Echoes of a Distant Summer (36 page)

The puppy came running as soon as Jackson’s feet hit the floor beside the bed, greeting him with absolute joy. Its tail was whipping back, its ears were flopping. It leaned against his legs as it waited to receive affection. He reached down and petted it and it began to wag its tail even more violently. The puppy brought a smile to Jackson’s face. He played with it while he washed and got dressed. Breakfast and an English-language newspaper were on the table waiting for him when he entered the dining room. He and the puppy ate alone. After glancing though the paper, he took the puppy out for a short walk then returned to examine the papers in the valise. He spent the rest of the morning going
through his grandfather’s documents. There was nothing to break his concentration but the puppy. The house was empty and the silence was broken only by the distant murmurings of the hired staff, who moved like ghosts through the halls. Whenever Jackson came upon them they fell respectfully silent then moved on to perform chores in other rooms. The puppy’s friskiness and playful antics made the emptiness more bearable. Without forethought, Jackson was becoming attached to the dog.

It didn’t feel like a Sunday to him even though he could hear the church bells pealing as they called the devout to afternoon Mass. The morning had rushed by for him. He took the puppy for another walk, then upon his return, changed into workout sweats. Next to the garage, his grandfather had built a small gym. There was a set of free weights, a speed bag and a heavy punching bag, jump ropes, and assorted other equipment used by prizefighters to stay in shape. Jackson worked out hard, finishing with five sets of two-minute sessions on both the speed and heavy bags. After Jackson’s shower, Reuben called to schedule a meeting.

Reuben and Julio arrived at two-thirty. The two brothers brought several accordion files full of paper documents. Without being asked they began laying out various forms and documents on the dining room table. The puppy growled threateningly from its corner at the two strange men and advanced on the table, but Jackson quieted him with a few strokes and soft words.

Julio and Reuben saw the puppy and nodded their heads in approval. Julio said with a smile, “This dog is a direct descendant of the first Diablito. He is but a puppy, but already we can see his heart.”

Jackson looked at the puppy with new respect. The puppy saw his look and thumped his tail. Jackson laughed to himself. His grandfather was too smart. He knew that Jackson would be unable to resist the puppy, particularly when he knew it was from the line of Diablito. He and the puppy were both distant sons of true warriors and he did not need to be told that the puppy would serve him well. The thought of his grandfather reminded him that the old man had requested carnitas. “Speaking of my grandfather, he wants some carnitas. Where’s a good place to go?”

Julio answered, “We’ll have Sanchez, the limo driver, pick up some for you when you go to the hospital today.”

“Thanks, Julio. He’ll appreciate it.” Jackson smiled. “Looks like you
brought part of the Brazilian rain forest with you.” He indicated the piles of paper with his hand.

Reuben began, “These papers reflect all your grandfather’s holdings in the United States, Mexico, and South America. The books are ledgers indicating the revenue generated over the years and how that money was invested.”

“But we also brought you some papers that were faxed to you,” Julio interjected. “It looks like your work wants to keep you busy.”

Jackson took the file of faxes and set it aside on the table. “I wish that was what they truly wanted, but they spend more time trying to sabotage people outside of their circle than getting things done.”

“People are the same the world over, no matter what language they speak,” Reuben said with a shake of his head. “Do you wish to work on that now, or shall we proceed with your grandfather’s will and property holdings?” He gestured to a stack of papers Julio had placed on the table.

“Let’s go through the will.” Jackson picked up a thick sheaf of stapled papers and began to read. The documents were the incorporation papers of a holding company. “My grandfather really established a holding company?” Jackson asked with disbelief. It seemed antithetical to his perception of his grandfather; gambling and financial planning originated from opposite poles.

“El Negro had some problem with the IRS and he had to sell all his property or risk losing it,” Julio answered. “He gave the family house to your grandmother then sold seventy percent of the rest of the San Francisco property along with all his other properties to this holding company in Switzerland.”

