I sat back and tried to keep my face from breaking out in the smuggest of grins. I didn’t have a lawyer on call, but I wasn’t in court and I wasn’t on the record.

  He straightened his tie, and his shoulders lifted with a big sigh. “The agreement is a no-fault, no-return contract with a nondisclosure addendum. The claimant and his wife are both forbidden to discuss the nature of the agreement with anyone. Anyone.”

  “I’m sure you have a boilerplate ready to go,” I said. “Why don’t you fill it in and sign it? I’ll take it to my client, and this will all go away.”

  Fishook picked up his desk phone and asked someone to amend the GBC fund agreement in the name of Johnny and Tina Cabrini for the amount of five thousand dollars. Then he listened for a moment.

  “Yes, Delia, I said five thousand.” He hung up and straightened his already straight tie. “What’s your cut?” he asked me. “Thirty percent?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a favor for a friend.”

  “A favor?”

  “Yeah, it’s where you do something for someone with no expectation of anything in return.”

  “Yes, I do favors all the time.”

  “No you don’t. Quid pro quo is not a favor. Issuing a marker to be cashed in later is not a favor. You expect something in return, even if it’s down the line. I don’t. The Cabrinis don’t owe me a damn thing. That’s a favor.”

  “Those kinds of favors don’t buy caviar.”

  “Got that right. But you do end up with good people to share a beer with later. I’ll take that over eating caviar with people who’ll backstab me when my usefulness runs out.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “Actually, no. I take it back. I wouldn’t eat caviar, period. Salty fish eggs? Seriously? I’d rather have one of Mick’s grouper sandwiches.”

  “Who’s Mick?”

  “The architect of your demise.”

  He didn’t seem to know what to do with that information. I sat back and waited, not taking my eyes off him. Fishook tried looking at his computer screen and was getting fidgety. Then Delia returned with the documents. Fishook looked them over. He handed them to me to check the names and the amount, then I gave them back.

  “What?” he said.

  “You need to sign.”

  “I sign when I get them back.”

  “You sign now to show Mrs. Cabrini you’re serious.”

  “And how do I know she’s serious?”

  “Because I’m wasting my afternoon in your office rather than enjoying a drink with a bunch of fine people who would rather eat one fish than ten thousand eggs.”

  He groaned but pulled a pen from his breast pocket and signed the document. He shoved it toward me, and I took it with a smile. I stood and opened the door before turning to him.

  “I’ll be back.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  I enjoyed my evening with people who didn’t eat caviar. Mick served us falafel wraps, which I was dismayed to find out contained no fish or meat. Danielle assured me they would be fantastic. I acquiesced, but they turned out to be a revelation. Who knew garbanzo beans were so versatile?

  We stayed for a couple beers, but there was a cloud hanging over Longboard Kelly’s. I had a text message to meet Elissa Croix the following morning for a visit with Johnny Cabrini.

  After a fitful sleep, I arrived early at the detention complex on Gun Club Road. I saw families with little children lining up outside like they were going to the movies, and I thought of Johnny’s girls and whether they had been to visit.

  Being legal representatives, we were expedited through the metal detectors and X-ray machines. I carried no bag or briefcase, nothing more than a manila envelope, but that somehow made me suspicious, so I was patted down. Elissa and I were then led to a concrete room that was painted in a color Lizzy would have called beige sadness.

  About five minutes later, Johnny Cabrini was let in by a guard from another door. He didn’t look happy to see us. Indifferent was the word that stuck in my mind. He sat at the table opposite us. The guard stepped outside but kept watch through the glass.

  “How are you, Mr. Cabrini?” asked Elissa.

  “Doing okay.”

  “Are they treating you well?”

  “I guess.”

  “Do you have any medication, Mr. Cabrini?”

  “Nup.”

  “I have requested access to the medication prescribed by Dr. Abe. I will ask about it again.”

  “Okay.”

  “We are preparing for what is called your final hearing, although it’s not really final. At this hearing, the judge will determine whether you are eligible for bail and will set a date for your arraignment. You will not enter a plea at that time. Do you understand?”

  “Sure.”

  “You know Mr. Jones?”

  “Yeah. You’re getting money for Tina and the girls.”

  Elissa looked at me.

  “That’s right,” I said. “But I’m also helping to look into your case here. Can I ask you some questions, Johnny?”

  “Nothing better to do.”

  “How much do you remember about the night in question, at the club?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  “Nup.”

  “You were at The Copper Kettle that night.”

  He nodded without conviction. “Think so.”

  “The barman, Dean, he remembers you.”

  “Dean. Good guy.”

  “Yes, he is. He said you got a phone call just before you left the bar. Who called you?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Try, Johnny. It might be important.”

  “I said I don’t remember, damn it!”

  Elissa tapped her hand on my leg under the table.

