Last Call (31 page)
“You sure?” said Jack.
“I didn’t bring one. I rode over with Theo.”
“Maybe I can get him to meet us at the town house.”
Jack tried Theo on his cell, but there was no answer.“Probably having phone sex with Trina,” he said, as he pulled a U-turn and headed back to the bar.
Cy tried peering through the windows as they cruised past the entrance, but the lights were out, and it was too dark to see inside.
“Did he leave already?” said Cy.
Jack drove around to the alley.Theo’s car was still parked next to the Dumpster.
“Maybe he’s locking up,” said Cy.
“Maybe,” said Jack, but he didn’t like the vibe he was getting.
He flipped open his cell and speed-dialed Theo.
Theo’s cell rang from across the room, piercing the darkness.The phone was sitting on top of the bar—right where he’d left it, beside his car keys. Theo was crouched down low behind the U-shaped bar, and the phone was on the opposite leg of the U.
Theo didn’t make a sound, didn’t dare move from his hiding spot.
After Jack and Uncle Cy had gone home, the first noise Theo had heard was something that sounded like the delivery door opening. “Jack?” he’d called out, but he got no reply. Then he heard a series of quick clicks from the kitchen—the breakers—and circuit by circuit, the lights went out. Instinctively, he dove for cover.
His cell stopped ringing.Theo listened, his ears and inner radar on high alert. He wondered if someone was toying with him, just LAST CALL
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trying to scare him. Or had someone finally come to finish the drive-by-shooting job they’d botched in Overtown?
He needed to get to his phone. Slowly, carefully, he started crawling on hands and knees, moving along the outside of the bar.
His cell started ringing again—the second time in the past three minutes. Theo kept moving, knowing that the call would roll over to voice mail after six rings. But on the fourth ring, another sound sailed directly over his head—a piercing but muffled sound of a speeding projectile that silenced his phone and shattered it into pieces that flew across the room. Theo froze. His worst fears were realized.
Someone was toying with him
And
they had come to finish the job.
“Hello?” Jack said into his cell.
It struck him as odd that Theo’s phone had cut off after four rings. One ring and then to voice mail meant that Theo’s cell wasn’t turned on. Six rings meant that the phone was on but Theo wasn’t answering.
But four rings and no answer? Weird.
“Stay here,” he told Cy. He climbed out of his car and stepped into the alley.
Part of him wanted to dial 911, but it seemed silly to call the cops because a six-foot-five ex-con didn’t answer his cell after four rings. Each tentative step down the dimly lit alley, however, made the idea seem less silly.
Jack peeked inside Theo’s parked car and tried the door handle.
Empty and locked. He continued past the Dumpster, and a sudden movement sent his heart into his throat. A cat jumped down from a stack of crushed cardboard boxes. He gave his pulse a moment to return to mere triple digits—or so it felt—and then he tried the 270
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back door. He expected it to be locked, but it wasn’t. It creaked open.
“Theo?” he said, calling inside.
There was no answer.
Jack reached around the door frame, found the light switch in the darkness, and flipped it to the on position.
Nothing.
Before Jack could even begin to process what it meant, he heard the quick footsteps, caught a glimpse of the blur in the blackness coming toward him, and absorbed the full impact of what hit him like a charging bull. Jack’s feet left the floor, the air fled his lungs, and he landed flat on his back in the open doorway. His arms flailed uselessly in a defensive reflex as the man who’d bowled him over stepped on his chest on the way out.
“He’s got a gun!”Theo shouted.
Still disoriented, Jack struggled to roll for cover.Theo grabbed his arm and dragged him behind the open door. Jack tried to keep an eye on his attacker, but in the darkness the man was nothing more than a silhouette racing away from him, down the alley.
Then he heard an engine fire and tires squealing into the night.
“He took your car!”Theo shouted.
Jack’s head was pounding, but suddenly he was thinking clearly again.“Your uncle came back with me. He’s got Cy!”
Jack’s cell rang.The caller ID said it was from Uncle Cy.
“Are you hurt?” said Jack.
“Don’t call the cops,” said Cy, his voice quaking. “And don’t report your car stolen. He says he’ll kill me if you do.”
Jack could hear the fear in the old man’s voice, and he wanted to say something reassuring. But the call disconnected, and Uncle Cy was gone.