The puppy, who had been checking out the two strange men to satisfy himself that they were not dangerous, came over and sat down heavily on Jackson’s foot. He smiled and reached down and rubbed the puppy’s head fondly. “Who runs this holding company?” Jackson asked.

“A law firm in New York has been doing it, but you run it now. However, to take full control you must get the corporation’s certificates and papers.” Reuben stepped forward in his smartly tailored Italian suit. “This company’s holdings are worth more than one hundred million dollars. You’re a rich man, Diablito, and this does not include the government bonds that your grandfather says are hidden with the certificates in San Francisco.”

“How can I run a company without any proof of my possessing it?”

“Your grandfather named you executive director of the board when he founded the company in 1954. For the last ten years we have been paying about one hundred fifty thousand a year into a trust fund that you get once you agree to the terms of stewardship, then you can take your time and find the hidden documents.”

“A million and a half dollars? Give me a moment to think,” Jackson said. It was an astounding amount of money. Jackson was a little awed by the prospect of having access to that amount of wealth. But he also knew that if he accepted the money he was duty-bound to carry on his grandfather’s feud.

The puppy went to the closed door leading to the kitchen and began snuffling. Moments later, there was a knock at the door and Mario entered with cups and an urn of steaming coffee. Jackson remembered his grandfather always drank coffee during the day when he was transacting his business. Jackson gestured to Mario to place the coffee on the uncluttered end of the table. Mario poured coffee for everyone then left the room.

Julio and Reuben went over all the papers on the table with Jackson, explaining the purpose of the various forms and the nature of documents written in Spanish. It was nearly four in the afternoon before they finished reviewing all the papers. It was clear that his inheritance, should he accept it, would make him a financially independent man.

Julio looked over at Jackson and said, “I was happy that you remembered our oath to be blood brothers. We need to be able to trust and rely on one another. The next two or three months will be very dangerous for us all.”

“Why?” Jackson asked, perplexed. “Do you have the same enemies as my grandfather?”

Reuben answered, “You have to remember that both your grandfather and our father fought the drug traffic for many years before it was recognized as a national problem.”

“That was what your father did; how does that affect you?” Jackson asked.

“They both made numerous enemies among the criminal element as well as among government officials. Our father has been dead nearly seventeen years and we are still dealing with the fallout from his actions.”

Stuffing his shirttails into his pants, Julio added, “There are many
who would like to make use of our connections and facilities that we have scattered throughout Mexico and California.”

Jackson mused, “I’m surprised that it would still be a problem. Aren’t you guys legit now?”

“It is not good manners to ask such a question. You know that, Diablito,” Reuben chided him gently. “But for your information only, we still run several different gambling facilities. We provide our big spenders with female escorts, and there is still a little smuggling going on.”

After the Ramirez brothers left, Jackson sat out in the sun of the courtyard with the puppy and made the final changes to the faxed report. Afterward he read through some more of the files which laid out his grandfather’s holdings and considered the amazing twist his life was taking. He had often dreamed what he would do philanthropically if he had money. He now had the opportunity. All he had to do was kill an unspecified number of human beings. He laughed cynically. That’s not too much to ask in order to fund a philanthropic desire.

Carlos and the limo came for Jackson at four-thirty in the afternoon. Jackson went to the refrigerator and took out four cold beers. He returned the puppy to the kennel, despite its yelping protests. Then he and Carlos got into the limousine and drove off into the haze of the afternoon. The limo pulled up to a large, ten-story glass building with a wide cement plaza in front of it. Carlos offered to go up and take his revised work to be faxed and Jackson nodded gratefully. He knew that his Spanish wasn’t up to the task. He sat for a few minutes in the darkness of the car, watching the people walk across the plaza, but after ten minutes the car began to feel too stuffy and confining. Jackson got out of the car and walked across the plaza to a large, ornate fountain. He was staring into the water, lost in thought, when Carlos returned.

