Echoes of a Distant Summer (85 page)

Later that afternoon, Deleon sat in a bar with Francisco San Vicente and discussed his decision. San Vicente looked at him as if he were totally mad.

“You would come to Tijuana with me? You think this is wise, climbing into the spider’s web? Surely you must know that I have to kill you. The business between us is not finished.”

Deleon had to smile. He had been duly warned. “I know only that you, like me, need to deal with Tremain before you can turn your mind to other things. At least in this one area we are allies. Our positions can be strengthened by our cooperation.”

“There is much to what you say, but I don’t think this is the time to continue our battle with Tremain. He is not a simple man acting alone. He has an organization of significant size. The day after he missed us on Potrero Hill, his people attacked my old house in Victoria. They killed my older brother, his wife, and two of my cousins. I think it would be safer to wait six months then attack again when his guard is down.”

“Do you think he’ll let you wait six months? Tremain will be coming before that.”

San Vicente laughed smugly. “So? Even if he finds me, he would not be foolish enough to attack me in my fortress in Mexico. I have the police, the federales, and everyone of importance in my pocket. By the time he took his second shot he would be surrounded.”

“But that’s what we want! We want to lure him someplace where we are safe and secure. We want him to think that there is a crack in our armor. If we can get him to come to your turf, we’ll have the advantage, but we have to get him moving with a sense of urgency.”

“The woman? You’ll use her as bait?” San Vicente rubbed his chin as he contemplated Deleon’s proposal.

“She’s the catalyst to keep him moving fast. As long as she’s alive and well, he’ll keep on making flash raids, trying to find her.”

“This is quite a proposition you are making. It sounds good, but I’m left with a lot of questions.” San Vicente sat silent for a few moments then asked, “Why are you offering this to me, particularly at the risk of
your life? Why not take her back to New Orleans where your family is strong?”

Deleon smiled. “I want you and me to finish our business. If we both go to Mexico, it’ll be easier to conclude.”

A look of surprise flashed across San Vicente’s face, followed by one of understanding. “Oh, I see. You think that you can come to my house and then leave. And if you are alive, I would have to be dead. I see. Hmm, that is very bold thinking.”

“The only thing that I’m going to ask is that we agree not to begin our personal dispute until Jackson Tremain is dead. We each get a chance to see his body before any action is taken. Once he is dead, we will finish our business.”

San Vicente nodded. “I can agree to that, but this you should know: Killing you is not an affair of honor for me, it is business. I do not have to kill you myself for the deed to be done.”

“We understand each other,” Deleon replied. “Business is business. There will be no hostile action between us until we have viewed Tremain’s dead body. Is that agreed?”

“Agreed!”

“Let’s shake on it!” Deleon extended his hand and San Vicente shook it. Both men knew that this was an agreement made to be broken, yet each also knew that the other intended to honor the agreement as long as was reasonable.

“My people will be here with transportation this evening,” San Vicente advised, studying Deleon intently. On the face of it, he had the clear advantage over Deleon once they were in Mexico, yet Deleon appeared confident and unperturbed. Was it possible that Deleon already had a team in Mexico or had infiltrated his organization? Once they were in Mexico, San Vicente would concentrate on finding answers to these and other questions. Still, it was a good idea. If he used Deleon as the front man, Tremain would never know that he was involved. Tremain would think he was only dealing with the DuMonts, and if a meeting could be set up in San Diego, where the San Vicente organization was strong, all debts could be cleared with one stroke. He would send Deleon’s head to the Cubans, then he would take Tremain’s heart back to Mexico and bury it beside his father and grandfather. Yes, it was an excellent idea. One thing was for sure. He would wipe the smug smile off Deleon’s face. He asked, “You will bring the girl with us?”

Deleon nodded. “Yeah, she’s coming with us, but I want it agreed that nothing happens to her until we get Tremain. She doesn’t get passed around; none of that. I want her in top condition in case he wants to trade.”

San Vicente shook his head. “If I had her, I would have cut off her hand and sent it to him.”

“Then he would assume she’s dead or about to be killed and he would make his plans more thoroughly. If we want to end this quickly, we’ll keep her alive and in one piece. He will only become more dangerous with time. I want to kill him now!”