Theo didn’t even stop to think. He knew what to do. He got in his car and drove.
Jack had wanted to call Andie.Theo said no. Jack wanted to call the police. Theo said hell no. Jack explained that the cops could run a ballistics test on the bullet that took out Theo’s cell, which could be a link to the shooter’s identity. Jack asked him to wait. Theo said, “Are you out of your fucking mind?” and bolted out the door.
Jack knew better than to try and follow him.
It was after 10:00 p.m., and Theo figured Lance Gilford would be home. A quick call to directory assistance gave him the address. He parked on the street, walked up the front steps, and pounded on the door.
There was no answer, but Gilford’s car was in the driveway, the lights were on inside the house, and Theo could hear the late-night news on television.This time, he beat the door with both fists.
Theo heard footsteps in the foyer, and Gilford announced in a grumpy voice that he was coming.Theo could hardly wait.The deadbolt turned and the door opened as far as the taut brass security chain would allow.
“Who is—” Gilford started to say, but Theo didn’t give him a moment to reconsider. With every bit of force he could muster, Theo laid his shoulder into the door. It practically exploded on impact, the chain ripping off a chunk of the wood frame as the door flew open. Gilford was knocked backward and fell to the ground. Theo slammed the door shut, grabbed Gilford with two 272
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hands, picked him up off the floor like a rag doll, and shoved him hard against the wall.
“Where’s my uncle?” he said, seething.
Gilford’s eyes were wide with fright.“Who’s your uncle?”
“Cyrus Knight.”
“I don’t know any Cyrus. Honest.”
Theo squeezed him by the throat.“Who are you protecting?”
He gasped for air.“No . . . body.”
At that moment, Theo realized that he hadn’t come just to find Uncle Cy. He felt himself roiling with the rape of his mother.
However far she’d nosedived in life, it had all happened after that rape at the frat house. Portia Knight was a mere teenager in that movie. She was not yet any of the things Theo would later come to hate about her. Not many strippers became nuns, to be sure. But a stripper wasn’t necessarily a drug addict, a prostitute, or a horrible mother. Something made her that way.And Lance Gilford was part of that “something.”
Theo got right in his face, eye-to-eye. “Portia Knight was my mother.You know who raped her.And whoever it was, he now has my uncle.”
“Can’t . . . breathe.”
“Who was it?”Theo relaxed his grip, allowing him to speak.
Gilford coughed as he sucked in precious air.
Theo said,
“Who was it?”
“Nobody . . . nobody got raped,” said Gilford.
Somewhere in his heart Theo thanked God he didn’t have a weapon, but he couldn’t ignore the urgency of the situation—not with Cy in danger.
“Where’s your garage?” said Theo.
Gilford seemed confused.
“Where is it?”Theo shouted.
“Side door, through the kitchen.”
Theo twisted Gilford’s arm up behind his back, muscled him LAST CALL
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into the kitchen and pushed through the door. It was a one-car garage with no vehicle inside. Theo shoved him to the concrete floor, took a long orange extension cord from a hook on the wall, and hog-tied Gilford’s wrists and ankles.Then he grabbed his gray ponytail, jerking his head back.
“I’m givin’ you one more chance,” said Theo. “Who are you protectin’?”
“No one. I’m not lying to you.”
Theo wanted to hurt him so badly he couldn’t stand it.“Where’s your tools?”
Gilford let out a pathetic whimper. “What are you going to do?”
“Fix your car,” said Theo, and then he yanked so hard on the ponytail that it stretched the wrinkles out of Gilford’s face. “What do you
think
I’m gonna do? Where’s your tools?”
“Over there,” said Gilford,“by the workbench.”
Theo found a stand-up tool chest and searched quickly through a dozen drawers, not sure what he was looking for, his mind racing with thoughts of creative interrogation. He had a couple of possibilities when he looked up and noticed the power tools mounted on the pegboard. He chose the power drill, plugged it in, and pulled the trigger.
Gilford winced at the mere sound of it.
“Come on, man,” said Gilford.“You don’t want to do this.”
“Where’s your bits?”
“Please. Don’t hurt me.”
“I said where’s your damn drill bits?”
“Tool drawer by the light switch. But—”
“Shut up!
