Cy folded his arms and said, "You never was good in math, was your
"What are you talking about?"
"Your momma was raped in the spring of 1972."
"So?"
"May 20, to be exact. When were you born?"
The question hit Theo like a punch to the chest. "February 17, 1973."
The two men locked eyes, and it was as if the earth had suddenly stopped spinning. Theo knew it was his turn to say something, but no words would come.
Cy dug a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. There were just two left. "You want a smoke?" he said.
Theo reached over and took one. His face glowed in the darkness as Cy lit it for him. Then he sat back in his chair and took a long pull.
"Ain't that a two-footed kick in the head?" said Theo, smoke tumbling from his lips.
"Mmm-hmm," the old man said. "With boots on."
Chapter 51
Theo told no one – except Jack.
Of course the media hounded him. They wanted details about the shootings that had left a distinguished businessman like Fernando Redden dead in his barn alongside a guy like Moses, a gang leader who was wanted for the murder of a Florida state trooper. Theo refused all interview requests. He didn't even watch the news on television, except for one short statement from Andie Henning and the supervisory agent in charge of the Miami field office. The FBI declined to comment, saying that details would follow in the forthcoming official final report of Agent's Henning's task force on security failings at TGK Correctional Center and the escape of Isaac Reems.
Mere mention of a possible connection to Reems's escape was fuel to the proverbial fire, as if an edict had been issued to the media: "Let the speculation begin."
Fernando Redden was buried on the Tuesday following his death. Theo didn't attend the funeral, but over breakfast Trina got so angry at the newspaper that she just had to read him the obituary – a quarter-page fluff piece about the son of Cuban exiles who "personified the American dream." Redden came off like the best thing to happen to housing for Overtown's poor since the Civil Rights Act of 1964. There were even humorous anecdotes about "Fernando el Fantastico" – the compassionate friend, the generous philanthropist, the doting husband. Absent was any mention of the fact that, had he lived, he would have landed in jail for fraud and misuse of public housing funds. That information would not become public until the grand jury concluded its secret investigation and returned indictments against his corporation and shady business partners. It would get even uglier with Moses' three-count indictment for murder – Redden, the state trooper, and Portia Knight, though Moses could probably buy his way off death row by testifying against the corrections officer who helped Isaac escape.
Theo tried not to dwell on any of it. Two o'clock Thursday afternoon, however, brought a flash of renewed anger and a mix of other emotions that he didn't fully understand. According to the newspaper, 2:00 p.m. was the scheduled time for Redden's graveside service. "Family only." Family.
Before the burial, Jack had offered to try and get a court-ordered DNA test.
Theo didn't want to know.
Theo had heard before that he was of mixed ancestry, though usually it was said tongue in cheek. When he was on death row, a Native American inmate told him he looked part Miccosukee, which earned him the prison-lawyer nickname "Chief Brief." With a name like Theodopolis, people said he must be part Greek – which now seemed like an ironic ode to his apparent place of conception.
Theo still had his doubts about Fernando Redden being his father. It wasn't exactly a comforting thought, but simply because Portia was raped on film by one frat boy didn't rule out the possibility of another partner that night. She could have been raped again by someone off-camera. She could have had consensual sex earlier that night, that day, that week, that month. Theo liked the latter alternative best. That was the one he would cling to.
Three weeks had passed since the shooting, and it still felt too soon to be celebrating in any way. But Theo had a business to run at Sparky's, the rent still had to be paid on the new property, and it was time to open his real jazz bar.
"Place looks amazing," said Jack.
It was early Friday evening, and Theo was on the working side of the bar, mixing a pitcher of martinis. For the past two hours, he'd been so busy greeting guests and putting out fires that he hadn't taken the time to look around. Weeks of preparation and hard work had helped take Theo's mind off Moses and Fernando Redden. Everything from cleaning, painting, and decorating to creating a menu, stocking the bar and kitchen, hiring and training the staff, and booking live entertainment – it was finally paying dividends. The U-shaped bar was killer. The lighting was just right. The twenty small cafe tables – the exact number Uncle Cy had recommended – were all taken. The doors were open, and people came. Not just loyal friends. Theo could feel it in the air, and it made his heart swelclass="underline" he was tapping into the true jazz-lover crowd.
"Want to invest?" said Theo.
"Hmmm," said Jack, as he scratched his head. "Let me think about that. You and me, business partners? I'd say that has about as much chance as-"
"You picking up the phone and asking Andie on a date?"
"I told you I was going to call her."
"And by the time you do, we'll all be playing shuffleboard."
"Look, last time we started dating too soon after the Salazar kidnapping. This time I'm just putting a little distance between the gunfire and the sparks flying, so to speak."
"Well, I invited her tonight. She and Trina are bringing Cy. You got a problem with that?"
Jack tried his martini. He seemed to approve. "I think that's a great idea. Timing's good, too. Rene and I are definitely history."
"I'd say so. What's it been, a month?"
"Actually, she finally called me. Yesterday."
Theo dropped a rack of olives in Jack's drink. "Really? What took her so long this time? Famine? Tsunami? Swarming locusts?"
"Fear," said Jack.
"Of what?"
"She sensed some chemistry between Andie and me while she was here. Once she got back to Africa, she worked up this fear that I was going to tell her not to come to Miami anymore. That's why she didn't call."
Theo leaned toward him, forearms atop the bar, speaking in an even tone. "That is a colossal pile of crap. You know that, don't your
"Maybe." Jack went back to his martini and adjusted his response: "Definitely."
"Good thing," he said, glancing toward the rear entrance. "Because the world's most unlikely menage a trois has just arrived."
The women were dressed to turn heads, but Theo's gaze fixed on his uncle. Cy had Trina on one arm, Andie on the other, and a huge smile on his face. Of course he was wearing his three-piece Norfolk suit in natty vintage tweeds, as if it were 1956 and he still ruled the Cotton Club, the Knight Beat, and every other famous old jazz club in Overtown. He reached over the bar and gave Theo a huge hug.
"Proud a' you, boy," he said.
The words meant the world to Theo, and he had to close his eyes for a moment to contain the emotion. "Thanks, old man."
Theo broke the embrace, and Trina leaned over to give him a kiss. That left Jack and Andie as the awkward spectators for a moment.
"You look amazing," Jack told her.
"Keen grasp of the obvious there," said Theo." Siddown, everyone. Got a couple of surprises planned."
Jack offered Andie the stool on his right. Uncle Cy and Trina took the ones on his left. Theo poured martinis for each of them. Then he pulled a tobacco tin from under the counter and placed it on the bar in front of them. It was the fourteen-ounce cylinder, bright red with a white-and-black painted label.
Trina was the first to smile. "Prince Albert/' she said, reading the brand name.