Deleon finished his statement with such emphasis that San Vicente looked at him with surprise. “This was just a job for you. When did it start turning personal?”

“I guess I was speaking as a DuMont. Maybe I was remembering all the blood that’s been shed.” San Vicente seemed to accept his words, but Deleon knew that he was suspicious, that he would be watching closely everything that Deleon did.

When San Vicente got up to finalize their travel arrangements, Deleon remained in the bar, nursing his drink. There were simpler, less dangerous ways to accomplish his objectives than going into San Vicente’s stronghold, but he had discarded them as too time-consuming. It was now important for him to kill Jackson. Jackson had robbed him of the opportunity of exacting vengeance against his father. At first, Deleon had not understood how crucial that was to him. Since he was eighteen he had lived with that one goal in his mind. It had made all the sacrifices seem small in comparison. All the years and nights of broken dreams and troubled sleep had been endured without complaint for that one purpose. Then to have that cherished moment snatched away just as he was going to experience it was too much to bear; to have it stolen by a rival Tremain made it a personal affront. Jackson would now take the place of his father and Deleon would not rest until he was dead. San Vicente would be killed whenever Deleon was sure that Jackson had taken the bait.

As he sipped his drink, Deleon thought about his grandfather. His grandfather would’ve been proud of his decision to go to Mexico. It was a wonderful endgame move, luring one opponent into a web while striking deep into the heart of another. The old guy must be smiling in his grave. There would be a battle between the last DuMont and the only Tremain that mattered. There was no doubt in Deleon’s mind that
when it was all over, he would be the one left standing. With his enemies buried, he could begin his life as a painter. Perhaps he would go to St. Vincent, or Trinidad. He would buy a nice villa overlooking a beautiful coastline. He would have a studio filled with northern light. He could almost see the swirls of red that would dominate his first canvas.

J
uan Tejate had come to Durango with two companions to do some collection work for El Jaguar. The independent truckers were balking at paying the necessary tariff when they drove through areas controlled by El Jaguar. Two truckers had been caught, tortured, and their trucks were burned, but a third man had been prepared with a group of his friends. Juan and his companions had barely escaped with their lives. In fact, one of his companions had been seriously injured before they got separated during their escape. Juan had come to the market to reconnect with his companions.

He was following Jackson, who was acting as blind and unaware as a tourist. It would be easy to kill him, but Juan wanted to make sure that he did not get caught. He wanted to make his attack at a busy intersection in the market, where there were several aisles providing different avenues of escape. They were coming close to the main axis of pedestrian traffic. All he had to do was close the distance between them. He could almost hear the sound as the point of the knife penetrated clothing and flesh. Juan stayed behind a fat man who was ambling in Jackson’s general direction. Juan pulled his straw hat lower over his eyes and started toward his victim.

Someone called out in Spanish, “Tejate! Tejate, over here!”

Juan immediately dropped to one knee and pretended that he was adjusting his boot. He didn’t want Jackson to see him.

The man who had called Juan’s name stepped out of the crowd and demanded in Spanish, “What the hell are you doing kneeling down there? We got to get out of here! Those damn truckers may have followed. Did you hear me? Let’s go now!”

“Not now, Perez! I’ve got an old score to settle,” Juan said, rising to
his feet. He stared at Jackson’s inviting back. “I’ll be with you in five minutes.”

“We don’t have five minutes!” Perez argued. “Garcia needs medical attention now! He’s got a bad knife wound. It’s going to take both of us to get him out of the hotel. You can’t be running your own game and help him too.”

“Damn!” Juan ejaculated with frustration and pointed to where Jackson and Maria were talking. “I got King Tremain’s grandson ready for the taking. I could kill him easy and I wouldn’t mind taking his girlfriend along with us either.”

“We don’t need any trouble with King Tremain right now. We’ve got enough problems!” Perez put his hand on Juan’s shoulder. “Hold it a moment! I’ve seen that girl before. That’s Maria Cervantes! Tigre Melendez’s niece! Remember about two years ago, she was taken from Linares in a raid? Tigre’s younger brothers were killed and her father, Armando Cervantes, El Jaguar’s accountant, was taken.”