The bits were organized by size in a plastic case.Theo took the skinniest one, one-sixty-fourth of an inch, and fixed it into position. He took his time walking back to Gilford, giving him time to think it over. Then he untied one of Gilford’s hands, stretched 274
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out his arm in front of him, and pressed his hand flat on the floor, palm down. Theo stepped on his wrist to keep it in position, and he placed the tip of the bit on the back of Gilford’s hand. It was enough for him to feel it, but it didn’t break the skin.
“So you like to film women getting raped, huh?”
“No.”
“Does that get you off?”
“It’s not what you think.”
“How many other rape victims have you plastered on the In -
ternet?”
“Just her. I mean none—not even her.” Gilford swallowed hard.
“Please, man. Don’t do this.”
“If my mother had said that, would you have stopped filming?”
“That was thirty-five years ago.You want to hear me say I’m sorry? Okay, I’m sorry. Really, I’m very, very sorry.”
“What was his name?”
“Whose name?”
“The guy who raped her.”
“I don’t know.”
Theo pulled the trigger and released. Gilford screamed. The bit was through the dermal layer. A spot of blood emerged. “Last chance,” said Theo.
“I swear, man. I don’t know!”
“Cy don’t have time to waste here, damn it!”Theo twisted the skinny bit from the drill with his bare hand and threw it at Gilford.
Then he went back to the toolbox for a replacement—a much bigger bit this time, quarter-inch diameter. He tightened it into place, returned to Gilford, and rolled him onto his back.
He pressed the tip to Gilford’s forehead.
“Who is he?” said Theo.
Gilford was about to hyperventilate, his eyes crossing as they followed the bit.“I don’t know. Really. I don’t, I don’t know!”
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Theo pulled the trigger, the drill whined, and the spiraling tip of the bit tore at Gilford’s flesh.
“Fernando Redden!” he shouted.
Theo pulled back.“Say it again.”
“Fernando Redden.That’s his name.”
“If you’re lying to me . . .”
“No, no.That’s him. Really, truly. I wouldn’t make this up.” He was blubbering now, tears streaming down his face.
Theo glared just enough to put the final scare into him. “It’s your lucky night,” he said, as he put the drill away. “I believe you.”
Trina didn’t know where Theo was.
Jack called her at home to explain what had happened. Theo was up to something dangerous, and if Jack couldn’t stop him, the chances that Trina could talk some sense into him probably weren’t any better. But she promised to try. She drove to Theo’s town house and was inside waiting when he came through the door.The expression on his face was unlike any she’d seen on him before. It scared her.
He said,“What are you doing here?”
It wasn’t the warmest of greetings, but it didn’t stop her from going to him and hugging him tightly.“Jack told me,” she said softly, her lips to his ear.“Do you know anything? Is Uncle Cy okay?”
The mention of Cy seemed to trigger something inside him.
She could feel his initial resistance to her touch fading, and he hugged her back.
“I’m just tryin’ to sort this out,” he said.“Gotta do somethin’.”
“Like what?”
He didn’t answer. She slipped out of his embrace so that she could look into his eyes.“Where have you been?”
He seemed to struggle, as if debating whether to tell her.Then he looked away and started up the stairs.
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Trina followed him to the bedroom.“Theo, talk to me.”
He went to the walk-in closet and flipped on the light. Trina stayed behind, sat on the edge of the bed, and waited.
People often thought of her as fearless, or at least rough around the edges. Like everyone else, however, Trina had her demons. The last person she’d let herself care about so deeply was her friend Beatriz—not a romantic interest, but a teenage friend that she loved like a sister. Back before the Soviet Union fell, they went from Cuba to Prague on Castro’s factory work program.Their plan was to defect, each pledging never to leave without the other. Only Trina made it, and even after all these years, she still bore the scars of survivorship.
“Theo?” she said.
He didn’t come out, but finally he did answer her from somewhere deep in the closet.“Let me take care of this,” he said.
Trina didn’t know how to get through to him in this mode, but she had to say something. She rose and staked out a position in the closet doorway, arms folded, as if daring him to try and pass.
Theo was kneeling on the floor. He looked up and stopped what he was doing. The corner of the wall-to-wall carpeting had been rolled back, and the secret hatch to Theo’s in-floor safe was open. He was holding a black pistol in one hand and several ammunition clips in the other.
