Echoes of a Distant Summer (67 page)

Warily, he looked in Fletcher’s direction and saw that Fletcher was standing with his hands at his sides and that Carlos was holding a gun to his head. Fletcher’s gun was lying on the hood of the Cadillac. Jackson threw back his head and laughed, but it was an animal sound. He was free to exact his revenge. His face was contorted when he turned and advanced toward Jesse, who was staggering to his feet.

Jackson attacked, utilizing his kicks to strike at Jesse’s legs. He made contact with a knee and felt it hyperextend. Jesse cried out as his leg slowly collapsed underneath him. It was the opening that Jackson had been waiting for. He waded in with his fists, connecting with several blows to the face before Jesse went down. Jesse rolled on his side in an effort to get up, but Jackson, utilizing his full weight, dropped his knees onto Jesse’s rib cage. There was a sharp crack that all could hear. Jesse screamed out and twisted in agony. Jackson slammed his fist into Jesse’s temple, knocking his head against the cement. The thrashing stopped and Jesse lay still. Jackson stood up and dropped his knees again onto Jesse’s rib cage, letting his 220 pounds of weight crack the bones. Jesse’s body twitched then lay still. Jackson stood over Jesse’s unconscious body and growled, “Yeah! That’s for Wesley!”

There was a clacking sound of footsteps descending down the stairwell on the opposite side of the lot. Jackson grabbed Jesse under the arms and dragged his body behind the Cadillac. Carlos hit Fletcher sharply across the back of his head with the butt of his gun and Fletcher
fell like a stone. Jackson picked up Fletcher’s revolver off the hood and put the gun in the waistband of his pants then closed his suit jacket.

Jackson turned to Carlos and hissed, “I’m happy to see you! Feel free to appear like that anytime!”

“That’s what providing security is all about,” Carlos replied.

A woman in high heels emerged from the stairs at the far end of the garage and she clicked across the cement to her car. After she drove off Jackson and Carlos rifled through Jesse’s pockets, searching for car keys. Once they found them, they loaded his body into the trunk of the brown Cadillac. Carlos used some duct tape that he found in the Cadillac’s trunk to bind and gag both Jesse and Fletcher. Jackson removed a sawed-off shotgun and slammed the trunk shut. He found a rag and wiped off the shotgun before putting it on the floor of the front seat of the Cadillac. He removed the revolver from his waistband and cleaned it with the rag and placed it alongside the shotgun. He then wiped the backseat and fenders of the car to erase any prints and then locked it. Carlos went and retrieved his car and they dumped Fletcher into its trunk.

“I’ve radioed my men to come and get this car. I want you to drive out with us. We don’t know if these are the only two on the job.”

“Do you think I killed him?” Jackson asked.

Carlos observed, “He isn’t dead, although with those broken ribs, he may not live much longer.”

“Good! He’s one of the bastards that killed Wesley!”

“Then you recognize that both these men must die?”

“These bastards deserve to die!” Jackson paused and shook his head reluctantly. “Damn! It’s not even been two weeks and I’m turning into my grandfather. I need a break. I need to think. I have to have a couple hours before we do anything else.”

“Take your time. I’ll meet you at the boat at eleven o’clock. We’ll take care of these details then.” Carlos tapped the trunk with his knuckle. “I want you to follow my car until I give you the all-clear, understood? When we get out of here, take care of your face. You look like you’ve been in a fight. Remember that there may be more of these men around. And that they intend to kill you.”

“Let me take one of your men and I’ll stop by my house in the Oakland Hills and then I’ll come back.”

“Don’t go home! There may be another team there waiting for you. I
tell you what, you go to some restaurant or bar and think. I’ll take these boys down to the Seventh Street house. We’ll ask them a few questions and be ready for our boat ride by eleven. Here come my men now.” The van pulled up and two men got out.

Jackson sniffed the air. “You smell that?”

Carlos turned to him. “Smell what?”

“That cigar smoke! Smells like my grandfather’s cigars!”

Carlos took a couple of sniffs. “I don’t smell anything.”

“Maybe I’m just going crazy, but it smells pretty strong to me.”

