Last to die

“Why not?” said Jack. “If something happened to Nate, God forbid, don’t you think it would at least cross your mind that life isn’t worth living?”

“Not under Sally’s circumstances.”

“How do you mean?”

“If something horrible like that happened to my child, I wouldn’t rest till the day they nailed the guy who did it.”

“You mean they never caught the guy who killed Sally’s daughter?”

“Never even an arrest. This afternoon I called to see if I could pull the file out of police archives, but I got nowhere. It hasn’t been archived. It’s still technically an open investigation.”

“Interesting,” said Jack, the wheels turning in his head. “This woman suffers the worst tragedy imaginable. Her four-year-old daughter is murdered viciously in her own home. Five years go by, she’s just gotten her hands on forty-six million dollars, compliments of her second husband, and that’s when she decides that life isn’t worth living.”

“Assuming Tatum is to be believed.”

“That’s the big assumption,” said Jack.

“So what are you going to do?”

“The meeting with Vivien Grasso is Monday. That doesn’t leave me a lot of time, so I guess I’ll do the only thing I can.”

“Dump the case, move on?”

“No way.” He took one last hit of coffee, then looked her in the eye and said, “I’m going to find out if Tatum Knight is believable.”

Seven

First thing Saturday morning, Theo Knight drove to Mo’s Gym on Miami Beach.

The Beach had a long boxing tradition, dating back even before a young and overconfident Cassius Clay trained and fought there to snatch the world heavyweight title away from the most feared champion of his era, So

Theo found a chair near the center ring, where his brother, Tatum, was beating the holy hell out of someone who obviously had no idea who the Knight brothers were.

Theo and Tatum had fought plenty, no ring, no gloves, no glory. Toughing it out with gangs wasn’t exactly the life Theo would have chosen for himself, but the illegitimate sons of a drug addict didn’t have many choices. Their aunt did her best to raise Theo and his older brother, but with five of her own, it wasn’t easy. Tatum was always introuble, and Theo inherited a bad-boy reputation and a slew of enemies without even trying. Not that Theo was a saint. By the time he’d dropped out of high school, he’d done his share of car thefts, small-time stuff. Compared to Tatum, he was the good brother-until the night he’d decided to help himself to a little cash in a convenience store and walked into a living nightmare. It was the kind of trouble people expected of Tatum, not Theo. Over the years, he’d managed to push that night into a corner of his brain that he never visited. But as he sat there watching his brother pulverize his opponent, he found his mind slipping back in time, the memories spurred on by the smells and sights of Mo’s, the fighting all around him, the gang graffiti on the walls, the walk and talk of dead-end kids.

Four o’clock in the morning, and the city sidewalks were still hot. It was mid-July in Miami, and for three consecutive days there had been no afternoon rain to cool things down. Fifteen-year-old Theo sat in the passenger seat of a low-riding Chevy, the windows rolled down, the music blasting from rear speakers that filled half of the trunk. He wore his Nike cap backward, the price tag still dangling from the bill. Sweat pasted his black, baggy Miami Heat jersey to his back. A Mercedes-Benz hood ornament hung from a thick gold chain around his neck. It was the required uniform of the Grove Lords, a gang of badass teenage punks from Coconut Grove led by chief thief Lionel Brown.

The car stopped at the red light on Flagler Street, a main east-west drag that ran from downtown Miami to the Everglades. They were just beyond the Little Havana neighborhood, outside the Miami city limits, in a rundown commercial area that catered to shoppers in search of used tires, stolen jewelry, or a good porn flick. On weekends it was always congested, but in the wee hours of Wednesday morning traffic was light.

“Chug it,” said Lionel from the driver’s seat.

Theo took the half-pint of rum, exhaled, and sucked it down. It burned the back of his throat, then his senses numbed and he felt the rush. He got every last drop.

“My man,” said Lionel.

Theo suddenly felt dizzy. “Where we going?”

“Shelby’s.”

“What’s that?”

“What’s that?” Lionel was smiling for no apparent reason. “That be your ticket, my man.” Lionel took a right turn off Flagler. The Chevy sped down a side street, then came to a quick halt at the dark end of an alley.

“Seriously, what is it?” said Theo.

“A convenience store.”

“What you want me to buy?”

“You ain’t buyin’ nothin’. Walk up that alley, turn left at the sidewalk. Shelby’s is open twenty-four hours. You goes in, grab the cash, get the hell out. I’ll wait here.”

“How I go

Lionel chuckled and shook his head. “Theo, man, don’t be such a pussy.”

“I ain’t no pussy.”

“You gettin’ the easy ticket, okay. It ain’t usually this easy to become a Grove Lord, but your brother, Tatum, well, he got pull. You understand what I’m sayin’?”

“No. What the hell’s so easy about robbin’ a convenience store with no gun?”

“You don’t need no gun.”

“What you want me to do, walk in and say please?”

“Ain’t no one to say please to.”

“Say what?”

Lionel checked his big sports watch. “It four twenty-five now. Shelby’s got one clerk from three-thirty to five-thirty. Every morning at four-thirty, that one clerk has to go out back in the alley and set up for deliveries.”

“He don’t lock the front door?”

“Sometime he do. Sometime he forget.” Lionel handed him a small crowbar and said, “Take this. In case he don’t forget.”

Theo stared at the crowbar in his hand.

Lionel said, “You want to be a Grove Lord, or don’t you?”

“Shit, yeah.”

“You got five minutes to prove it. Then I’m gone, wit or wit’out you.”

Their eyes locked, then Theo yanked the door handle and jumped out. He was no long-distance ru

Shelby’s faced a parking lot, which it shared with a Laundromat that had closed hours earlier. To Theo’s relief, the lot was empty. He kept walking, briskly but not so fast as to draw attention to himself. Neon signs glowed in the plate-glass storefront. The trash can at the front door was overflowing, and little white plastic shopping bags dotted the sidewalk like a field of dandelions. It was only a few meters, but it seemed to take forever to reach the door. He glanced inside. No sign of the clerk anywhere. Had to be out back, just as Lionel had promised. The crowbar seemed heavier in his pocket as he reached for the door and pulled the handle. The latch clicked, and the door opened. Theo was almost giddy at the thought: the clerk had forgotten to lock it.