Theo grumbled to get Jack’s attention. “Hey, Swyteck. I said, ain’t we there yet?”

“Almost.” The Big Fish restaurant was one of the landmarks Falcon had mentioned, so Jack knew they were getting close. Right on the river, it was actually one of Jack’s favorite lunch spots. It was nothing fancy, just a relaxing place to eat fresh dolphin, tuna, or shrimp ceviche while soaking up a historic stretch of river, a piece of old Miami where mariners from houseboats at the west end of the river sidled up alongside bankers and lawyers from the office towers to the east. Jack led Theo around the restaurant, past the trash bins and a nearby marina, where the combined odor of diesel fumes and discarded fish guts nearly gagged him. He imagined that Falcon had scored many a meal right here, rooting through the Dumpsters for leftover french fries or hush puppies.

They passed beneath a bridge, and when they emerged on the other side, the river started its jog to the northwest. A brisk wind was blowing straight into their faces. Though the sun was shining, south Florida remained in the grip of an abnormal and persistent cold front. Every fifteen steps, Jack heard Theo huffing in an unsuccessful attempt to see his breath steam. Cold was a relative concept in Miami.

“That must be it,” said Jack, pointing. There was an abandoned car about twenty feet off the riverbank, near an old warehouse-just as Falcon had described it.

Instinctively, they slowed as they closed the last twenty yards, caution in their steps. The car was little more than a burned-out metal shell. All of the windows were gone, including the windshield. The steering wheel and front seat were missing as well. The backseat was still in place, but it had been slashed many times over, and the stuffing was coming out.

There was no sign of Falcon.

“Reminds me of the last time we saw your Mustang,” said Theo.

He was talking about Jack’s pride and joy, a vintage 1966 Mustang convertible with rally pack gauges, wood steering wheel, and pony interior. His first major purchase out of law school, it was nothing short of a work of art until some angry drug dealers put a match to it.

“That was harsh, Theo.”

“Sorry, dude.”

They stepped closer. Theo walked all the way around the vehicle and stopped directly in front of it, facing the grillwork. “All Mustang jokes aside, it actually is a Ford.”

“You think?”

“Definitely. Late seventies, I’d say. Ford Falcon.”

“A Falcon?” said Jack.

“Yeah. Funny, huh?”

“I figured he called himself Falcon because he was ready to fly off a bridge. Turns out, it’s just an extension of where he lives.” Jack took a slow walk around the car, inspecting it. Rat droppings were scattered across the sun-baked hood. Cockroaches hid in the darkness of the wheel wells. Scattered about the interior were some dirty Tupperware bowls, empty coffee cans, an old raincoat, and a tattered sheet of plastic. “Imagine living here,” said Jack.

“Beats the hell out of death row,” said Theo.

As usual, Jack couldn’t argue with the big guy’s perspective.

Theo said, “So what do we do now? Sit around and wait?”

“It’s not as if I can call my client on his cell phone and set up a meeting.”

“You want to leave a note and a quarter, tell him to call you?”

Jack thought about it. “Let’s give it a few minutes. He said if I ever needed to find him, afternoons were the second best time to catch him at home.”

“When’s the best time?”

“After midnight, but I’m not about to come out here then. Not even with you watching my back.”

Theo scratched his head as he searched for someplace to sit. He went to the rear of the car and hopped up on the trunk lid. It made a funny noise as he landed, as if the lid and latch no longer fit just right. Just then, Jack noticed some brown droplets on the bumper. He squatted down for a closer look.

“What’d I do now?” said Theo.

Jack wasn’t sure what it was, but he had a pretty good idea. “Theo, don’t touch anything. Just climb down slowly.”

The tone of Jack’s voice made it clear that he wasn’t kidding around. Theo slid down until his feet touched the ground. As his body weight lifted from the trunk, the old spring hinges creaked, and the lid opened on its own power.

Then they saw the body-or what was left of it. It was a mangled heap at the bottom of the trunk. A rat the size of a small dog scurried away from its lunch, giving them both a start.

“Holy shit,” said Theo.

Blood, everywhere, so much blood. “My thought exactly,” Jack said quietly.

chapter 11

J ack watched from behind yellow police tape as the crime scene investigators tended to the body in the trunk. It was like watching a well-oiled machine-swabs taken, photographs snapped, evidence gathered. He probably would have stayed even if Detective Barber hadn’t asked him to stick around, but it was near sunset, and Theo was clearly ready to leave.

“Don’t you got any actual living clients you should be back in the office overchargin’?” said Theo.

“Oh, be quiet,” said Jack. “Have you no respect for the dead?”

“That’s odd.”

“What’s odd?”

“Beginning a sentence with the word ‘have.’ It’s like starting with ‘to whom,’ which, studies have shown, can’t possibly happen-no way, no how-without a stick up your ass.”

That was Theo, on a perpetual mission to save the world from itself.

Jack signaled to the detective. He was standing across the yard, near the abandoned vehicle, and talking with one of the investigators. In due time, he finished the conversation and walked over to the police barricade at the outer edge of the crime scene.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” said Barber.

“Sorry?” said Theo, his hands buried in his pants pocket. “We been standin’ around for over an hour, pal. It’s cold as hell out here.”

Jack wondered about the origin of that expression-“cold as hell”-but that was a debate better had over beers. “Theo, why don’t you see if you can steal us some hot coffees from that restaurant we passed on the way over here?”

“Like that’s gonna help.” Theo did another one of his little huffs, trying to make his breath steam. This time, it worked-barely-which set Theo off like a boy in his first snowfall. “Did you see that? We’re in Miami, it technically ain’t even winter yet, and my breath steamed!”

Jack was tempted to say something about the expulsion of hot air, but he let it go. “Theo, how about that coffee?”

He finally took the hint. When his friend was out of earshot, Jack said, “Look, detective, I’m willing to help you out here. But why don’t you just call me later on tonight, unless there’s something you really need to ask me right now.”

Detective Barber glanced toward the abandoned car. The examiners were getting ready to lift the body onto a gurney. “Just one thing I’d like to know,” he said, his gaze turning back toward Jack. “Where’s your client?”

It sounded like a stupid question, but the detective’s expression said otherwise. Jack said, “Are you telling me that’s not Falcon in the trunk of that car?”

Detective Barber shook his head.

Jack said, “I didn’t want to touch anything, so we didn’t move the body. He was all wrapped up in blankets from the cold. I guess we didn’t get that good a look. I just assumed-”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” said the detective. “With the victim’s face bashed in that bad, about all you could do was assume. At least until we got here.”

“You’re sure it’s not him?”

“Not unless he had a sex change in the last couple days.”

Jack felt a rush of panic. “It’s not-”

“Alicia Mendoza? No, no. If that were the mayor’s daughter, we’d have every media van in the tri-county area upon us by now. This is a much older woman, fiftysomething, maybe sixties. I suspect she’s another one of Miami’s homeless. Falcon probably found her all snug and warm in his favorite spot, freaked out, and let her have it.”