Echoes of a Distant Summer (25 page)

“In the left side of the pack. What do you want to know?”

“Why would someone be following you?” Elizabeth asked as she removed the glasses.

“I really don’t know,” Jackson said as he poured the wine. “All I really know is that my grandfather has enemies and that he has amassed a substantial financial empire. I have had nothing to do with him since I was eighteen.”

“Why?”

“That’s a long story, deserving a whole evening.”

“On the phone you said you were going to Mexico to see him. Why are you doing that, if you’ve had nothing to do with him since you were eighteen?”

Jackson paused before answering, “He asked me to come.”

“What kind of business was he in?”

“He was a gangster. He dealt in everything except drugs and he didn’t mind sending his enemies into the void.”

“Sounds like he was a real community-spirited guy. What’s his name? I must have heard of him. I’ve been a police officer and a DA in Oakland for nearly thirteen years.”

“I doubt that you’d know him. His heyday was in the forties and fifties. He went to Mexico in 1954.”

“Why would he still have enemies nearly thirty years later?”

“I don’t know, but I do know that he carried on a war for over ten years after he went to Mexico and he produced more than his share of corpses.”

“Why do you think he’s sent for you?”

“I’m his heir. He spent ten years training me, now he’s calling in his chips. He wants me to carry on where he left off.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Be serious! I don’t want any part of his life, including his money. Everything he owns was purchased with blood.”

Jackson’s words were spoken with an unusual intensity. They revealed a jagged edge in an otherwise smooth exterior. Elizabeth didn’t know what to say. They ate in silence for several minutes before Jackson began to speak again. “If I thought someone was following me, I would have never involved you. This is new to me as well, that is, if this guy really is following me and not you!”

Elizabeth reached across and lightly picked some crumbs off his shirt. “When I was a cop, I was addicted to the adrenaline rush of the job. Today, I got a twinge of the old feeling. I liked it. In the past, it’s caused me to have relationships with men with whom I have had little else in common. All of that led to disappointment. But with you, I think I’m on the right track. I just hope you won’t try to find a thug to follow us on all our dates.”

“Listen, the guy who is following us may be a buffoon, but he’s the only one. These people are serious and dangerous. We’re talking about organized crime.”

Elizabeth stopped sipping her wine and her expression turned serious. “Are you going to stand up to them?”

Jackson shrugged. “It may not be that simple.”

“I know it won’t be simple, but I want to know whether you’re planning to resist the intentions of the men who sent the buffoon or are you going to fold?”

“That’s tough talk, but I’m not sure that it applies to this situation. I don’t want to continue my grandfather’s war. I don’t want to risk my life
for an inheritance built upon blood. What is there for me to stand up for?”

Elizabeth set down her wineglass. She looked Jackson directly in the eye and asked, “Will you stand up to
them
?”

Jackson gave her a questioning look and asked, “Why is this one particular component of this much larger, complex problem so important to you?”

“Because there is a possibility that you will be important to me and I want to know how you’ll react. My father was killed by organized crime. Part of the reason I joined the police was to follow in my father’s footsteps. Another reason was to take as many of these people off the streets as possible.”

Jackson put down his bread and paused a moment to gather his thoughts. “I don’t have such a clear sense of right and wrong, or even whether I wish to take a side. You see, my grandfather would have been one of those you would have wanted taken off the streets, and his enemies aren’t necessarily good people either.”

“If you decide to stand up to them, I may want to help you. If we work together, we may be able to incarcerate all of them.”

“That’s a little premature at this point. But I’ll tell you one thing: If I stand up to these people, I may have to kill some of them. Are you ready to help with that?”

J
ulius Castle Restaurant sat high on the precipice of a hill above San Francisco’s Embarcadero. It catered to a select clientele that was prepared to pay top dollar for exquisitely prepared dishes, top-notch service, and a beautiful view of the bay. Julius Castle was popular during the lunch hour. The main dining room was usually full, but there were various alcoves which could be reserved if the customer was known to tip well.