“Yes, I remember,” Juan said with a nod of his head. Tigre Melendez was one of El Jaguar’s top captains. Juan mused, “A lot of money was supposed to have been transferred out of El Jaguar’s American accounts because of that raid.”

“That’s right! Let’s go!” Perez said with a satisfied grunt. “This is news that Tigre will reward us handsomely for. Come!”

“Wait! We don’t know how long they will be here,” Juan argued. “We should follow them and maybe we can tell Tigre exactly where she is.”

Perez nodded his head. “Good idea, but first things first. We must get Garcia into the car and get him to a doctor. Plus, those truckers may have organized a search party by now.”

Juan gave Perez a twisted smile. “What’s more important to you, Tigre’s gratitude or Garcia’s life? If we didn’t have to get him to a doctor, we might be able to follow them to where they’re staying. Put it this way, what will be more important to Tigre, this information or Garcia’s life?”

While Juan was asking his question Jackson was standing in front of a booth watching an old man pare iced prickly pears for him. Jackson gobbled the first one, swallowing the pits and feeling the cool, soft flesh slide down his throat. Before he had finished the third, Maria came over and told him that they were ready to return to the
taberna
. The woven basket was so heavy that Jackson had to hoist it to his
shoulder in order to carry it. Since they were buying provisions for nearly ten people, both women were also loaded down with bags when they returned to the jeep. Wisely, Jackson had parked it in front of the church to discourage theft and vandalism. He started the jeep and drove up the steep and winding street which led back to the
taberna
. If he looked into his rearview mirror, it was only for traffic purposes.

At the
taberna
, he assisted Carlos in packing the station wagon and after they finished Carlos turned to him and said, “I’m going to lead the way out of town. When we turn off Highway Forty-five toward Nombre de Dios, I’m going to drop behind you. You’ll stay on the road for Nombre de Dios until you see a sign on the left that says ‘Ocho Conejos.’ You’ll take the next unmarked road to your right. Drive until you see a man on horseback. He’ll lead you the rest of the way.”

Jackson asked, “Will I know him?”

“Hernando de Jesus. You’ll remember him. He’s a big fellow. He and Esteban Muñoz were the ones who first taught you to ride a horse. His father, Esteban de Jesus, was an old cubano friend of your grandfather’s. No more talk! We need to be out of here in ten minutes.”

The drive to the lodge happened without incident. Hernando de Jesus greeted Jackson warmly and directed him on the roads and turns to take and they arrived at the lodge in forty-five minutes. The lodge was a large, square, two-story stone structure that sat among some trees on a small ridge. There was a broad covered porch which ran along all four sides of the lodge, providing an excellent view of the surrounding countryside. Lower down the ridge behind the lodge was a large stable with an attached garage for three cars built of the same stonework.

After unloading the vehicles, Jackson went down to the stable to look at the horses. He hadn’t been riding since the last time he had visited his grandfather. There were six horses in the stable, including his grandfather’s bay gelding, Suerte. Jackson was looking at the horses to determine which one he would prefer to ride. In the last stall there was a large roan with white feet. The horse flicked back its ears and snorted warningly as Jackson stood at the entrance to the stall. The horse’s name was Sangria. Jackson had been told about this horse and knew that he was temperamental and high strung, but that he also possessed great speed and stamina. Jackson had learned to ride on such horses. He went over to the bin where his grandfather kept the oats and grabbed a handful and returned to Sangria’s stall. The horse snorted
suspiciously several times, but nonetheless ate the oats from Jackson’s hand.

Sangria looked over Jackson’s shoulders and his ears flicked backward again. Jackson turned and saw Maria standing behind him. Even in the semidarkness of the stable, her big eyes seemed to shine.

She gave him a smile and said, “El Negro said that you would want to ride Sangria. He said that you helped foal his father.”

Jackson nodded. “That would be Peligroso. I must have been twelve or so when that horse was foaled. My grandfather, the vet, and I spent all night waiting for him. He didn’t want to come into this world; we had to pull him out, and ever since then he and all his offspring have been unpredictable, skittish animals.”