Echoes of a Distant Summer (35 page)

“Get back! Get back!” a policeman ordered as he and two other officers shoved people out of the way to reach the fat man, who was now being pummeled on the ground. “Get back, goddamn it!”

Someone brought a damp towel and began gently wiping the blood off Pres’s face. A chair was brought out of the restaurant for him. People crowded around him asking if he was all right. Many of the faces he recognized as trainees, but there were others he didn’t know at all.

A stockily built female officer pushed through the crowd and said to Pres, “I guess you’re the victim, Pres Cordero. Now, why don’t you tell me what happened.” Pres recounted step-by-step the course of events as he remembered them. The officer, a woman with pale skin and a broad Slavic face, asked occasional questions as she wrote down his statement. She turned to the circle of onlookers and asked for names and addresses of witnesses and practically the whole crowd volunteered.

“Are you all friends of his?” she asked with a trace of humor. There was a predominance of affirmatives and nodding heads.

One man came forward and said, “I don’t know this guy,” he indicated Pres with a nod of his head, “but those two goons you got locked up in the squad car started it. I saw the whole thing.”

The officer turned to Pres. “Do you wish to file a complaint?”

“Definitely! To the fullest extent of the law!” Pres asserted, his whole forehead aching.

As the officer turned to go, she said, “You’re a pretty lucky guy. You got a lot of support from these people; without them, who knows what would have happened.”

“Friendship and community spirit are the real treasures and riches of life,” Pres said sincerely. “You’re right, I am very lucky.”

T
here was no sound in the hospital room after Jackson’s grandfather finished speaking. Muffled movement and voices could be heard through the closed door, but there was only an intense quiet between Jackson and his grandfather. Thirty-one years of silence had been broken and Jackson was speechless. He sat and pondered why he had to wait so long to hear how his mother had died. He wondered what his grandmother and grandfather had gained from their long silence. Was there some purpose behind it?

His grandfather interrupted his thoughts. “Took me nearly three years to collect this information and interview everybody connected with the happenin’s of that night. By that time, yo’ daddy was dead and I was raising hell!” His grandfather shook his head sadly. “Yo’ daddy was some man! Bad luck you never got to know him.” With these words, his grandfather seemed to sink farther down into the bed. Jackson looked at his watch and discovered that he had been in the room nearly two hours. His grandfather was obviously tired, but the old man’s eyes were alert. He watched Jackson, assessing his reactions.

“You all right?” Jackson asked.

The old man nodded his head. “Now you here—it’s all right!”

“What’s so important about me coming down here, Grandfather?”

The old man spoke quietly and Jackson had to pull his chair closer to hear him. The old man’s voice had a feathery quality. “Never lost track of you, boy. You my blood. The last of the line. The fire’s in you.”

“What fire are you talking about, Grandfather?” Jackson asked suspiciously.

“Flame of life, boy! Flame that burns in the belly! Makes a man stand tall for his family and what he believes in! You got to take care of the last few that had a hand in yo’ daddy’s death!”

He stared at his grandfather incredulously. The old man was watching him, waiting for him to speak. Jackson said, “Grandfather, I’ll be happy to assist you in handling any legal issues, or executing your will, but I’m not killing anyone or causing anyone to die. That’s not my world, Grandfather. That’s your world.”

“These last men got yo’ father’s blood on they hands!” The old man coughed and rasped out his words with as much anger as his exhausted condition would allow. He was fading, his strength was ebbing as Jackson watched. Jackson realized suddenly that he was alarmed for his grandfather. He stood up ready to find a nurse, but his grandfather waved him to his seat, protesting. “It’s all right. Jes’ sit down. Did you hear what I said before?” the old man asked querulously. “There’s a blood debt still to pay!”

“I’m sure that you’ve let enough blood flow to more than repay that debt,” Jackson answered with a touch of sarcasm.

“They gon’ come after you! What you got to say to that?” Jackson shook his head unbelievingly. The old man lifted his head briefly in consternation. “You’s a warrior, boy! You tryin’ not to accept it, but you’s a warrior. You been one since you was pint size. I know what’s in yo’ heart better’n you do. You’s a strong, courageous man. I know what you think about me and the things I’ve done. I’m tellin’ you, put that aside and look at the facts. A man who fights just to protect his life and his family ain’t no killer. That’s all I’m asking you to do. They gon’ come after you, so fight to protect yo’ life and yo’ family!”