This was where Braxton had chosen to meet Franklin and he was pleased with his decision. The alcove he had chosen had only one table and a large picture window which looked northeast, past Richmond
and Mare Island, toward the mouth of the Sacramento River. The Bay Bridge and Treasure Island framed the right side of the view, and a rich, dark purple curtain, which fell in ripples from a valance of the same color, framed the other side. Only people passing by the door could see who occupied the alcove. It was public enough, yet it afforded privacy. A waiter appeared noiselessly and after a quick review of the wine list, Braxton ordered a bottle of champagne. He settled back to wait for his guest.

From the moment Franklin entered Julius Castle, he was impressed. From the thick, padded carpets and the quiet clink of glassware to the large pictures hung in ornate frames, the restaurant emanated an ambience of money and opulence, the two things of which he was always in pursuit. The waiter led him to the alcove in which Braxton was waiting.

Braxton waved him expansively to a chair. “Glad you could make it.”

“If it’s business, I’m there. If it’s in the ballpark, I want to play,” Franklin answered as he sat down.

“What if it’s out of the ballpark, do you still want to go on?”

Franklin stared at Braxton before answering, trying to determine exactly what Braxton was referring to, or whether he was just making conversation. Franklin didn’t like trick questions and his tone indicated that when he said, “I don’t join losing sides and I don’t play losing hands.”

Braxton smiled at Franklin’s cocky indignation. Franklin reminded him of a bantam rooster who owned the barnyard at sunrise but, when the dogs came out, was quiet and still. “Have a glass of champagne,” Braxton suggested, offering to pour some into Franklin’s glass. “Sometimes,” he continued with a philosophical tone, “you have to play the hand you’re dealt, even if it has no face cards.” He filled Franklin’s glass and set the bottle back in the bucket.

“Maybe it’s a question of tactics,” Franklin countered. “Maybe it’s a question of bidding four low, like in whist.” Franklin felt he was participating in some sort of competition that he had to keep up at all costs.

“There’s a limit to the number of four low bids you can make over the span of a lifetime.”

“I don’t know about that,” Franklin answered, searching for a counterargument. He took a drink of his champagne and then continued, “I’ve had some pretty good runs myself and I’ve been lucky so far.”

Braxton spoke without enthusiasm, “Then let’s toast to your good fortune, and may it continue.”

Franklin stopped with his glass midway to his mouth. He hesitated
briefly, trying to determine if there was any innuendo in Braxton’s words. He took a long sip of champagne and set his glass down gently. He looked at Braxton and asked, “What are you talking about?”

“I was merely toasting to your luck.” Braxton raised his glass. “It doesn’t last forever; that’s why they call it luck.”

“Then that applies to you too!” Franklin retorted with irritation. As far as he was concerned, the conversation had taken on a threatening tone.

“Yes,” Braxton replied. “But a wise man always seeks to supplement his luck by making wise decisions. I have supplemented my luck many times over. I’m prepared for most eventualities.”

“What are we meeting about, Braxton? I mean, really?”

“We’re talking about you getting control of King, Inc.”

“And suppose I don’t go along with the way you want to make this happen?”

The waiter appeared and asked for their lunch orders. Franklin ordered the most expensive item on the menu just to spite Braxton. He didn’t like the tenor of the conversation and he didn’t like Braxton. Franklin waited for an answer to his question.

Braxton poured more champagne for both of them. When he set the bottle down, he said, “That depends on whether you make yourself an obstacle or not.”

“What do you mean, ‘an obstacle’?”

“That’s really quite a good question. An obstacle would be anyone who thwarts or hinders the people that I represent from getting their just due.”

“After thirty years, it’s kind of hard figuring out exactly what is their just due.”

“You don’t need to worry about that. You’ll have the controlling interest of King, Inc. That’s more than you could have expected, if we weren’t involved. Isn’t that true?”

“Just how are you going to get my cousin to give up his claim?”

“That won’t be any concern of yours, as long as you have King, Inc.”

“It’s a concern of mine, especially if I’m going to be on the likely-suspects list.” Franklin rubbed his thin mustache. “You know, if anything happens to him.”

