When Darkness Falls Page 2

  Jack didn’t disagree. Still, he jotted “possible anasognosia” in his notes, a medical term he’d picked up while working death cases. It meant the inability to recognize your own illness.

  “We’ll talk more about that later,” said Jack. “Right now, let me explain what’s going to happen today. You’re charged with a variety of things. Obstructing a bridge, obstructing a highway, creating a public nuisance, indecent exposure-”

  “I had to piss.”

  “You probably should have come down from the lamppost to do it. But hey, hindsight’s twenty-twenty.” Jack continued with the list: “Resisting arrest, assaulting a police officer-”

  “That’s a total joke. Paulo told me that if I came down, I could talk to the mayor’s daughter. The minute my feet hit the ground, three SWAT guys were all over me. Of course I resisted.”

  “I’m just reciting the charges, I’m not the one bringing them.”

  “What kind of a country is this anyway? A guy wants to jump off a bridge, why should it be illegal?”

  “Well, if they made it legal, then you’d have everybody wanting to do it. Kind of like gay marriage.”

  “The only reason they’re going after me like this is because I asked to talk to the mayor’s daughter.”

  “Now that you bring it up, exactly what did you want to say to her?”

  “That’s between me and her.”

  “I have to correct you there, pal. If I’m going to be your lawyer, let’s get something straight from the get-go: There’s nothing between you and Alicia Mendoza.”

  A worm of a smile crept across Falcon’s lips, a kind of satisfied smirk that Jack had seen before-but only on death row. “You’re wrong,” said Falcon. “Dead wrong. I know she wants to talk to me. She wants to talk to me real bad.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I saw her standing by that police van. I’m sure it was Alicia. I asked her to come, and she came. They just wouldn’t let her talk to me.”

  “That’s probably because they didn’t want to do anything to encourage the obsession.”

  “I’m not stalking her,” he said sharply. “I just want to talk to her.”

  “Mayor Mendoza probably doesn’t appreciate the distinction. Most people wouldn’t.”

  “Then why didn’t they bring any stalker charges against me?”

  “You only contacted her once, so trying to prove stalking would needlessly complicate the case. You gave the government a much easier way to put you away for a good long time. It’s called possession of narcotics. That’s also on the list, and it’s a felony, my friend.”

  “I didn’t have no crack.”

  “It was in your coat pocket.”

  “I didn’t put it there.”

  “Uh, yeah,” said Jack. “Save it for another day. All we have to do this morning is enter a plea of not guilty, no explanation needed. The judge will hear briefly from me on the issue of bail. I’ll argue this, that, and the other thing. The prosecutor will say it’s this way, that way, and the other way. After everyone’s had their say, the judge will stop counting the number of tiles in the ceiling and set bail at ten thousand dollars, which is pretty standard in a possession case like this one.”

  “How soon do they need it?”

  “Need what?”

  “The ten thousand dollars?”

  Jack was amused by the question. “As soon as you can get it, you’re out of jail. Or we can post a bond. You’d have to come up with ten percent-a thousand dollars-which is nonrefundable. And you’d have to pledge sufficient collateral for the balance. All this is academic, I’m sure, since you obviously don’t have ten cents, let alone-”

  “Not a problem. I got the ten grand.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t need to post no bond. I can pay the ten thousand dollars.”

  “You can’t even pay me,” said Jack, scoffing.

  “I can pay you, and I can make bail.”

  “You live in an abandoned automobile. Where are you going to get your hands on that kind of cash?”

  Falcon reached across the table and laid his hand, palm down, flat atop Jack’s notepad. The fingernails were deformed and discolored from a fungus of some kind, and that open sore on the back of his hand was oozing white pus. For the first time, however, Jack detected a sparkle-some sign of life-in those cold, dark eyes. “Take notes,” he said in a low, serious tone. “I’ll tell you exactly where to find it.”

  chapter 3

  J ack’s flight landed in Nassau just after nine a.m. He hated small aircraft, but a forty-five-minute hop over the Gulf Stream on Zack’s Seaplanes came at an irresistible price. It was absolutely free, thanks to Theo Knight.