Carlos patted Jackson on the arm and said, “Just stay alert!” He had a muffled conversation with his men, then waved Jackson into his car. Jackson picked up his briefcase, straightened his clothes, and got into his car. He adjusted his rearview mirror and saw that his lip was bleeding and the area around his right eye was turning a nice purple. He put on a pair of sunglasses and drove his car toward the exit. When he got to the exit booth, he planned to cover his mouth with a tissue and pretend that he had a serious cough. He still smelled a trace of cigar smoke even when he drove out of the parking lot.

A
fter Jackson’s car and the brown Cadillac had disappeared up the ramp, Deleon DuMont stepped out of hiding and walked over to his car. His shirt was dirty and his pants had oil on them. He had his leather jacket cupped under his arm to cover the scope and barrel of his 30-30 rifle. He opened the car’s door, put the rifle with its silencer on the floor of the backseat, and dropped his jacket over it. He walked over to where Jesse had lain after Jackson had dropped his weight on him. There was a trail of blood drops leading from there over to the site where the Cadillac had been parked. As he walked back to his car, he concluded the situation required a drastic change in strategy. He pulled a brown herringbone jacket out of the backseat and put it on. He was in no hurry. He didn’t want to leave the parking lot too soon. He figured that one of Jackson’s men would be assigned to get the license numbers
of all the cars that left the lot within half an hour of the incident with Jesse.

Deleon had almost made a mistake that could’ve ended him up in a trunk. He wouldn’t make a second. He had followed Jackson and Jesse into the parking structure and when he discovered that Jackson had parked on the same floor as he had, he went to his car for his rifle. Deleon had had Jackson in his crosshairs more than once, but a hunch, a feeling, caused him to delay. Instead of pulling the trigger and listening to the soft plink of his silencer, he had watched to see what the two bumbling fools would accomplish and, in so doing, had saved his own life.

Deleon had been lying between two cars at the far end of the lot with his rifle set up on a rest made of his leather jacket. He had been watching Jesse getting his butt kicked when he heard whispering voices behind him. He’d picked up his rifle and rolled under a car just before two men walked behind where he had been laying. If he had not heard their whispered exchange, he would be dead. The stealth with which they moved made him know these weren’t casual parkers. He didn’t dare fire once the men passed because he had no desire to see how good the security team was. He would wait for another shot at another time. He satisfied himself with watching the events unfold from underneath a parked car.

As he witnessed Jackson brutally finish off Jesse he had wondered how good he was with a knife. It might be interesting to see how long he could last in a blade-to-blade battle. Deleon liked going up against larger men. It gave him pleasure to cut them down to size. His musings were interrupted when two additional men joined Jackson’s party. Deleon had been too far away to hear any of the words exchanged, but he had seen Jesse and Fletcher’s bodies get loaded into the trunks of the cars and it was clear that neither of those two were destined to live to a ripe old age. The man who first came to Jackson’s assistance looked like a Colombian drug enforcer and his associates all appeared to be professionals. This grandson obviously had control of King’s organization.

Two women came down the steps and walked to their vehicles. Deleon gave them a perfunctory nod and waited for them to pass before opening up the driver’s-side rear door of his car. Their cars were driving up the ramp as he tried to slide into the backseat. He wanted to fix his rifle firmly in its clip beneath the back upholstery of the front
seats. The problem was he couldn’t open the door wide enough because a black BMW was straddling the line separating the two parking spaces. Deleon pushed the back door of his vehicle open until it scraped hard against the side of the black car. He didn’t care about the car he was using, he would steal a new car by morning. The clip he had devised for this car wasn’t holding the rifle firmly and he had to really push it in to seat it. He had nearly gotten the rifle seated when he was interrupted.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing to my car? Did you hear me? I’m the city manager, goddamn it! I’m talking to you! Get out of that car and give me your license!”