“Give it a rest, Grandfather,” Jackson suggested. “I’m not picking up weapons to continue your feuds. But I want as much information as I can get about these people who are following me.”

“They on to you, huh? They must figure that Franklin don’t amount to much.”

“They could be following both of us, I really don’t know,” Jackson answered. “All I care about is who are they and what they want with me.”

“Jes’ because I’m dying don’t mean it’s over. I wiped out a pretty good
section of the DuMonts and the DiMarcos. Them folk ain’t forgot nothin’! They want payback. Second, they want the corporate papers and certificates for my management company.”

“Who would want to carry on a thirty-year-old feud? What’s the purpose?”

“Feud was old in 1916 and the purpose was and still is revenge.”

“You mean to tell me that the men who were following me are descendants of someone killed in 1916? That doesn’t even sound believable!”

“Better say joe, ’cause you sho’ don’t know. There ain’t many left, I took care of that, but there’s one or two DuMonts left and maybe a couple of DiMarco’s boys still in the business. It was their fathers and uncles we had to deal with when you was eighteen, only they was workin’ with the Jaguar at the time. You ain’t got to worry about the main family of the DiMarcos. I hear they’ve gone legit. Movin’ into the political arena. They got too much to lose now to play this game. People following you is probably jes’ hired hands and paid guns. They in it for the money, but the DuMonts and some of the renegade DiMarcos want blood. And they won’t be satisfied with anything less than Tremain blood. I got a list of people for you to talk to and they gon’ give you the rundown on everything.”

“The DuMonts? DiMarcos? Who the hell are they? I don’t remember these names!”

“DuMonts is yo’ blood enemies. They been blood enemies to the Tremains since my granddaddy’s time.”

“What can we do to end it? This is why you haven’t seen me in all this time.”

His grandfather rasped out a hoarse laugh. “Ain’t no end to it as long as someone with will and grit remembers. It’s all about blood. They think it’s safe now. Then there’s others who just want the corporation’s papers and certificates, and them bonds.”

“What corporation certificates and bonds?”

“Jumped a couple money shipments back in the early fifties from the Mob. Money made from heroin sales in the Fillmore. Wasn’t about to let some white boys move in on my turf and sell that shit! They didn’t know who they was messing with. Anyway, I invested the money shipments in real estate and bought some twenty-five-year government bonds. Them bonds alone is probably worth ten million dollars now.
The rest of the money I invested in real estate through a dummy management company. Company is based in Switzerland and it owns all my properties, including the ones in San Francisco, and seventy percent of King, Inc. I owns property all over the United States and South America.”

“If these bonds and certificates are registered in your name, and they are part of your estate, why are there other people interested in them?”

His grandfather answered, “My name ain’t on nothing, boy. You remember I had to leave the States in ’fifty-four? If I had anything in my name, the IRS would have taken it. I knew they was after me so a couple of years before things hit the fan, I sold all my holdings to this company I had set up in Switzerland.”

“What’s the problem? You have the company in Switzerland.”

“Problem is, there ain’t nothing with my name on it. The papers and documents is buried under a new housing project in San Francisco.”

For the first time since he entered the room, Jackson laughed out loud. “So, what’s the problem? It’s out of everybody’s reach. Why don’t you tell them where it is and let them fight it out among themselves?”

“Rather be bit in the ass by a snaggle-tooth mule and be dragged all the way to Mississippi!” The old man looked as if he was going to have another bout of coughing, but it subsided. “I’m gon’ leave you everything, whether you want it or not. Read the papers I had put together for you. Make up yo’ own mind what to do.” He started to cough again, his body shaking with the effort.

“Take it easy, Gramps,” Jackson advised. “Don’t upset yourself.”

His grandfather looked at him and said, “First time you ever called me Gramps.”

“You weren’t ready for it earlier,” Jackson retorted.

