“There’s definitely two sides to this, but-”
“But now you think my first instinct was right. Leave it to a couple of advocates,” he said, scoffing. “We’ve persuaded each other to reverse roles.”
“Look, we’re not going to resolve this tonight. Maybe it’s a good thing you’re going to Africa. It gives us time to think.”
“Right. A little time is a good thing.”
“So we’re agreed? We just put things on hold for a while, go back to normal.”
Jack had the frustrating feeling that the right words were floating out there somewhere between them, but damned if he could find them. “Okay. Normal it is.”
“Thank you. Have a safe trip, okay?”
“I will.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.” He flipped the cell phone shut and sat on the step, alone. Already, he didn’t like the feeling of “normal.”
Thirty
The urinal in the men’s room was busted again, and two guys were busily gratifying each other in the only stall, so Theo took the back exit into the alley behind the club. He found a dark, suitable spot between two parked cars, only to find that someone had found the very same spot minutes before he had.
“Son of a bitch,” he said, stepping out of it.
He continued down the dark alley, though he was suddenly thinking more of his talk with Jack than his bursting bladder. He hadn’t exactly told his friend the whole story about why he was going to Africa. Sure, it would be fun, and even more sure, Jack could use a guy like Theo to keep him out of trouble. But Theo’s real agenda was much more personal. The police were zooming in on his brother as a suspect in Sally Fenning’s murder, and Theo alone knew the depth of his debt to Tatum.
The alley was getting darker with each step he took, and Theo finally stopped and looked around. On either side were the unadorned backs of buildings-bars, drugstores, Laundromats. A half block ahead, the lights from Sixteenth Street were a big glowing dot in the darkness, like the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. The walls were cinder blocks painted beige and white. Every door and window was covered with black security bars. If he narrowed his eyes, Theo could almost see one set of hands after another gripping those iron bars, hands without faces, hands he’d linked to anxious voices from within boxes during his years on death row. Those were memories he would have liked to flush. But with his own brother in trouble, and with the barred doors and windows all around him, his mind drifted back to a night on death row that he’d truly thought would be his last hours on earth.
Theo sat on one side of the prison glass; his brother, Tatum, on the other. His brother seemed taken by his baldness.
“What happened to your hair, man?”
“It’s just what they do,” said Theo. The prison barber had already shaved his head and ankles so that there would be a smooth connection between his flesh and the deadly voltage of the electric chair.
“Swyteck is starting to scare me,” said Tatum. “What the hell is taking him so long this time? He ain’t never let it go this far before.”
“He’s doing what he can. Sometimes you just run out of shit to throw against the wall.”
“Then get a new lawyer.”
“They don’t give out new lawyers the night before an execution.”
“But you need more time. I need more time.”
From the day of Theo’s sentencing, Tatum had vowed to track down every last member of the Grove Lords, threaten them, beat them, crack their skulls-whatever it took to find the one who had gone into that convenience store and really killed that cashier.
Theo said, “I appreciate all you done for me, but-”
“But nothin’. Don’t you start with that good-bye shit now.”
“We gotta face facts.”
“The facts is, you didn’t do it.”
“You think I’m the first innocent man ever to sit on death row?”
“Sittin’ here is one thing. They can’t execute you, damn it.”
“They can, Tatum. And they will.”
Tatum checked the clock on the wall. “Where the hell is that lawyer of yours?”
“He’s supposed to call in about a half hour.”
“Good. I want to talk to him.”
“What for?”
“I need to know if this is really it.”
“We’ll know soon enough.”
“Don’t say that. Because if he’s out of ideas, I got one for him.”
“What?”
With a pen, he scribbled onto the notepad in front of him. Then he leaned closer to the glass and turned the notepad so that Theo could see it. It read, “Let’s just say I did it.”
Theo looked his brother in the eye. “Say what?”
“I’m shit compared to you,” he said, his voice shaking. “You got a brain in your head, man. You could be somebody. So let’s just say it was me who done it. We look a little alike. That eyewitness was pretty shaky. Maybe she got it wrong, coulda’ mixed us up, you know?”
“You would do this for me?”
“You’re my little brother, man. You and me-aw, shit, don’t make me say it. We’re all we got, you know?”
Theo felt a knot in his stomach, wishing he could break through the glass between them. “Thanks, bro’,” he said as he pressed his fist to the window. Tatum did the same from the other side, the prison handshake.
“What do you say?” asked Tatum.
“You’re awesome, totally. But even if I was gonna let you try, it’s just too late.”
“Damn you, stop sayin’ it’s too late.”
“It would never work anyway.”
“I’ll make it work,” he said, his anger rising. “I can make those bastards believe.”
Behind Theo a door opened, and the dull rumble of club noises rolled into the alley. He turned and saw a man step into the weak glow of a security light by the Dumpster.
“Jack?”
“I thought I saw you walk out this way. Your band’s gearing up for the next set.”
Theo started toward him and said, “Guess I lost track of time.”
“What are you doing out here?”
He put his arm around Jack’s shoulder and walked him to the door. “Just strollin’ down memory lane, buddy. And you really had to be there to know what a shitty place that is.”
“I was there, remember?”
“Absolutely. I remember everybody who was there. And I do mean everybody.”
They went back inside the club, the security bars clanging as the door closed behind them.
Part Three
Thirty-one
Côte d’Ivoire is about the size of Germany or New Mexico. Jack’s problem was that getting from Germany to New Mexico is a heck of a lot easier than getting from the airport in Abidjan to the grasslands of the north.
“I don’t do puddle jumpers,” said Jack.
“You what?” said Theo.
“I just don’t. I’ve had some bad experiences, and I just don’t do them anymore.”
“You represent a badass like my brother, and you’re afraid of flying on a little plane?”
“No, I’m afraid of crashing on a little plane. Got no problem with flying.”
And so began the ground segment of their journey, a half-day bus ride on the heels of a seventeen-hour international flight. The road system of Côte d’Ivoire is among the best in West Africa, so it might have been bearable had the nine-hour trip to Korhogo been the end of the line. Unfortunately, Sally’s sister wasn’t in Korhogo, which surprised Jack. Before leaving Miami, he’d managed to contact her by e-mail, and from an Internet café in town she’d confirmed the meeting. A nice retired couple who ran the Children First headquarters gave Jack the bad news.
“She’s gone to Odienné,” said Mr. Roberts.
“Oh, damn.”
“No, Odienné,” said Mrs. Roberts.
“I know, I meant…When is she coming back?”