  “Okay, Johnny,” I said. “No problem.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I don’t remember. I was drinking.”

  “Don’t worry. Do you know what you’re charged with here?”

  “I killed a guy.”

  “Do you know who?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Do you know a guy called Ricky the Fudge?”

  “Ricky the Fudge. Yeah, I know him. He hangs around.”

  “It was him.”

  Johnny looked me in the eye for the first time. “I killed Ricky the Fudge?”

  “That’s what they’re saying.”

  “I don’t think the world will miss him.”

  “Maybe not. Do you remember where he sold?”

  “Everywhere around town. He hung out at the gym, sometimes the club, but Maxine didn’t like him being there.”

  “Did you ever buy from him?”

  “I don’t do drugs.”

  “What about pain meds? Opioids?”

  “Nup. Not from Ricky.”

  “What about the school? Did you ever hear about him selling drugs at the high school?”

  “Nup. I don’t remember hearing that.”

  “Okay. I just need some personal details to help access the records that Tina’s going to need. Do you mind if I ask?”

  “For Teens? Go on.”

  I asked him the questions that Lizzy had written down for me: middle name, first street he lived on, first pet, that sort of thing. It seemed his long-term memory was better than his short-term.

  “Do you need a social security number?” Elissa asked.

  “We have it on the fund documents. I think we’re set.”

  “Why do you need to know my mom’s maiden name?”

  “We’re just trying to get the best possible outcome for you.”

  He let out a sound that was half cough, half laugh. “There’s no good outcome for me. You don’t think I know that? The evidence you say they got puts me in the slammer forever.”

  “We’re working on that,” said Elissa. “The likely charges come with a long-term sentence, but there is a lot of difference between a first-degree murder conviction and a guilty plea with diminished capacity. We’re trying to have you serve time in a facility that will help with the issues you’re having.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Johnny. “I’m either in some psych ward drugged up to my eyeballs so I don’t hurt nobody, or they toss me into the general population with all this anger that’s only getting worse—eventually I’m gonna poke the wrong bear and that will be that.”

  “We’re trying to get you treatment, Johnny,” she said. “Just hold on.”

  He blinked hard like he wasn’t listening anymore, then looked me in the eye again. “You gotta help Tina and the girls. That’s all that matters.”

  “Johnny, I have an agreement with me. The fund has offered five thousand dollars.”

  “Five grand? So I was worth something after all. How does she get it?”

  “You sign this and I’ll collect a check and get it to Tina.”

  “Give it to me, then.”

  I removed the document from the envelope and showed Johnny where to sign. Elissa handed him a pen. He scribbled his signature and gave her back the pen. For a moment he stared at the page, maybe at the amount. A smile appeared in the corner of his mouth as if he felt he had finally done something good for his family. Perhaps he thought it was a king’s ransom. It would certainly keep Tina afloat for a while. But I couldn’t help think of Fishook and his caviar and how he could pay that much for a room with a view at The Breakers for a single night.

  I took the contract and slipped it back into the envelope as Elissa put her notes away. We all stood. As she made to get the attention of the guard, I remembered I had one more question.

  “Johnny, do you own brass knuckles?”

  “Are you kidding? They’re illegal, and on a boxer they’re considered a deadly weapon.” The guard opened the door and moved toward us, and Johnny put his hands behind his back for the cuffs. “Besides, Stone always taught us to handle things like real men, with gloves on. Keep the fights in the ring. That’s the rule.”

  As the guard walked him out, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding in.

  “You okay?” Elissa asked.

  “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “Because if I don’t, no one will. And I don’t want to live in that world.”

  She led me toward the exit. I couldn’t wait to feel the sunshine on my skin.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Out in the parking lot, Elissa and I split off just as my phone rang.

  “Miami Jones,” I said.

  “Jones, this is Barry Schiff, public defender’s office.”

  “You just missed Elissa.”

  “It’s you I was after. When you guys are done, can you drop by the office?”

  “On my way. Will you tell Elissa?”

  “She has court.”

  “All right then, see you in twenty.”

  I parked near my office and walked over again. The extra miles were earning me kudos, but I feared Danielle would not give credit for work she couldn’t verify. I repeated the process at security: got my visitor’s tag and gave another smile to the receptionist that was not reciprocated.

  Barry led me into the same coffeepot-scented meeting room.

  “So the police found Richard Whitecross’s car.”

  “I didn’t know it was missing.”

  “It wasn’t at the scene. It looks like he parked a couple blocks away from the club and walked.”

  “What sort of car?”

  Barry looked at his documents. “Honda Civic. What difference does that make?”

  “Explains why he walked over. No drug dealer worth his salt is going to roll up in a Civic.”

  “He left his phone in the car. The PBSO think so he couldn’t be traced back to the club.”

  “But he was.”

