Last Call by James Grippando Read Free Book Online Page B

the old sax and the new sax.They’d made it to only one of the old bars Cy had played in his youth—Tobacco Road, which Theo also played on occasion—but they vowed to hit all of his old spots eventually, one at a time, a regular outing. More important, they also agreed that the vacant restaurant with the U-shaped bar was the spot for Sparky’s II. He sure hoped Theo could nail it down. Hell, was there really anything to worry about? This was Theo Knight, his nephew, a punk from the ghetto who’d survived death row and then named his first bar Sparky’s—a double-barreled flip of the bird to Florida’s old electric chair, nicknamed “Old Sparky.”Theo often said that his uncle was his hero. In truth,Theo was Cy’s hero.
    “Lenny, the keg, please.”
    Cyrus Knight didn’t have many perfect days in his life story.
    At least not that he remembered. The culprit was drugs. From the very beginning, friends had begged him not to let customers buy him drinks.Take the tips in cash, they warned him, not liquor. But it seemed rude to refuse a gin-and-tonic from a good-natured guy who swears you’re the next Charlie Parker. So he drank. All night.
    While he played. On his breaks. After his gig. He drank before he went to bed at 5 a.m., and he drank some more when he woke the following afternoon. Before he knew it, he’d burned through the best years of his life as a full-blown alcoholic.Then a pothead.Then a coke fiend. And it only got worse. His arms still bore traces of the track marks to prove it.
    LAST CALL
    47
    It was no wonder that he threatened to kill Theo if ever he caught him drinking when he played.
    “Lenny! The keg already.”
    “I’m getting to it, boss.”
    Nice kid, but he had the work ethic of a sloth. “Hell, I’ll do it myself.”
    Cy untapped the spent keg first. As he rose from his crouch, however, a sudden wave of nausea sent the room spinning. He leaned on the edge of the sink behind the bar to support his weight.
    It would pass in a minute, for sure. He was actually getting used to these spells. Damn blood pressure medicine didn’t agree with him one bit.
    Getting old sucks.
    He splashed cold water on his face and breathed in and out, slowly and deeply. Better already. He drew a breath and headed toward the stockroom.
    Lenny looked up from behind the cash register. “Boss, I said I’d get it.”
    “Right. Just like the check’s in her mouth, and I won’t come in the mail.”
    “Huh?”
    “Never mind.”
    He found a handcart near the door, but it was plain to see that the full-sized keg was beyond his strength. He went behind the tower of stacked kegs in search of a pony keg, something more his size.There he found just about everything except what he was looking for. He saw plastic bags filled with trash that needed to be taken out and dozens of crushed boxes. There were cans of beer that had broken loose from the twenty-four-pack, an assortment of liquor bottles, and some empty cigarette packages. He spotted several broken cocktail glasses, a cockroach or two, a rat trap.
    And an orange jumpsuit.
    He stooped down and tugged at the hem, pulling the garment 48
    James Grippando
    toward him slowly, his heart thumping, though deep inside he already knew what it was.The name and number printed on the left breast pocket confirmed his fears.
    REEMS 007516.
    The nausea was back, but it had nothing to do with the medication. All perfect days had to end.This one had just ended a little sooner than he thought it would.
    Damn it,Theo. Damn it all to hell, boy.
    Chapter 6
    I saac Reems needed a girlfriend.
    He’d studied other prison breaks as part of his months-long preparation, mostly by trading stories with inmates.
    There was no single formula for success. But the smart guys always had a girlfriend—it was never a wife—waiting on the outside to help them evade law enforcement and melt back into society. With the girlfriend came a fast car, plenty of cash, new clothes, disguises, phony