“You have the letter?”

“No. I seen it.”

“How?”

“Never mind that. Let’s just say I’m acting as a go-between here.”

“What exactly are you going between?”

Theo grabbed a pack of Kools from his dashboard, then lit one.

“You and…you know.”

“The contract killer? No way.”

“Hear me out. The whole letter is two sentences long. It simply tells him to be in the law offices of Vivien Grasso Monday for an important meeting about the death of Sally Fenning.”

“So, you want me to advise a contract killer whether he should go to this meeting or not?”

“No. I want you to go with him.”

Jack coughed, as if choking with disbelief. “What makes you think I’d be even remotely interested in that?”

“Because I asked.”

“Why are you asking?”

Theo took a drag from his cigarette, blowing smoke as he spoke. “Because I think this boy’s in a mess of trouble.”

“Is he a friend of yours?”

“Not in the least.”

“Then give me one good reason why I should walk into another lawyer’s office representing a contract killer.”

“First of all, except for me and maybe a few badasses between here and Las Vegas, no one knows he’s a contract killer.”

“Give me another good reason.”

“Because you’re my buddy.”

“Hmmmm.”

“Because I’ve been playing payback ever since you got me off death row, and I ain’t never asked you for nothin’ in return.”

“Okay. We’re getting there. But lay another one on me.”

Theo lowered his eyes, as if reluctant to answer. Finally, he looked at Jack and said in a quiet, serious tone, “Because he’s my brother.”

Jack, too, turned serious.

“So, you’ll meet with him?” asked Theo.

Jack didn’t answer right away, but there was never any doubt what his answer would be. “Sure,” he said. “For you, I’ll meet with him.”

He looked a lot like Theo, was Jack’s first impression. Theo in his badass mode.

Jack met Theo’s brother “Tatum” in the sunny courtyard outside the downtown public library. He was dressed semi-casual, a sport jacket with no tie, as if Theo had told him to try to look respectable. The jacket looked a little tight in the shoulders, a common problem for muscular men who bought off the rack. It was the lunch hour, and plenty of people were seated at the tables around them in the shade of broad white umbrellas. Some were reading, some were talking and sharing lunch with friends, a few were shooing away pesky pigeons. Tables were far enough apart to keep anyone from overhearing their conversation. It wasn’t the normal setting for an attorney-client meeting, but a hit man wasn’t exactly a normal client. Jack wasn’t worried, but he’d nonetheless followed his instincts and set up the meeting not in the solitude of his law office but in a public place with lots of potential witnesses. Just in case.

“Good to see you again, Mack.”

“It’s Jack,” he said as they shook hands.

“Sorry.”

Just what the world needs, thought Jack. A hit man who doesn’t know Jack from Mack.

They sat on opposite sides of the table. Jack had arrived early and had already finished his chicken salad on pita. There was no table service, and Jack offered to wait while Tatum went through the line, but he declined, seemingly eager to get started.

“How long’s it been?” asked Tatum. “Ten years?”

“Eight. Since Theo’s release from prison.”

“I assume Theo’s filled you in as to my goings-on since then.”

“Probably more than you would have liked.”

“And you’re okay with it?”

“Let me put it this way. I’m here because Theo asked me for a favor.”

“But you’re my lawyer, right? Everything we say is, you know-”

“Privileged, yes.”

“You gonna eat that pickle?” he said, pointing to Jack’s plate.

“Help yourself.”

Tatum grabbed it, bit off the tip, wagged the rest of it like an extra finger as he spoke. “Now, Theo did tell you that I’m not in the contract line of work anymore, didn’t he?”

“He said as far as he knew, you hadn’t done a job in three years.”

“That’s the truth,” he said, pronouncing it like troot. “That makes you feel better about this, right?”

“Look, my typical client is not a nun. I’ve even defended people who’d killed for money, just like you. I’m not judging you. I’m doing a friend a favor.”

“Theo says you’re good.”

“Good enough to get an innocent man off death row.”

“That’s not as easy as it sounds. Especially when everyone thought he was guilty.”

“Everyone except his lawyer.”

“And his brother,” said Tatum.

“And his brother,” said Jack, acknowledging it. “You were there, standing right with him.”

“I was the only one who stood by him.”

“Maybe this is his way of saying thank you. You got thirty minutes.”

Tatum popped the rest of his pickle into his mouth. “Where should we start?”

“Let’s start with Sally Fenning. How did you two hook up?”

“You gonna finish those chips?” he said, poking at Jack’s plate.

“Go for ’em.”

He spoke with a mouthful of Ruffles. “She called me.”

“Out of the blue?”

“Yeah. Totally.”

“She had to get your number somehow. What did she do, look in the Yellow Pages under ‘Problem Solvers’?”

“I got no idea how she found me.”

“Stop the bullshit, or your free thirty minutes are over.”

He was looking for a napkin to wipe his greasy fingers, then just licked them, one by one. “Friend of a friend hooked us up.”

“Which friend?”

Tatum leaned back, crossed one leg over the other. Jack felt a digression coming on.

Tatum said, “I don’t know how much you know about this woman, but she had some problems in her past.”

“You mean she was in trouble with the law?”

“No, not like that. Emotional problems. She was attacked, or something, I don’t know exactly. But she hired a bodyguard every now and then, when she was feeling scared, for whatever the reason. Anyway, her bodyguard knew me.”

“He called you?”

“No, we was playing pool together one night.”

“What did he say?”

“Said, ‘I got a client who wants to get in touch with you. Can I give her your number?’ I said sure.”

“What did you think it was all about?”

“Probably she needed me to beat the shit out of somebody.”

“I thought you said you were out of the contract business.”

“I don’t do hits anymore. Puttin’ people in the hospital, that’s another story.”

“You’re okay with serious bodily injury, but you draw the line at murder. Is that it?”

“Somethin’ like that. To be honest, it’s more about the money.”

“I’m not sure I follow you.”

“It’s a tough business in Miami. These days, you got Colombians, Russians, Jamaicans, Arabs, Israelis, Cubans, Italians, Nicaraguans-everybody and his brother willing to do a job for a measly five hundred bucks. How’s a guy supposed to make a living?”

“Join the union?”

“You think this is a joke? This is business, pal, and it’s like everything else these days. You specialize. In my case, I turned myself into the guy who knows how to inflict just the right amount of pain, someone who can get results without killing the goose that lays the golden egg. That’s a real skill. And it pays real money.”

“So, you’re a shakedown specialist.”

“No. I’m in the art business.”

“The art of what? Face rearrangement?”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “The art of persuasion.”

His glare tightened, as if he were trying to give Jack some sense of just how persuasive he could be. Jack didn’t flinch. “So, Sally Fenning wanted to make use of your persuasive powers?”

He settled back in his chair, taking some of the edge off. “That was my first impression.”

“And you went to meet her?”

“Right. I told her to meet me at Sparky’s.”

“Why there?”

“I always meet in a public place. Keeps the unexpected from happening.”