Deleon saw the man’s pale, bespectacled reflection in the door window out of the corner of his eye. There were no other voices. The man appeared to be alone. Deleon had to be cautious. The stock of the rifle was clearly visible on the floor, but Deleon blocked the man’s view of the weapon with his body. Deleon was pondering what to do when the man had the audacity to put his hands upon him and grab him by his shoulder. The man’s act made things easier for Deleon. He resisted momentarily, freeing the rifle completely, then he spun around using the man’s strength to add speed to his effort. The rifle butt shot out from under Deleon’s left arm and hit the man across the bridge of the man’s nose. There was a muffled yelp of pain as the man staggered backward holding both hands to his face. Deleon followed him, using the rifle butt like a club. He delivered several more hard blows to the man’s head, but the man was able to block the first few blows with his hands and arms. Deleon kept hitting the man until he drove the butt through the man’s guard. He hit the man until he stumbled and fell behind his car. When he did not move, Deleon smiled then returned to seating the rifle. Once he got it firmly in the clip, he started his vehicle and drove out of the parking lot.

Deleon smiled again as he drove along toward Fourteenth Street toward Lake Merritt with his car window down. It was a beautiful balmy night. The stars were twinkling overhead. Once he was successful with his current assignment, the other grandson could be taken care of at his leisure. His grandfather had promised him he could take over all of King’s businesses after he had completed his tasks, but Deleon had politely declined. He wasn’t interested in that life. He cared nothing about having a great deal of money. He already had sufficient to buy a nice home and live modestly while he studied and painted. The
path he intended to travel required the use of pastels, oils, and acrylics on a blank surface. He sometimes dreamed of spending his mornings stretching canvas for new paintings in an island villa that overlooked an unending azure expanse of the ocean. All he had to do was stay focused on his current tasks. Deleon knew that he would have another chance at Jackson, perhaps even this evening. He and San Vicente had both been in the lobby and had overheard Jackson ask the security guard for the nearest pharmacy. The guard had directed him over to Eighteenth and Lakeshore. Deleon figured that if Jackson went to the pharmacy at all, it would be after some defensive maneuver designed to lose any tailing traffic. San Vicente was the one appointed to follow Jackson in his car. Deleon smiled even more broadly. He might even beat San Vicente and Jackson to the pharmacy. He could be perfectly situated when Jackson arrived, then
plink!
That would be it.

J
ackson pulled into the parking lot of a large drugstore located a couple of blocks from Lake Merritt. After he parked and turned the engine off, he sat in his car with the window rolled down. There was a light breeze blowing off the lake. The hour was early; families with young children could still be seen in the store’s parking lot. Sounds of horns and traffic, human voices, dogs barking, a distant siren: all noises of a normal evening, but this was not a normal evening.

He adjusted his sunglasses, got out of his car, and walked into the store. He needed liniment for his arms, some salve to put on his lip, and ingredients for a poultice for the area around his eye. Yet as he entered the store he felt surprisingly comforted to be around people, regular people who went from home to work and back without worrying about being kidnapped and killed. People who felt free to be preoccupied, or to have their children by their side. Jackson envied their sense of safety and security. He picked up a basket and went immediately to the aisle that contained first-aid supplies.

As he stood looking over the possible alternatives, Elizabeth, wearing
a form-fitting teal and lavender Lycra workout suit, stepped in front of him and demanded, “What happened to your face? Oh, look at your lip.” She moved closer to him. “You’re really banged up!”

“The other person looks worse,” Jackson answered tersely. Elizabeth was not the person he wanted to see this evening. He didn’t want to involve her in his problems. He said by way of explanation, “I’ve got to find some stuff and get out of here.”

“Let me help,” she offered.

“Honey,” how he had wanted to call her that, but this was neither the time nor place, “I’m telling you that you don’t want to be involved.”

She responded, “If I didn’t want to help, I wouldn’t have volunteered. I’ve been worried about you and it’s driving me crazy!”

The closeness of her, the smell of her hair, the brownness of her eyes weakened Jackson’s resolve. He knew he should just walk away from her, but he couldn’t. He wanted to steal any moments that he could to be with her. He asked, “Why did you leave without saying good-bye? Why haven’t you returned my calls?”

Elizabeth looked him straight in the eye and said evenly, “You know the answer to that.” When Jackson had no reply, she touched his cheek where Jesse’s fist had landed and Jackson winced. “Let me see your lip,” she said, standing on her toes in front of him. She pulled his lip down gently to see the extent of the damage. “Hmmm, it’s cut, but I don’t think it needs stitches. Why don’t you just wait here and I’ll get the things that I need to fix you up.”