Last Call

"Guess that's why we're the old men in this business."

The celebratory noises from the media room were getting louder. The two thirty-something-year-olds exchanged knowing smiles, as if to acknowledge that most of those flunkies would be lucky to see seventeen.

Moses' cell rang. He didn't recognize the displayed number of the incoming call, but he answered it anyway. It turned out to be the right decision.

The caller was Jefferson – the correctional officer at TGK.

"Holloway dropped the ball," said Jefferson. "Knight's alive and well"

Moses took the news without any display of emotion, trying not to tip off anything to Levon. "Anything else?"

"Yeah," said Jefferson. "I hear the prosecutor is dropping the charges against Knight for helping Reems escape. He'll be on the street today, tomorrow at the latest."

"Got it," said Moses.

Jefferson hung up. The entire conversation had lasted only thirty seconds. Moses felt his anger rising, but he said nothing as he tucked the phone away in his pocket.

Levon said, "Something wrong?"

Moses thought for a moment, then looked at Levon and said, "I'm go

"How much?"

"Enough to set me up in Miami for a few days."

"Miami? You going back already?"

"Yeah"

"What for?"

"It's like they say" said Moses, his expression turning deadly serious. "You want something done right, you do it your fucking self."

Chapter 36

Jack spent the night at his abuelas house.

It surprised people that a guy named Jack Swyteck had an abuela. Most shocked of all were folks who met him in a bar or at a cocktail party and, tongue loosened, spoke to him gringo-to-gringo about the damn Hispanics taking over south Florida. Jack's mother was born in Cuba. She was a teenager when Castro came to power and her parents spirited her away to Miami under the Pedro Pan program, a humanitarian effort that allowed thousands of Cuban children to escape the dictatorship and live in freedom. The vast majority of families were ultimately reunited in the States, but Jacks abuela couldn't get out of Cuba until Jack was in his thirties, long after his mother had died giving birth to him. Abuela made it her mission to Cubanize her grandson.

The results had been mixed. On their most recent trip to an espresso bar, Jack wanted a cafe mocha instead of a cafe cubano, which was embarrassing enough to Abuela, but then he drove the dagger straight through her heart by ordering a cafe moco – which in espanol meant "coffee booger."

"Buenos dias" said Jack, as he entered her kitchen.

Abuela was standing at the counter spreading queso crema on sliced strips of fresh Cuban bread. The strips were for dunking in cafe con leche, and from the first time Jack had tried it, bagels and cream cheese just didn't cut it anymore.

Jack gave her a kiss and smiled as she called him mi vida – literally, "my life" – a term she used only with Jack, and which pretty much summed up the depth of her feelings. He took a seat at the table. Abuela placed his breakfast in front of him and started to wipe down the counter.

"Sit with me" said Jack. "I can clean up."

The way she looked at him, it was as if Jack had said, "I can have a sex change." Abuela was definitely old school.

Jack dunked his first strip of pan y queso, trying not to think too vividly about Theo and Trina waking inside his house on Key Biscayne. Theo had been released from jail late yesterday afternoon. Anyone who thought make-up sex was great had obviously never experienced just-got-out-of-jail sex. There was nothing better, according to Theo, even if the term of incarceration was only a few days. Who was Jack to argue? Theo's problem, however, was Uncle Cy in the next room.

"Dude, I need your place tonight," Theo had begged him.

"Find a hotel."

Jack might as well have said, "Buy Trump Tower." For Theo, it was the kind of response that didn't compute between friends. Like an idiot, Jack had handed over the keys and pla

Abuela had been awake since 5:00 a.m., the radio tuned to a Spanish-language talk show. Jack understood Spanish much better than he spoke it, so he listened. An old woman carried on about pochos, a pejorative name for second-generation Mexicans who knew only as much about their heritage as the George Lopez Show could teach them and raised children who didn't speak a word of Spanish.

Abuela switched off the radio, and Jack prepared himself for the Cuban version of a well-meaning lecture. But she surprised him.

"You do not mention Rene once since you are here," she said. Her English was roughly on the level of Jack's Spanish, so she often stuck to the present tense.

"I didn't?" he said.

"No. How is she?"

"I don't know. I haven't talked to her in a while."

"Oh? When last?"

"Actually… when she was here in Miami."

Abuela looked horrified. "You no call her?"

"We said good-bye in the airport. She said she would call me as soon as her plane landed in Africa. She didn't."

"Ay} mi vida" she said, shaking her head with disapproval.

"Don't worry your grandson's not that small a person. I allowed for the possibility that something happened, so I called her. Left a message on her cell. Sent her an e-mail, too."

"She no respond?"

Jack dunked another strip of bread. "No. That's just the way Rene is."

Abuela came to the table and sat across from him. "Why you put up with that?"

"That's an excellent question."

"What about that FBI girl?"

"What about her?"

"Why you no call her?"

"Don't tell me. Has Theo turned you into an Andie fan, too?"

"A fan? No. Pero, if she is Cubana…"

He smiled and kissed her hand. The doorbell rang. Jack and Abuela exchanged glances, as if to ask, Are you expecting someone? Neither one was.

"I'll get it," said Jack. He walked down the hall to the front door and checked the peephole. A big eyeball was staring back at him. He knew it could be only one person, so he opened the door.

"Hey, thanks for last night," said Theo, obviously in a great mood.

"I'm not the one you should be thanking," said Jack.

"You got that right. You would not believe-"

"Please, spare me the details."

"No, you don't understand," said Theo. "Some women reach for your joystick like it was a doorknob in the bathroom of a rundown filling station, but Trina, she grabs hold of you and-"

"Okay okay" said Jack, wincing. He stepped out onto the porch and closed the door. "This is my grandmother's house."

"Sorry man. I just thought you'd be happy for me."

"I am happy."

"You don't sound like it."

"I couldn't be happier. Truly."

"What'd you and Abuela do last night?"

Jack was reluctant to say. "Dominoes."

Theo laughed way too hard. Had they been anywhere but Abuela's, Jack would have flipped him the bird.

"Why are you here?" said Jack.

"I need another favor."

"No, you can't have my place again tonight."

"I wouldn't even think of asking. At least not till you wash the bedsheets."

You mean burn them. "What do you want now?"

"Hey I almost forgot," said Theo. Jack sensed a little misdirection coming before Theo hit him up for the real favor. Theo started to unbutton his dress shirt.

"What are you doing?" said Jack.

"Check this out," he said, as he pulled open the shirt to reveal what he was wearing underneath it. "You like?"

"It's a T-shirt," said Jack.

"Not just a T-shirt. The idea came to me when I was sitting in jail. I asked Trina to have some samples silk-screened. This is your new marketing angle, a way to build up your criminal defense practice. It's like the advertising campaign for the milk industry – 'Got milk?'"