Echoes of a Distant Summer (68 page)

Jackson asked, “How do you know what I need?”

“You forget that I was a beat officer who worked patrol for four years! I’ve had my share of scrapes and bruises.”

Jackson watched admiringly while Elizabeth took his basket and walked down the aisle picking various items from the shelves. He could not help appreciating her beauty.

It was clear to Jackson that she didn’t understand the gravity of the situation. He was risking her life simply because he didn’t have the willpower to walk away. When Elizabeth had gotten everything she needed and was ready to go, Jackson grabbed her arm. His words issued in a coarse whisper: “Elizabeth, these clowns tried to kidnap me tonight. I had to fight them off. I’m not yet finished with them. They were going to kill me. I can’t get you involved in this. This is serious.”

Elizabeth gave him a long look then said, “I’ve had a line drawn in my
mind, a line that I said to myself that I wouldn’t cross. I thought that we could share a few moments, then when the line was crossed, I’d let you go. I didn’t know then that I was going to fall in love with you. There hasn’t been a day that I haven’t been worried.”

There were no other words that Jackson would rather have heard. He wanted to hold her in his arms, but now his desire to protect her was stronger. “I love you too, but I can’t endanger you. We’ve got to go our separate ways.”

She laughed humorlessly and resisted his efforts to take the basket. “I risked my life as a police officer so many times trying to make an arrest. Sometimes I knew that the suspect would be out on the streets before I finished the crime report, but I went forward nonetheless. I did my job. If I was ready to do that for work, what do you think I’m ready to do for love? I want to know what’s going on. You can come to my apartment this one time and tell me the situation while I fix you up.”

“What difference will this discussion make?”

“I’ll at least know what’s going on.”

“I don’t want to endanger you. Let me call you later.”

“I can’t concentrate on my work. I can’t sleep! I want to know now!” She moved closer so that her face was inches from his. “So because of that, nothing is as important to me as finding out what’s happening with you.”

This was the last thing that Jackson wanted at the moment, but the smell of the woman was filling his nose. He couldn’t afford to let himself get distracted. He stepped backward. “We can’t talk about this now!”

Elizabeth stepped forward. “There is no other time to talk about it!”

Jackson was momentarily flustered. He fumbled for words, “Alex …”

“St. Clair.” Elizabeth grabbed the lapels of his jacket and gave them a yank. She looked directly into his eyes and whispered, “I need this! Do this for me. Come to my apartment now!”

They stood eye to eye. The proximity of her filled him with a desire to take her in his arms. More than anything he wanted to walk away from his problems and just be with her, make love to her every night, make her laugh, be part of her smile; the list went on and on. “All right,” he conceded, looking back into her eyes. They walked to the cashier and stood briefly in line. Their items were tabulated and Jackson paid.

“I’ll see you at my apartment,” Elizabeth said as she headed toward her car.

Jackson made one last effort. He grabbed her arm and swung her around. “We’re back in the real world now. I don’t want to involve—”

Elizabeth turned to face him, impatience on her face. “Didn’t we already cover this? It’s a done deal! Now, let’s go!”

Jackson saw the determination in the set of her lips and the spirit in her flashing eyes, and realized that she would not be satisfied unless he went with her. He simply nodded to her. He watched as she walked to her car. This was going to be a painful conversation and he knew it.

Elizabeth had a spacious apartment with hardwood floors on the top floor of the five-story building which overlooked the lake. Her place was decorated principally with African art in terms of both carved figures and paintings. Her furniture was modern, but comfortable. She had fresh flowers in vases throughout the apartment. The ambience was very pleasing.

She came out of the hallway leading from her bedroom; she had put on an apron over her running suit and had an armful of articles including towels. She beckoned Jackson to come and sit at a small breakfast table.

He walked toward her. “What’s all this?”

She took his suit jacket off and pushed him down in the chair before she answered, “This is basic first aid, buster. Now, be quiet and let the master continue her work.” She pressed an ice pack to Jackson’s bruised and swollen cheek and then grabbed his hand and placed it on the ice pack, saying, “You hold it.”

