"Let's meet at-" Jack stopped himself, realizing that he was about to suggest the same coffeehouse they'd visited on their second date.
"How about-" Andie did the same thing, maybe even for the identical reason. Weird, thought Jack, the way their minds seemed to work alike sometimes.
Jack said, "There's a McDonald's on Bird Road."
"Perfect," she said.
"No, wait. I can do better than that. Meet me at the gas station on Seventeenth, right next to Casola's pizzeria."
"A gas station?"
"Trust me on this. You'll be pleasantly surprised."
She agreed, but after they hung up, he recalled that she really didn't like surprises, and as he merged into traffic, he wondered why he cared. Rene backlash, no doubt, brought on by the fact that he hadn't heard boo from her since she left: Miami. Oh, Jack, I can't stay more than a few days at a time because Fm afraid I might never leave. Oh Jack, I promise to call you as soon as my plane lands.
Jack was still waiting for the phone to ring.
The minimart on Seventeenth Avenue was just beyond a part of I-95 that most drivers never saw: the end. It's unclear whether the geniuses who built the interstate simply ran out of cement or actually thought it was a great idea for a hundred thousand cars a day to come barreling down the final exit ramp at seventy miles per hour, straight into the proverbial parking lot that was U.S. 1. Either way it was the perfect spot for a filling station, and one had graced this location – right alongside the busy highway and elevated Metrorail tracks – as long as Jack could remember. In a recent flash of inspiration, the owner had converted a back room into a small but lively restaurant that served good food and good wine at bargain prices. The decor was reminiscent of a French wine cellar, with long wooden tables and stools instead of chairs, and the wine selection was so good that even the Ritz Carlton's sommelier was a regular. You picked your wine directly from the floor-to-ceiling bins that lined the walls, and the food was served tapas style – appetizer-sized portions to be shared with friends. And on your way out, you could buy Lotto tickets and a pack of Twinkies for dessert. Beat that.
"I never knew this was here," said Andie.
"You like it?"
She surveyed the wall of wines and the waiters dressed in traditional attire. "Yeah, I do, actually. And for you it's perfect. Sparky's used to be a gas station. Your new favorite restaurant still is."
"What can I say? In a Miami-chic world where pretentiousness knows no bounds, a guy has to search pretty hard to find these little gems."
The waiter brought menus, and Jack found himself peering out over the top of his as Andie studied hers. Men often liked a certain type of woman, and if that was true of Jack, Andie had been a complete – albeit brief – break from type. Both Rene and his ex-wife were blondes. Andie's hair was blacker than black, like a midnight blue tuxedo, and her mixed ancestry made her attractive in ways that traditional beauties weren't.
"What do you want?" she said.
"Huh?" he said, averting his eyes.
"What are you ordering?"
"Ah," said Jack, relieved to know he hadn't been caught staring. He made some recommendations, but Andie wasn't very hungry, so he ordered churrasco steak tapas and a small serving of chipotle for them to share. Andie wanted a glass of pinot grigio, and Jack convinced her to share a bottle of Santa Marguerita, since he was buying and it was cheaper here than at the supermarket anyway. That she drank was important. Law enforcement types were always stressed at the end of their day, and he wanted her in a good mood, more receptive to his strategy on how to nail the punks who had shot at Theo.
"I assume you didn't invite me out here to get me drunk," she said.
"No. I have a witness to Theo's shooting."
"Terrific. When can I talk to him?"
"He doesn't want any part of law enforcement."
"Naturally," she said. "That's the problem with drive-by shootings. Witnesses tend to get scarce."
The waiter brought their wine and poured two glasses. When he was gone, Jack showed Andie the drawing that Tyrone had sketched for him and Uncle Cy. It was a menacing-looking knife in an upright position, handle at the top, tip pointing down, and blood dripping from the blade. "There can't be that many red cars with this symbol etched onto the back window."
She examined it while tasting her wine. "I know this gang. O-Town Posse. Started in Overtown about five years ago, but it's grown fast."
"What's with the knife symbol?"
"It's actually a KA-BAR – a military fighting knife made especially for close-combat killing. This is who they are: extremely violent, heavy drug traffickers who would kill you as soon as look at you. They're trying to align themselves with the big leagues – Folk Nation out of Chicago or Crips in L.A."
"So this is a good lead?"
She drank more wine. "Just because we have a red car with a recognizable gang symbol doesn't mean we can peg the shooter.
"Find the car and haul in the owner for questioning."
"I definitely will. But it's not easy to get someone to testify against a gang as ruthless as O-Town Posse, and the owner of this vehicle knows that. He won't crack just because I ask him tough questions."
The waiter brought their churrasco. It was done to perfection, medium rare, and the chimichurri sauce wasn't too oily. "What if I can get the witness to talk? Will you protect him?"
"Did he see the triggerman?"
"No."
Andie finished her wine. Jack poured her more. She said, "I can't sell the bureau on protecting a witness who doesn't know enough to get an arrest, let alone a conviction. I already have my hands full trying to justify protection for Theo."
"He's helping you figure out who helped Isaac Reems escape and who shot him. It's not like he's getting something for nothing.
"But we cut Theo's deal on the assumption that the same guy who shot Isaac Reems also tried to shoot Theo. The more we learn about Theo's shooting, the less it resembles Isaac's."
"You don't need the exact same MO for two shootings to be related."
"No, but now that we know Theo was shot by a gang, the state attorney is going to say, hey, maybe this had nothing to do with Reems. Maybe it was even random. Because the Reems case is looking more and more like a professional hit."
"Gangs do hits," said Jack. "And if somebody wanted to eliminate both Isaac and Theo, what better way to confuse the investigators than to make one of the killings look like a drive-by shooting by a gang like O-Town Posse?"
"But all we have is a theory Your theory. Honestly it's not entirely adding up for me."
"Why not?"
"There are a zillion holes."
"A zillion?"
"Yes."
"You counted them?"
"Stop being such a literal lawyer. I meant there are a lot."
"Let's hear them."
"I can't name them all."
"You can't name any."
"I can name plenty."
"Plenty? Help me with my math. Is that more or less than a zillion?"
Jack didn't enjoy getting under her skin, but when she wore her FBI hat, that was the only way to make her talk.
She swallowed more wine. "All right, explain this to me. Every arm of law enforcement was out looking for Isaac Reems and couldn't find him. But the killer was able to hone right in on him. I'm curious as to how that works under your theory. How did the shooter know to go to the restaurant that used to be Homeboy's? How did he know exactly when Isaac Reems was going to be there? How did he get such a clear shot at Isaac? Why did Isaac call out Theo's name before he was shot? Why would-"
"What did you just say?"
Andie froze. She'd obviously shared something she shouldn't have. "Forget what I said."