“Don’t know if I’s ready for it now.” The old man put his head back on the pillow and his voice dropped audibly as he said, “Gramps is what you’s called when you gets really old.”

Jackson studied his grandfather’s face then mused aloud, “You must be tired. I was wondering should I come back later tonight or tomorrow?”

“Come back tomorrow, late afternoon. Gettin’ dialysis in the morning. I likes to sleep after that.”

“What exactly is your medical situation, Grandfather?”

“Look here, boy.” His grandfather stared him in the eye. “I’s ready to die. They done everything that I want them to. Hell, I’d rather die hard,
shot in the gut, than die piece by piece, lyin’ in bed like this. Tomorrow is the last dialysis I’ll do. The last anything.”

Jackson looked at his grandfather and shook his head. Most people would choose a natural death at an old age over one due to violence, yet his grandfather preferred a bullet.

He asked, “Can I bring you anything when I come tomorrow, Grandfather?”

“I want carnitas!”

“Are you sure that’s allowed on your diet?”

“What’s it gon’ do, kill me?”

Jackson laughed. “I’ll bring you carnitas. About four-thirty or five in the afternoon?” He rose and went to stand by the bed.

His grandfather grabbed his hand and his voice trembled with feeling when he spoke. “Thank you for comin’ down. Means more to me than you know. I just needed to lay my eyes on you, to see you as a man. I can let loose now. Thank you, boy.”

Jackson held his grandfather’s hand in his for several minutes. He was overcome by a sudden flood of emotion that was filled with heartache and loss. For a moment he was almost close to tears. He bowed his head and pressed the back of his grandfather’s hand to his forehead. He remained in this position until his grandfather said, “You my blood, boy. I knows I took you down a hard road, but you the one gon’ lead this family to right.”

Jackson didn’t bother to argue. He stood up and helped adjust the position of the pillows so that his grandfather was comfortable. When he left the room, the man who had been on guard got up from a couch across the hall and returned to the room. He gave Jackson a perfunctory nod as he passed. Carlos and the limo were waiting for him outside. Jackson looked at his watch: It was nearly eight-thirty in the evening. The sky was dark and overcast. He was too full of turmoil and sadness to speak, so he sat silently gazing through the tinted windows of the limo and watched the lights of Mexico City pass. There seemed to be many more tall buildings than he recalled, but the traffic seemed as chaotic as he remembered. The perpetual honking of car horns sounded briefly like a riff from a straight-ahead jazz tune, a plangent salutation to the wild cacophony of life.

At last, the heavy iron gate swung open and the limo pulled into his grandfather’s courtyard. Jackson watched as the gate rolled closed with a clang behind the car. He invited Carlos in, but Carlos declined, indicating
that he had some errands to run. When Jackson walked through the front door, Mario informed him that hot food was available. Jackson attempted a reply in Spanish, but soon gave it up. He asked that the food be brought to the dining room.

Jackson went immediately to the kennel and freed the puppy, who was delirious with gratitude. The puppy’s tail was whipping back and forth as they made their way back into the dining room. The possession of dogs was a fundamental element in his grandfather’s concept of home security, and because he transacted much of his business at the dining table, his principal dog had a place of comfort in the room. His grandfather always had one or sometimes two dogs that he prized over all others. These would be his house dogs. He always had his terriers trained to fight in the pit; that way they could fight off other dogs who had graduated from the pit. Sure enough, in the corner of the dining room there was a large cushion and a place for food and water.

After supper, Jackson went into the den and poured himself a healthy shot from a bottle of Small Batch Bourbon and sat down at the desk. As he sipped the liquor he wondered how it was possible that after all the time that had passed, his grandfather could affect him so strongly. He admired the old man’s courage in allowing his failing body its rightful death. Jackson hoped that whenever his own end came upon him he would be as resolute.

That night Jackson slept in his grandfather’s bed and it seemed to him that it was a rite of passage, belonging with the first time his feet touched the floor when he sat at the dinner table, or the first time he rode a bike, or the first time that he drove a car. He had clearly passed one of the demarcations separating the different age periods of his life. Jackson slept a dreamless night for the first time in weeks and awoke in the morning feeling refreshed.