Despite himself Jackson felt at ease. He wanted to be pampered and cared for by her. Only Elizabeth had the power to make him feel that way.

“Hold the ice pack higher!”

Jackson bantered, “You’re bossy as hell. I can’t imagine what you’ll be like once you think you know me. Alex the Hun?”

She chuckled in response and said, “More like Zulu Woman! Get used to it, St. Clair! I’ll be this way as long as you know me.” She picked up a pair of gleaming, long-bladed scissors, then moved up and stood between his legs. She informed him, “These are the sharpest pair of scissors I have. Relax, I’ve done this a lot. I used to be a cop.”

“Is this how you interrogated suspects who invoked Miranda?”

“When someone on my squad got injured on an assignment and it didn’t require a doctor, I generally patched them up. Now, you’ve got a bit of skin hanging off your lip. I was just going to cut it off.”

She pulled down his lip before he could react and snipped the skin with one clip of the scissors. “There, now let me put some antibiotic on it.” She reached over to the table and took some gauze and poured some alcohol on it and then dabbed his lip. Jackson gave no outward indication of the pain, but the alcohol created a sharp, stinging sensation. Elizabeth patted his face and said, “Don’t say anything for a couple of minutes. I want that salve to sink in.” She checked his ice pack, then picked up her first-aid articles and left the room.

Jackson stood up and walked around. He saw some photos on the wall of the corridor leading to the bathroom and went to inspect them. There were several pictures of a stout, dark-skinned man in a police uniform. One picture consisted of the man and his family: a woman, three daughters, and a son. The oldest daughter bore a strong resemblance to Elizabeth.

“That’s my dad,” Elizabeth said over his shoulder. “One of the first black captains on the Detroit Police Department.”

“Your dad wanted you in law enforcement? Is that why you became a police officer?” Jackson asked.

“Not hardly; my father was one of the original sexist pigs. He thought a woman’s place was in the home.”

“Why did you become a police officer?”

“My father was killed in the line of duty. I wanted to get his killers.”

“Were you close with your father?”

“No, but we loved each other. When he discovered that he was destined to have only one son, he was extremely disappointed. I tried to make up for it by being a tomboy, but that didn’t coincide with his sexist philosophy. My father and I were like fire and water: One could not exist in the presence of the other without being either extinguished or evaporated. We weren’t even talking when he was killed, but I knew he did his best for me.”

Jackson stood up and pulled her into his arms and said, “I’ve missed seeing you.” He held her close against him. He felt her breasts and pelvis press against him, then he felt the smooth warmth of her cheek against the crook of his neck.

Elizabeth stood on her toes and whispered into his ear. “Just a hug. I can’t handle anything more! I need to ask you a few questions.”

“Ask,” Jackson replied as he began to pull away.

Elizabeth held him tight and would not slacken her grip. “I don’t
want you to go anywhere. I want you to stay close to me. I want to feel your breath on my neck when you answer my questions.”

“Sure!” Jackson nodded as he put his arms around Elizabeth’s waist. He rubbed his cheek against hers while letting his head slowly fall to the crook of her neck. “In position,” he whispered.

Elizabeth tightened her arms around him and said, “Tell me everything that’s happened since I last saw you.”

“Not much has changed, except for tonight.”

“Tell me everything including tonight.”

They stood and held each other while Jackson recounted in her ear the events leading up to and including his departure from the parking lot. When he had finished, they stood in silence for several minutes before he discovered that Elizabeth was crying. When he pushed away to look at her, her arms fell limply to her sides. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

“Why are you crying?” he asked.

Elizabeth looked at him and said, “It won’t be self-defense when you kill the second man, will it?”

“What can I do? Let him go? He’ll be back with more of his cronies. I have no choice. When these men attacked me tonight, they intended to kill me after they got what they wanted.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I love you, but I have to walk away now. I can’t see you again.”

“Why did you invite me over here? I told you things were serious. That they tried to kill me.”

“Realistically, I had no reason to expect things to be different. I just hoped and fantasized … I just wanted to see you.”

Jackson paused a moment and gathered his thoughts then said, “You’re important to me. When I saw you this evening you lifted my heart. Maybe when this is over I can earn my way back into your good graces.”

