"How stupid?"
"I'd really rather not get into it, if that's okay."
Andie got the impression that Maria would have persevered on any other morning, but the coffee and cigarettes didn't seem to be doing the trick on her hangover. Maria glanced at Andie's resume and frowned almost immediately
"Is something the matter?" said Andie.
"Your photograph. You're beautiful in person. Those high cheekbones, the raven black hair."
"My biological mother was American Indian."
"I presume it was an Anglo father who gave you the amazing green eyes. The mix makes for an exotic, captivating look. But…" Maria crushed out her cigarette and savored her last lungful. "You should be blonde."
"Blonde? But I get a lot of compliments about my hair."
"I know computer dating. Blonde women get twice the calls."
"And I'm sure naked women get three times the calls. I'm not changing my hair."
"Okeydoke." She read on. Another frown. "I see you put the FBI right up top."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"For a job application, it's great. But in the world of online romance, women in law enforcement don't get callbacks.You need to hold that info for the actual date. What else are you trained to do?"
"Well, I went to law school, but I never practiced."
"Excellent. Men will adore you: smart but non-threatening. How about other jobs? What did you do before the FBI?"
"Waited tables in college. I actually drove a truck one summer in law school."
"Hmmm. What kind of truck?"
"Delivery truck. I worked for UPS"
"Perfect!" she said, thinking aloud as she scribbled on a napkin. "Educated at Brown."
"Hold on. That is so misleading."
"Half your callbacks will be from married men who keep a credit card and a cell phone in the name of an unmarried friend so that the wife won't see the paper trail. That's misleading."
Andie retrieved her resume. "You know, maybe this online stuff isn't for me."
Her cell phone rang. It was Guy Schwartz, the assistant special agent in charge of the Miami field office. Her boss. She excused herself and took the call, finding a more private spot a little farther down the mall. She talked while standing in the recessed entrance-way to a closed gallery.
"The feds are getting into the Isaac Reems manhunt," Schwartz said.
"We clearly have jurisdiction. Reems was in federal custody before we released him to TGK for trial on the state charges."
"Yeah. Apparently life in federal prison for kidnapping wasn't enough for the state attorney. She had to tack on sexual assault under Florida law."
"Hard to argue with that if you look through the victim's eyes," said Andie.
"Sure. But now look where we are. Miami-Dade Corrections let him slip out the window on a rope made from bedsheets. Bedsheets. How the hell does that happen in the twenty-first century?"
"He won't get far."
"That's where you come in. I just got off the phone with the commander of the Violent Offenders and Fugitive Task Force. He's bringing in every resource – the state and locals, the U.S. Marshals, and the FBI. I need an agent I can count on to coordinate our office's involvement. You've done excellent work with the kidnapping joint task forces. I would expect nothing less here"
"When do I start?"
"How soon can you be here?"
She checked her appearance. Sweatpants and a leotard weren't exactly office attire. Good thing she kept a clean set of clothes at work. She could shower there, too. "See you in twenty minutes," she said.
Chapter 4
The search was on. With the help of Uncle Cy, Theo was determined to find the perfect location for Sparky's II.
They checked out three locations before lunch. Theo saved the best for last.
"Holy crap," said Cy. He was dressed like Johnny Cash – black shirt, black shoes, and black pants. It was his serious jazz club attire, but he had a smile that brought the look to life.
They were standing in a vacant restaurant with old wood floors, redbrick walls, and high ceilings. On one side of the room was a huge U-shaped bar that would allow the bartender to work three sides; the top of the U was closed off by cafe doors that led to the kitchen. The bar stools had been sold off in the previous tenants liquidation, but Theo could pick up some used ones on the cheap. The chandeliers were also gone, but it didn't take much to imagine a big brass antique casting its moody glow as Theo served up drinks till the wee hours of the morning. The previous tenant had obviously over improved, the cost of the build-out making profit impossible. The restaurant owner's downfall was the bar owner's windfall. Capitalism, 100 proof.
"You like it?" said Theo.
"Holy crap," he said again.
Theo crossed the room. "This is where the dinner tables used to be. We could put cocktail tables here, and the ceiling is plenty high for us to build a little stage against the back wall for the band."
"I can hear that beautiful sax already," said Cy.
"I was thinking maybe fifteen tables or so."
“Twenty" said Cy "You need that crowded jazz bar feelin' with the lights dimmed and the smoke risin' up-"
"No smoking" said Theo. "It's against the law if we're gonna serve food."
"No smoke in a jazz bar? That's like no blue in the Blue Note."
"Things change," said Theo.
"Yeah," he said wistfully "they sure do." Then his face lit up. "Hey here's an idea. Why don't I take you on a tour? Overtown, old Miami, Miami Beach. I'll show you all the joints I used to play"
"Are they still around?"
"Yeah, every last one of them is still right here," he said, as he pointed to his heart. "Don't make no difference if they've been turned into parking lots or fancy office buildings. It's like visiting hallowed ground. It'll all come back to me when we walk the old streets. Maybe you'll even pick up some vibes of inspiration for this joint."
"I'd like that," said Theo. "We should have done it a long time ago.
Together, they fell into silence, remembering when Uncle Cy had made that very suggestion years earlier – before Theo got mixed up with the Grove Lords and ended up in prison.
His cell phone rang. He checked the number, and it was Trina. "Gotta take this."
"You go ahead. I'll just keep on dreamin'."
Theo wandered toward the bar and took the call. He could hear the excitement in Trina's voice.
"I figured out what I want," she said.
"Huh?"
"For my birthday. The replacement for the roach brooch. You said I could have whatever I wanted."
"Oh, yeah," he said. She's actually holding me to this.
"This may be asking too much," she said. "But would you even consider setting: a Prince Albert for me?"
Theo leaned against the bar. "A what?"
"A Prince Albert. You know what it is, right?"
"Uh… yeah. 'Course I know what it is."
"Can you get one?"
He ran his finger over the bar top and collected a good six months' worth of dust – a long time for commercial property to sit idle. Room to negotiate on the rent. "Sure. If a Prince Albert is what you want, I'll get it for you."
"Really? Oh, Theo, you are the absolute best."
"True. But we already knew that."
"Do you know where to go?"
"I'll figure it out."
"Be careful. There are good ones and bad ones. You can't just go anywhere."
"You think I don't know that?"
"Okay. But I've researched this. For people who are serious and don't mind paying a little extra, the go-to guy is down in Marathon. His name's Manny Ochoa."