Fate is a strange and twisted fiber that runs through the material of human lives, and is in part responsible for weaving the patterns by which those lives are lived. Although some small control can be exerted over the racing shuttle of passing days that affects the larger warp and woof of the marching years, often it is fate’s pattern in another’s life which totally changes the design in one’s own. When Corazon placed the paper with Jackson’s Mexico City fax number on the corner of her blotter Friday afternoon, she had no idea that there would be any reason for someone to be at her desk. Bedrosian had arranged for Martha and Howard to meet him on that morning to correct the same report
that Jackson was in the process of rewriting. Martha sat at Corazon’s desk because she was making a long-distance call to her sister in Iowa and she didn’t want the call on her own phone line. When she finished the call to her sister, she saw Jackson’s name and underneath it “Mexico City,” along with the number. Martha recalled that Bedrosian had announced in a late-Friday-evening meeting of his management team that anyone with contact information for Jackson in Mexico City should forward it to the city manager’s desk. Martha copied the phone number on a slip of paper and took it to Bedrosian.

Bedrosian was only too happy to call Serena with the number. He had decided that he would take some sort of disciplinary action against Jackson, but first he wanted to do something that showed he was a caring supervisor. Bedrosian saw his calling Jackson’s grandmother on Saturday as an act of showing concern for his subordinate. It would not have stayed his hand had he known that he was actually jeopardizing Jackson’s life. Bedrosian, after all, never forgot a slight or a challenge to his authority.

Serena, upon receiving the information, called Braxton. Braxton forwarded his information to DiMarco, who communicated with his people in Mexico. With their connections and a little money, his agents soon had the name and address of the building in which Jackson was picking up his fax. But even that would not have been enough if Jackson had remained in the limo while Carlos took the faxes into the building. It was not until Jackson exited the limousine that DiMarco’s men identified him. From that point on, he was followed, and unknowingly, he provided them all the information they needed.

The limo stopped at a small restaurant to pick up the carnitas-filled burritos for his grandfather, then continued on to the clinic. The enticing smell of carnitas filled the car and made Jackson’s mouth water. The drive seemed to take longer than the day before. At first, Jackson thought it was the tantalizing aroma of the food, but then he realized that he was just anxious to see his grandfather.

When Jackson walked into his grandfather’s room, the guard rose and left. His grandfather had his bed raised in the same position as the day before. The old man watched him. His eyes noted every movement that Jackson made. As Jackson returned his grandfather’s gaze, he thought, These are not the eyes of a dying man. “How are you today, Gramps?” Jackson asked.

The old man merely nodded his head; he was looking at the package that Jackson held in his hands.

Jackson went over to the bed. “Would you like to eat now, Grandfather?”

His grandfather smiled. It seemed as if it was the first time the old man had smiled since Jackson had seen him. There was an adjustable-height hospital table next to the bed. Jackson raised the table so that it was close to his grandfather and began unwrapping the package. There were two full dinners with rice and beans. Jackson could see the old man smacking his lips in anticipation. The scene made Jackson smile. He arranged a towel, to serve as a bib, around his grandfather’s neck and got the old man a fork and found a sheathed bone-handled hunting knife in a drawer in the bedside bureau. He washed it and placed it along with the Styrofoam food container on the adjustable serving table. He rolled the table into position so that the food was in front of his grandfather then went to deposit the beers he had brought into the little refrigerator by the washbasin. When Jackson returned to the bed, he observed that there were several pieces of meat on the floor while the fork lay in his grandfather’s quivering hand. It took a moment, but Jackson finally figured that the old man didn’t have enough strength to serve himself and was embarrassed by his weakness.

Jackson saw the serrated blade of the hunting knife lying in the folds of the blanket under the serving table. He picked it up and cut the burrito in bite-sized pieces. He stabbed a small piece of pork with the fork and offered it to his grandfather. The old man’s eyes searched his warily, looking for pity.

“Come on, Gramps, this is what you want,” Jackson urged.

His grandfather accepted his assistance without further scrutiny and opened his mouth. Jackson fed his grandfather for nearly twenty minutes. Finally, the old man waved away the food. He wanted something to drink. Jackson went over and took two beers out of the refrigerator and his grandfather’s eyes lit up. Jackson opened a bottle and offered him a choice: “Bottle or glass?”