“Don’t you see, St. Clair, we can never be together! We’re on opposite sides of the law!”

“Tell me what I can do! I will do anything to keep this relationship alive! You haven’t offered me any alternatives!”

“There are no alternatives now!”

Jackson exhaled slowly and said, “I love you. I hold you in my heart. Your voice echoes in my ears. The silky smoothness of your skin makes
me long to touch it. I want you! And when this is over, I will come back to ask you to be my wife!”

Elizabeth grabbed the collar of his shirt and shook him. “Don’t say that! I don’t want to hear that!”

“Why? Why can’t I say what’s in my heart?”

Elizabeth composed herself and stared up into his eyes. “Because I don’t want you to come back! You’ll never be able to walk away and I’m not strong enough to see you again. Please leave now and don’t call me!” She turned and walked away.

Jackson was left standing by himself. He waited a few minutes then walked out the door. There were no good-byes, only silence.

After leaving Elizabeth’s, Jackson’s ride across the Bay Bridge had a tragic beauty. The evening winds had swept away all traces of clouds and fog. The night sky had settled to a dark, purplish blue. The glistening stars were sprinkled across the heavens like gleaming seeds thrown by a celestial hand. The sprawling, dark arms of the land surrounding the bay were twinkling with lights from Marin to San Jose. The majestic, nighttime skyline of San Francisco was a geometric pattern of lights and rectangular shadows, stretching dark cement fingers forty stories above the bay’s rippling surface. At the mouth of the bay where the darkness of the sky merged with the blackness of the sea, the lights of the Golden Gate Bridge spanned like an incomplete connect-the-dot puzzle, the last line of man’s construction before the vast, untamed Pacific.

As Jackson came off the bridge and headed for the Fell Street exit off the freeway, the majesty and the beauty of the city faded like a cheap illusion under close scrutiny. The burden of his conversation with Elizabeth weighed heavily upon him and as he drove up Fell Street he wondered whether he would ever see her again.

T
he voices of men shouting and arguing filled the hall. There were conversations in both Spanish and English. It was the night of the long-awaited dogfight. Two champion males were to meet in the pit for
a winner-take-all bout. There was excitement in the air and it was reflected in the large amounts of pesos and dollars that were being wagered.

Tall and gawky, fifteen-year-old Jackson stood at the edge of the pit watching two
campesinos
below him sweep the hard clay floor of the pit with coarse brooms. He had a thousand dollars in his hand. He was accepting bets for his grandfather.

A fat German man in a Hawaiian shirt ambled over to Jackson. “You taking bets for El Negro?” the man wheezed in his thick, German-accented English.

“Yes,” replied Jackson as he studied the man in front of him. The German, whose name was Klaus, had small, beady brown eyes which sat in his fat cheeks like raisins. His lips were unusually red, almost as if he wore lipstick, but it was a natural coloring. He looked somewhat like a clown, but Jackson knew him to be a shrewd gambler.

“He doesn’t think that this American dog can beat Diablito, eh?” Klaus wheezed.

“No,” Jackson answered simply. He didn’t like talking to Klaus. Every time Jackson heard him wheeze, he wondered if he had contagious tuberculosis.

“He taking bets on the number of turns?” Klaus asked.

“No, my grandfather says that they’re both strong dogs. The fight could go for two hours easy. All he’s willing to bet on is the final decision.”

“What odds?” asked the German, licking his lips.

“Two to one under five hundred, even money above.”

Klaus bet three hundred dollars. Jackson took his money and wrote his name and the amount in a small book. Three more people came to him to place bets. One was a tall, wiry Mexican with a weather-beaten face whom Jackson recognized as a dog handler. It surprised Jackson, because the local handlers generally bet the same way his grandfather did. The next two bettors were American tourists who had heard about the fight through a small-time hustler. Their pale, white skins made them look anemic and out of place compared to the sunburned faces of the locals, but their money was good. Combined, they bet over a thousand dollars.

“Jax!” It was his grandfather’s voice. Jackson turned to face him. His grandfather was standing down in the pit. “We’re closed for betting. How much you got?”