“In the unlikely event that something should happen to your cousin, I assure you that it will be of an accidental nature and as a result, there will be no suspects.”

Braxton said the words so calmly that it chilled Franklin to his core. If it was going to be so easy for them to remove Jackson from the scene, why wouldn’t they come after him as well? Franklin drained his glass and the waiter refilled it. He suddenly realized that he was over his head. He was totally unprepared to negotiate with people who were prepared to kill to get what they wanted. “What guarantees do you offer?” he asked quietly, continuing to rub his mustache meditatively with the tips of his fingers. “How do I know that I won’t be next after Jackson?”

Braxton smiled broadly; it was obvious Franklin was frightened and the heart had gone out of him. “Mr. Tremain, do you think that we are barbarians? That we force our will on innocent people? I only mention the remote possibility of your cousin having an accident should he desire to prevent the acquisition by the rightful owners.”

“I still don’t know what makes your people the rightful owners,” Franklin said querulously. He was beginning to feel the effects of no breakfast and two large glasses of champagne. “Why didn’t they collect earlier when my grandfather was still walking the streets?” Franklin drank down the rest of his champagne. He was afraid, but he felt compelled to say something. “I guess they were scared of him?” Franklin glared at Braxton and said nastily, “I bet you were too, huh? I bet you would never have climbed out from under your rock if the old man was still walking around.”

Braxton contained himself and kept his smile as he said, “Your grandfather has many enemies who are still living and in good health; you should be careful that you don’t get too closely associated with him. You might become the object of their attention.” Franklin’s eyes widened in response, but he said nothing.

The food arrived steaming on heavy silver trays. Braxton ate with gusto and kept up a conversational banter that centered on the respective failure and success of the Giants and 49ers. Franklin ate mechanically, barely tasting the stuffed lobster. He kept up his end of the conversation with monosyllabic answers and grunts. When lunch was finished, Franklin mumbled his good-bye and walked away hurriedly, leaving Braxton still sipping his champagne.

The meeting was a success for Braxton. He had determined beyond a reasonable doubt that Franklin posed no threat and that he could be immobilized by either his greed or his fear. As long as ownership of King, Inc., was waved in front of him, he would probably behave. Of course,
the threat of the mailed fist must be consistently and clearly implied to extinguish any potential sparks of disobedience. Another benefit derived from the meeting was that Braxton now had the necessary link within the Tremain family that he would need in order to facilitate his assumption of control over King’s financial assets. Although the money meant little to him, he had decided that he would have his fair share of it despite the threat posed by the DuMonts and DiMarco. All he needed was a bit more information.

There remained questions concerning the other grandson. Was he like his cousin? Was he a calculating coward, or did he have fire burning in his belly? Was he truly King’s heir, or would someone else crawl out of the woodwork? The next few weeks would reveal all. The truth was that Braxton did not really expect effective resistance from Jackson; it was only his sense of caution that caused him not to be, well, positively confident. The likelihood was that he wouldn’t present much more of a challenge than Franklin.

Braxton smiled and lit a cigar. All he had to do was wait for King to die. If he couldn’t find the certificates, he would persuade his relatives to snatch the two grandsons. They would conduct their ghoulish form of questioning and find out exactly where the certificates were hidden. Then, if things went according to plan, DiMarco would be eliminated along with Tree. After obtaining the necessary signatures to transfer ownership of the certificates, both Jackson and Franklin along with other family members would follow King into the grave. Braxton knew his own relatives would be sloppy and leave a lot of clues, while his fingerprints would be on nothing. A few discreet, well-placed leaks to the authorities would remove them from the scene or at least get them on the run. He would put a huge contract out on their heads, which eventually would leave him in control of everything. Then and only then would Braxton have his vengeance. He would have wiped out King’s descendants, assumed control over his empire, and rid himself of the yoke of the DuMonts. He tapped the ashes off his cigar and drew in a breath of the sweet, acrid-tasting smoke and then exhaled slowly. He sipped his champagne and thought, Life is really going to be wonderful.