  Theo was Jack’s all-purpose assistant, for lack of a better term. Whatever Jack needed, Theo went and got it, though Jack knew better than to ask how he got it done. Theirs was not a textbook friendship, the Ivy League son of a governor meets the black high-school dropout from Liberty City. But they got on just fine for two guys who’d met on death row, Jack the lawyer and Theo the inmate. Jack’s persistence had delayed Theo’s date with the electric chair long enough for DNA evidence to come into vogue and prove him innocent. It wasn’t the original plan, but Jack ended up a part of Theo’s new life, sometimes going along for the ride, other times just watching with envy and amazement as Theo made up for precious time lost.

  This time, it was Theo’s turn to go along for the ride-to Falcon’s bank.

  “Greater Bahamian Bank and Trust Company,” said Theo, reading the sign on the building. “I hope they got casinos in here.”

  Jack had called the bank beforehand and confirmed that it did in fact have a safe deposit box for Pablo Garcia. He then faxed over the executed power of attorney, which would authorize him to access the box. Sure enough, the signature of his client matched the specimen on file at the bank. Jack still didn’t believe there was money inside, but the flight was free, and even a break-even day at the casinos beat a good day in the office, especially if Theo was the one rolling the dice. He didn’t always win, but the guy never seemed to lose money at the crap table. Jack didn’t dare ask him how he did that, either.

  Bay Street was essentially Main Street for high-powered finance in the Bahamas, and the Greater Bahamian Bank amp; Trust Company represented one of hundreds of foreign institutions that thrived on the legal protections and secrecy that countries like the Bahamas afforded to offshore branches. While there were many recognizable names-Royal Bank of Canada, Barclay’s, Bank of Nova Scotia, and others-some of these so-called banks looked more like a doctor’s office, basically just an office in a strip mall that might as well bear the name JOE’S BANK OF THE CARRIBEAN. Greater Bahamian was somewhere between the two extremes, occupying the ground floor of a three-story building. The main entrance to the bank was tidy and simple, a mix of chrome, glass, and indoor-outdoor carpet. Two security guards patrolled the lobby, each packing a nine-millimeter pistol in a black leather holster. Another armed guard stood watch at the door. Theo greeted him with a folksy “How goes it, bro?” The same greeting from Jack would have come across like Garth Brooks doing rap. Theo, however, was an imposing man with the brawn of a linebacker and the height of an NBA star, sort of a cross between The Rock and a young Samuel L. Jackson on steroids. Just to look at him, you would guess (correctly) that he’d spent time in prison. That bad-boy image served him well. Very few people ever got in his way. The rest of the world-even armed security guards-just stepped aside and smiled, hoping that “How goes it, bro” was Theo’s way of saying “Relax, dude, I don’t have time to rearrange your face.” On occasion, Jack needed a friend with that kind of firepower. Mostly, he found Theo entertaining, like cable TV and satellite radio rolled into one big, amusing, friend-for-life subscription.

  “Hey, I almost forgot to tell you,” said Theo as they crossed the lobby. “Katrina has a friend she wants to fix you up with.”

  Katrina was Theo’s on-again, off-again girlfriend, a tough and s
exy Latina with a Russian accent who had once laid Jack out on the sidewalk with an awesome left hook-no exaggeration. “I’m really not interested in any blind dates.”

  “Katrina says she’s hot.”

  “A woman will always say her friend is hot.”

  “No. A woman will always say her friend is pretty, which probably means she’s not. But if she says her friend is hot, trust me, dude, she’s hot.”

  “That was almost poetic,” said Jack.

  “It did kind of rhyme, didn’t it?”

  “Like Eminem, without the profanity.”

  It was midmorning, and perhaps a half-dozen customers were in the bank, not counting Jack and Theo. In the personal banking center to the left, a dozen or more bank officers were at their desks, busy on the telephone. With customers all over the world, the Greater Bahamian Bank amp; Trust Company transcended time zones.

  “Interesting place for a homeless guy to do business,” said Theo.

  “Depends on the business,” said Jack.

