Chapter 13
Wednesday night was bingo night.
Jack’s abuela was adjusting well to the assisted living facility, but the older she got, the more English she lost. Playing bingo once a
week gave them something fun to do while struggling to cobble sentences together in Spanglish. Even Righley’s Spanish was
better than Jack’s, which made her the “arbiter of words,” with Righley’s decision final.
“Mah-NEE-tah?” asked Righley, deciphering her great-grandmother’s latest creation. “Sorry, Abuela. That’s not a word in any language.”
The blue-haired former beauty queen at the next table had just screamed “bingo” and was eagerly collecting kisses all around.
Jack was pretty sure Abuela had just called her a “man eater,” but he let Righley’s ruling stand.
Bingo ended by 6 p.m. Righley didn’t want cafeteria food, so she did her homework while Jack sat with Abuela for dinner. Righley
launched her real plan when they were alone in Jack’s car.
“Can I get the buffalo chicken Caesar wrap from Uncle Theo’s kitchen?”
By “Uncle Theo’s kitchen” she meant Cy’s Place, which was most definitely not on Andie’s list of approved dinner establishments
while she was away on assignment. With the settlement money Jack had won for Theo from the State of Florida for four years
on death row, Theo had opened a jazz club named after his great-uncle Cyrus Knight, who’d played the sax for Sam Cooke and
other jazz legends in Miami’s Overtown Village, once known as “Little Harlem.”
“With skinny fries?” Righley added.
If Casola’s pizza was strike one, Jack still had two in his pocket. “Do not tell your mother about this,” he said.
The drive into Coconut Grove took only a few minutes. Theo was on a break, seated in one of the dining booths, when Jack and
Righley entered Cy’s Place. Righley sprinted ahead and shouted, “Uncle Theo!” Only when Jack caught up did he notice that
Theo was seated with C. J. Vandermeer.
“I was just leaving,” said CJ, rising.
Theo said goodbye and took Righley into the kitchen, where they could both supervise the making of her wrap. Jack had a moment
alone with CJ at the booth.
“Have you testified before the grand jury yet?” Jack asked.
“No. I still haven’t been subpoenaed.”
“Interesting,” said Jack.
“That’s all you can say is ‘interesting’? You must have a theory.”
“I’m not your lawyer.”
“And like I told you before, I don’t have a lawyer. I’m not asking you for advice. Just curious to know what you think.”
“You dismissed my thoughts quickly the last time we spoke. I told you that if the prosecutor is looking for someone with motive
to murder a man who gets paid to destroy guns but is really selling gun parts, the list of suspects includes every gun control
advocate in America. You shot that down.”
“Ah, yes. The ‘killer is a sheep’ theory. Fundamentally flawed. But I’m not interested in your thoughts about a random nut
job who might have done it. I want to hear your thoughts on how I did it.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Surely you’ve considered the possibility that I’m a wolf, not a sheepdog. I’m curious to know what you’ve come
up with. Come on. Take your best shot. Why did CJ do it?”
Jack, of course, had thought about it. He tried one of his theories, just to see CJ’s reaction.
“What if Owen Pollard’s business partner truly believed in gun destruction as a form of gun control.
But what if he was too busy starting a revolution to notice that his gun destruction business wasn’t destroying guns at all? ”
CJ chuckled. “Is that what your client plans to tell the grand jury? That I didn’t know what my own company was doing and
that Owen was recycling gun parts behind my back?”
Jack turned the question back on him. “What would you tell them, CJ, if you were subpoenaed?”
CJ turned very serious. “I wouldn’t tell them anything. I’d have the sense to take the Fifth. Not because I’m guilty of anything
or have something to hide. Only because it’s the best way to deal with a prosecutor who works for a corrupt system and is
on a witch hunt.”
CJ had one swallow of beer left in his glass on the table, which he finished. “Your client will do the same if he’s smart.”
“Time will tell,” said Jack.
“I’ll see you around.” He turned and left.
Theo came out of the kitchen with Righley. She was all smiles as she placed her wrap with french fries on the table and climbed
into the booth.
“Uncle Theo, may I have some ketchup?”
“Coming right up,” he said, and he started toward the condiment station. Jack went with him.
“What were you and CJ talking about when I got here?” asked Jack.
“Remember when we left Bayfront Park, and CJ said I was welcome to join his group? Turns out he was serious. I’m being recruited.”
“What did you tell him?”
“N-F-W.”
Theo grabbed a bottle of ketchup from the station. Jack stopped him before he could start back to the table, looking him in
the eye.
“I want you to reconsider,” said Jack.
Theo scoffed. “You want me to join a bunch of left-wing lunatics led by a limousine liberal who thinks it’s his rightful place
on this earth to save the black man?”
“Funny, you said the same thing about me when I became your lawyer on death row.”
“That was before I figured out you didn’t have a crusader’s bone in your body. You took my case just to piss off your old man, who happened to be the governor who signed my death warrant. From then on, all was cool with us.”
“Seriously,” said Jack. “I want you to take up CJ’s offer and get an inside look.”
“And do what? Find out what makes ol’ CJ tick?”
“No,” said Jack. “Find out why a guy who’s supposed to be worth two hundred million dollars is using an ATF loophole to recycle
gun parts.”