if we start with tequila for lunch, we could easily be talking to God by dinnertime. With any luck, you could have an answer to that one question before sunset.”
Jack shot him a bemused expression. “You’re a sick man, Theo.”
Theo checked the light-up mirror one more time, smiling at himself as Jack drove out of the parking lot. “Yeah. I am, ain’t I?”