  The court hearing had played out exactly as Jack had predicted. Falcon entered a plea of not guilty, and the judge set bail at ten thousand dollars. Before leaving the jail, Jack retrieved a bit of Falcon’s personal property from lockup. It was a necklace made of metal beads, which Falcon had worn around his neck for years. Attached to the necklace was a small key. Jack had Falcon’s key in his pocket as he headed toward the sign marked SAFE DEPOSIT BOXES.

  The boxes were located in a windowless wing of the private banking section. Jack left his name with the receptionist and took a seat on the couch. The well-dressed man seated beside him was reading the stock quotes. An elderly woman on her cell phone was speaking Portuguese. Lasers of light flashed from a three-carat diamond ring with each wave of her hand. Jack tried to imagine someone like Falcon walking in and stinking up the place. It didn’t compute.

  “Mr. Swyteck?” a woman said, standing in the doorway. Jack answered, and she introduced herself as Ms. Friedman, vice president. It seemed like everyone in a bank was a vice president. Jack and Theo followed her to a small office behind the reception desk.

  Jack presented her with the original power of attorney and his passport. Ms. Friedman inspected both. She then excused herself, explaining that she needed to verify the signature once again, and left the room. Jack sat in silence, waiting. Theo grabbed a magazine from the rack and started flipping through the pages. He never really read anything, save for a menu, and he seemed bitterly disappointed to discover that this month’s issue of Bahamian Banker was short on photographs. Jack needed to find something to talk about before his friend tore the place apart in search of Sports Illustrated.

  “So, why does she want to meet me?” said Jack.

  “Why does who wanna meet you?”

  “Katrina’s friend-the blind date you were talking about.”

  Theo smiled. “Ah, so you are interested.”

  “No. I’m just curious. Why does Katrina think we’d be a good match?”

  “I’m told that she likes a man with a sense of humor.”

  “Right. All women just love a man with a sense of humor. But as it turns out, they’re usually referring to the humor of Jude Law, Will Smith, or George Clooney. Apparently, those guys are a stitch.”

  The bank officer returned. “Gentlemen, come with me, please.”

  They followed her to the end of the hall and stopped at the security checkpoint. Another armed guard was posted at the door.

  “How goes it, bro’?” said Theo.

  This time the guard said nothing, no pleasant smile. This was the bank’s inner sanctum, the place where things got serious, where security was equal to Theo Knight.

  The guard unlocked the glass door to allow Jack and Theo to enter. Ms. Friedman was right behind them. The door closed, and the guard relocked it. The safe deposit boxes were arranged from floor to ceiling, as in a locker room. Everywhere Jack looked was another box with a brushed-metal face. The larger ones were on the bottom. Smaller ones were on top. Ms. Friedman led Jack to box 266, one of the larger ones. It had two locks on the face. She inserted her key into one lock and turned it.

  “Your key is for the other lock,” she said. “I’ll leave you in privacy now. If you need me, check with the guard. There is a convenience room in back with a table and chairs. You can take the whole box with you and open it there, if you wish. No one else will be allowed in this area until you’ve finished.”

  Jack thanked her, and she gave him a little smile as she left the room. He kept an eye on the keyhole as he reached inside his pocket for the key. “What’s your guess, Theo? You think there’s really ten thousand dollars inside that box?”

  “Five minutes ago I would have said no way. But who knows? Everything has checked out so far.”

  Jack inserted the key. The tumblers clicked as he turned it clockwise. With a steady pull, he removed the box from its sleeve. It was longer than he had expected-about two feet from front to back. It was heavy, too. He laid it on the bench behind him.

  “And the answer is…” he said like a game show host as he flipped the latch and removed the lid.

  Jack was suddenly speechless.

  Andrew Jackson was staring back at them, many times over. Crisp twenty-dollar bills were stacked neatly side by side. Jack removed the top bundle. There were more beneath it. The box was stuffed with cash, top to bottom, front to back.

  “There must be a couple hundred thousand dollars in here,” said Jack.

  “At least,” said Theo. “Which certainly makes you wonder.”

  “Why would a guy live in an abandoned car if he’s got all this money in the bank?”

  “Maybe for the same reason he wants to jump off a bridge,” said Theo. “Or maybe he just wants to be homeless.”