  “Perhaps he didn’t intend to die there.”

  “I like the way you think, Barry. So what does all this mean?”

  “We have a call log from Mr. Whitecross’s phone.”

  “Aah. And?”

  “Calls all night long, but none to or from Mr. Cabrini’s phone.”

  “Damn. Could he have deleted it from his call log?”

  “It’s possible, but why delete that one and not the others?”

  “Good point. But is there a way to check?”

  “The call logs from the provider can be subpoenaed.”

  “Will the prosecution do that?”

  “I doubt it. I’m not sure it suits their case to keep digging. They know they were both there, and they’ll hypothesize as to why in front of a jury. They don’t need it.”

  “It makes no sense. If they didn’t call each other, how did they both come to be there?”

  “Unless someone else called them.”

  “I’ll say it again, Barry: I like the way you think. Can you cross-reference the calls on both logs and see what they have in common.”

  “It’ll take a long time for the whole history.”

  “Don’t care about the whole history. Let’s start with that night.”

  Barry put two sheets side by side on the table and ran his finger down one of them. He was done in a minute.

  “I was wrong,” he said. “It didn’t take long. Mr. Cabrini didn’t make many calls or get many, and Mr. Whitecross made a lot of calls but only to two numbers.”

  “Johnny’s wife said they only used the phones in emergencies, to save the credits.”

  “Well, that makes my life easy. There’s nothing in common here.”

  “Not one number?”

  “Nope.”

  I sat back to think. We were getting nowhere. Then I had a thought.

  “Maybe the number in common is the missing number from Johnny’s phone.”

  “So?”

  “So that would be a call just before midnight. Did Ricky get a call then?”

  Barry checked the papers. “Yes, yes he did.”

  “From who?”

  “It doesn’t have a listing here, just a number. I’d have to look it up in the reverse database.”

  “There’s a quicker way. Tell me the number.”

  I tapped the digits into my phone as he recited them, then hit the little green phone icon and waited to learn something.

  “Pugilists’ Club,” said Maxine Mitchell.

  “Maxine,” I replied, my mind spinning in all directions. “It’s Miami Jones, from the other night.”

  “I remember you, Miami. How’s Johnny, do you know?”

  “I just saw him. He’s doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances. Maxine, I wanted to ask you about the night Ricky the Fudge was killed.”

  “Horrible business. Not a nice boy, but still.”

  “Yeah, I know. But on the video from the store next door, you appear closing up and leaving the club at about eleven thirty p.m. Is that about right?”

  “Eleven twenty I would say. We close at eleven thirty, and I’ve usually cleaned and done the register, so it takes about ten to fifteen minutes to finish and lock up. I remember that night was quiet—no one was there at that time, and I’m not pouring anything for a walk-in at that hour, so I closed up about ten minutes early.”

  “Okay, so you locked up.”

  “That’s right. Why, pet?”

  “Just trying to get a timeline. You’re saying no one was there when you left?”

  “Nobody.”

  “And would anyone have come later? A cleaner or anyone?”

  “No. I do a wipe-down before I leave, and the cleaner comes in the morning. She found the body, remember? Poor thing.”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Nothing. Just putting all the pieces together. We’re trying to mount some kind of defense for Johnny.”

  “It’s a shame what’s happened to him, Miami. A real shame. If there’s anything I can do.”

  “Thanks Maxine. I’ll let you know.”

  I ended the call and looked at Barry. “That was the owner of the club. Whoever called Ricky was inside the club when it happened. After the owner had locked up and gone.”

  “This person was hiding in there?”

  “Maybe, but I gotta tell ya, there’s not a lot of hidey-holes in there.”

  “And you’re sure it wasn’t her?”

  “She’s on the video, leaving exactly when she said she did.”

  “So who was inside the club?” Barry asked.

  “That, Barry, is one question.”

  “What’s another question?”

  “Did the mystery person in the club call Johnny as well?”

  “We’ll have to subpoena those records.”

  “I have another plan, Barry, my man. I’ve gotta get to my office.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  I burst into the front office like a rhino.

  “Miami!” screamed Lizzy. “You scared the daylights out of me.”

  “Every office I go to these days has to buzz people in. You think we need that?”

  “Only to stop you.”

  “Okay. Are you busy?”

  “I don’t get paid to lay on the sofa.”

  “Can you help me with something? I need to get into Johnny’s phone records.”

  I strode into my office and turned my laptop on, then I pulled out the paper on which I had written the answers to Johnny’s personal questions.

  “Don’t do it online,” she said. “There might be authorization that needs to be sent to the phone to set up an account.”

  “So how?”

  “The old-fashioned way.”

  The old-fashioned way involved me waiting on hold for thirty minutes. The Muzak was worse than the silence, but eventually someone answered, and Lizzy coached me through what to say.