Gerry Colletti was down the street from his house, walking his dog, when Tatum caught up with him. It was early morning, and Colletti was wearing his robe and slippers, the unwrapped morning paper tucked under one arm. Tatum approached from behind at a moment when he’d be most off guard, just as Colletti stooped down to collect fresh poodle droppings with his pooper-scooper.
“Thought you only talked shit, Colletti. Didn’t know you collected it.”
Colletti dropped the newspaper and looked behind him, obviously startled. He scooped the droppings into a plastic bag and said, “You’re in violation of your restraining order. Get away, or I’m calling the judge.”
“I’m not hurting anybody.”
“You’re within five hundred yards of me. It doesn’t matter if you hurt me or not.”
“Doesn’t matter? If that’s the case, I might as well beat you to a pulp. No sense doing time in jail just for talking.”
Colletti took a half-step back, trying to put more space between them. His little dog growled and bared its teeth. “Easy, Muffin.”
“Your dog’s name is Muffin?” said Tatum, taunting.
“Come near me and she’ll chew your leg off. What do you want to talk about?”
“I was hoping that you and me could come to an understanding.”
A modicum of tension drained from his expression, as if he liked the sound of Tatum’s approach. “What are you proposing?”
“First, you need to understand it wasn’t me who attacked you in the parking lot.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“What do you mean, you don’t care?”
“I already made the judge believe it was you. I can make the cops believe it, I can make a jury believe it, I can probably even make your own lawyer believe it. Doesn’t matter if it’s true, so long as I can prove it.”
“You can’t prove anything. You’re like that bag of dog shit in your hand.”
“You’re dead wrong about that, Mr. Knight. I put my best investigator on your trail. He’s uncovered some pretty interesting things about you.”
Tatum smiled and shook his head. “So I got an impressive résumé. Big deal. That don’t change the facts. It wasn’t me who pummeled you.”
“You’re missing my point. If you don’t step aside and renounce your claim to this inheritance, a guy like me can create a ton of problems for a guy like you.”
“You think it’s that easy?”
“My offer still stands. In fact, I’ll make it even sweeter. Three hundred thousand dollars cash is yours, no strings attached.”
“That’s it, huh? I’m supposed to give up my shot at forty-six million dollars just because you say so?”
“No, because you’re going to land in jail if you don’t.”
Tatum wasn’t smiling anymore. He could feel his anger rising. “You’re out of your league, Colletti.”
“To the contrary. You’re out of yours. This is business as usual for me.”
“You think you’re that good, do you?”
Colletti picked up his dog, stroking its head as he cradled the ball of white, curly fur in his arms. “How do you think I ended up in this game in the first place?”
“It’s pretty obvious. Sally Fenning was trying to dish out her own version of revenge to her enemies. You represented her husband in their divorce.”
“You think that’s what got me on the list?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“Oh, Tatum, you are stupider than I thought. Miguel told me to go easy on Sally, which left me with a ton of ammunition and no way to use it. It seemed like such a shame to dig up all that dirt on Sally and then let it go to waste. Then the brainstorm hit me. If Miguel didn’t want to use it for his own benefit, I could use it for mine.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“All it took was a simple warning to Sally: If she didn’t give in to my demands, I’d make it a matter of public record that Sally was having an affair with the man who murdered her daughter, and that she was covering up for him.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“None of your business. But again, you miss the point. I was even less sure of my accusations against her than I am about my charges against you. But I still pulled it off.”
“Pulled what off?”
He flashed a thin, satisfied grin. “Ask any divorce lawyer who’s ever had a wounded wife as a client and he’ll tell you, getting her in the sack is like shooting fish in a barrel. But getting the wife to spread her legs when she’s the client of the opposing lawyer…Well,” he said smugly, “now that’s a good day’s work.”
“You think I’m just going to spread my legs, too?”
“No,” he said, his smile fading into a more serious glare. “You look more like the type to just bend over and take it.”
Tatum went at him and grabbed his throat. With his other hand he tried to contain the dog, but it leaped from Colletti’s arms and bit Tatum on the wrist. Tatum flung the animal across the road and recoiled in pain. He was bleeding as he backed away.
Colletti massaged his throat. Tatum hadn’t held him long, but it was a hard, martial arts-style hit. He caught his breath and said, “See that, Tatum? Even Muffin gets a piece of you.” He gathered up his precious dog and walked away.
Tatum just stood there, seething, watching, and holding his wrist.
Thirty-six
They traveled halfway back to Korhogo before stopping at a hotel for the night. It would have been much easier to drive around big Lake Kossou and take the main highway north, but they opted for the scenic route through Parc National de la Marahoué, as Jack wasn’t about to leave Africa without seeing some form of wildlife besides Theo.
“They’re throwing kids,” said Theo.
“What?” said Jack.
They were having dinner at another maquis, eating grilled chicken and attiéké, a local side dish made from grated roots. A crowd had gathered in the town square across the street. A group of teenagers was moving rhythmically to the beat of a drum, but most of the audience seemed focused on a spectacle of some sort.
“I swear to God,” said Theo. “There’s kids flying through the air over there.”
“It’s the child jugglers,” said Rene.
“They juggle kids?”
“It’s an old tradition under the Guéré, Dan, and I think the Wobé peoples. Jugglers train for months. The girls are specially selected from the tribe. They have to be skinny, supple, and definitely not prone to crying. Five years old is a prime age.”
“And they throw them through the air?” said Jack.
Theo was standing on his chair for a better view. “It’s amazing. Let’s go watch.”
Rene said, “Africa has some wonderful traditions, but this one doesn’t exactly jibe with my pediatric training.”
“I think I’ll pass, too,” said Jack.
“Suit yourself,” said Theo. He stuffed a piece of grilled chicken into his mouth and started across the street.
Jack tilted back another glass of palm wine. After half a bottle, he was beginning to acquire a taste for it. Rene refilled her glass, then raised it and said, “Well, here’s to Jean Luc. May he rest in pieces.”
Jack met her toast, fully understanding that she wouldn’t want to wish “peace” on Sally’s ex, even in death. “That was some surprise, huh?”
“Not really. Daloa can be a dangerous place, even if you’re careful.”
“Obviously he wasn’t careful enough.”
“It only takes one mistake. The Red Cross chose Daloa as this year’s center of activities for World AIDS Day. What does that tell you?”
“I guess he had a weakness for the local women.”
“Or some of the boys he bought.”
There was bitterness in her tone, and Jack didn’t even want to think about how often that must have happened. Jack asked, “When did he and Sally divorce?”
“A few months ago. Why?”