  Jack laid a hand atop the money, thinking. “Or both.”

  chapter 4

  W hen Vincent Paulo was a little boy, he was afraid of the dark. He and his older brother shared a bedroom. The lower bunk was for Danny, who never had trouble falling asleep. Vince had the top bunk, which was part of his mother’s strategy. She knew that no matter how frightened he became, little Vince wouldn’t dare crawl down from the top bunk in the middle of the night. He couldn’t risk waking his big brother, unless he wanted a certain bloody nose. Vince would lay awake for the longest time-for hours, it seemed, the covers pulled over his head, afraid to make a move. “Just close your eyes and go to sleep,” his mother would say. But Vince couldn’t do it. The room, at least, had a night-light. Closing his eyes would mean total darkness, and it was in that black, empty world that monsters prowled.

  Ironic, he thought, that he now lived in that world-and that it was indeed a monster who had put him there.

  Vince tried not to think about the day he’d lost his sight, or at least not to dwell on it. Hindsight could eat you up, even on the small stuff. If only I’d remembered that Elm Street was a speed trap. If only I’d sold that stock last month. But how many people could say, “If only I hadn’t opened that door, I would never have lost my eyesight”? Of those, how many could actually live with the result-truly live with it, as in live a happy life. Vince tried to be one of those people. He refused to be doted on or smothered by those of good intentions. He refused to change careers. He refused to stop living. There would be major changes and adjustments, to be sure. Teaching at the police academy wasn’t exactly active duty, but it was important work. It was certainly better than taking disability and fading into oblivion. Hopefully there would be more cases like Falcon on the bridge, where Vince could play a role in a real-life hostage situation. But even if that didn’t happen, he would go on with his life, and he would be happy. That was a good place to be, emotionally, and it had taken him many months to get there.

  It had taken only the sound of Alicia’s voice to send him tumbling back to square one.

  “I’m taking off now,” his uncle said. “Are you going to be all right?”

  Each evening, Uncle Ricky picked Vinc
e up from work, drove him home, and helped him cook dinner-usually grilled steaks and ice cream. Richard Boies was the uncle everyone wanted, sort of a second father and best friend rolled into one. The things he did for family were from the heart, not out of obligation, and his mischievous streak and quick sense of humor always lifted Vince’s spirits. Just the thought of this tall, slender man with bright red hair, blazing blue eyes, and glowing red skin from the Miami sun was enough to make Vince smile. They could no longer share Uncle Ricky’s love of photography, but they would listen to music, tell stories, and play cards or dominoes until it was time for bed. Uncle Ricky was a dominoes master. Vince got even at poker. He had a long way to go before he mastered Braille, but Vince knew a full house when he felt one.

  “I’m good,” said Vince.

  “You sure?” said Uncle Ricky. “Nothing I can get you? Glass of water? Remote control? Winning Lotto ticket?”

  “Get outta here,” said Vince, smiling.

  “I have to be going too,” his brother said. Danny had a wife and three kids, but he did manage to visit Vince on poker night. Uncle Ricky made sure he didn’t cheat.

  “There’s a nasty cold front coming through tonight,” his uncle said. “You want me to drag an extra blanket down from the closet?”

  “I can get it,” said Vince. “Thanks anyway.”

  The goal was for Vince to do more and more for himself every day. A caregiver came at six every morning to help him work toward his goal of complete independence in various personal matters, everything from grooming and hygiene to little tricks in the closet that would prevent him from walking out of the house wearing black pants with brown loafers. Uncle Ricky would be back at seven a.m. to take him to work.

  His uncle slapped him on the shoulder and started toward the door. Danny followed and said, “Texas Hold ’Em next week?”

  “I’ll be ready,” said Vince.

  The front door opened, then closed. Vince remained in the armchair as he listened to the fading sound of footfalls on the sidewalk. Uncle Ricky was the first to leave. His brother waited behind on the porch. It was the same drill every week. Danny would stand there alone, searching for the right thing to say to Vince, and wishing that he had Uncle Ricky’s easy way about himself even in the face of adversity. Vince knew in his heart that Danny wanted to open the door, step back inside, and have that conversation they’d been avoiding-to be the big brother. But it never happened. He would give up and go home, saying nothing.