Echoes of a Distant Summer

by Guy Johnson

  Elizabeth laughed again. “I’m sure I’ll see them long before I want to. Say, if you’re willing to go all the way to North Beach, I’ll buy. Can you come by my house and pick me up at six-thirty?”

  “Why? You need to stay home. Your investigators—”

  “They probably won’t call until after eight. Anyway, you won’t be able to park in North Beach, particularly on Broadway. You’ll circle the block while I go in. It’ll be easier and it means we’ll eat earlier as well. What do you say?”

  “I’ll be there.” Jackson hung up, pleased that he was going to see Elizabeth, but there was a strain of anxiety in his pleasure. He was not sure what her reaction would be when he told her that he had blood on his hands. He recognized there was a strong possibility that she would not continue seeing him if he could not disentangle himself. It never occurred to him that he had the option of being silent. Jackson wanted everything between them to be honorable, no shadows, no hidden agendas. The truth. Should Elizabeth choose not to go on, he would abide by her decision.

  The fog had been blown away eastward by the winds off the Pacific and a late-afternoon blue sky was visible between gaps in the clouds. Elizabeth had a large flat in Noe Valley and she was standing out in front of it when Jackson drove up. She climbed in the car and gave him a light kiss on the lips and a brief smile. Jackson’s radio was tuned to KJAZ, and the complete album of Miles Davis’s Sketches of Spain was being played.

  “Would you please turn the radio up?” Elizabeth asked. Jackson complied. She exhaled and settled back in her seat, staring out the window at the passing traffic. The melodic and haunting music of the trumpet filled the car’s compartment as they drove through neighborhood after neighborhood.

  Perhaps it was the music of Miles Davis, perhaps it was just two people who felt sufficiently comfortable with each other to relax in the warmth of silence; whatever it was, it allowed Jackson and Elizabeth to pick up the Chinese food and drive all the way back to her flat without saying a word. The aromas of the food wafted through the big sedan and entwined a sense of expectation in with their other feelings. Jackson parked across the sidewalk in front of her garage and they carried the food upstairs to her flat.

  Once inside the door, Jackson noticed that there were taped-up boxes everywhere, there were almost no pictures on the wall, and there was nothing on the shelves. Everything was boxed in preparation for a move. Elizabeth led him through the chaos to her kitchen and directed him to set the food cartons on the table while she set out silverware and dishes.

  As she was putting plates and napkins on the table, Jackson asked, “Moving far? Out of state?”

  “Not hardly,” she replied. “I’ve just got an apartment on Lake Merritt in Oakland. I’ve been on a waiting list for this building for nearly two years. The move to the East Bay will simplify the logistics of my life. And, I’ll be closer to you.”

  “I wish. I just moved over to San Francisco. I’m living in one of my grandfather’s old houses.”

  Elizabeth stopped selecting silverware and gave Jackson a long, pensive look. “Why? What’s happened?”

  Jackson took a deep breath and asked, “Do you want to talk about this right now?” She nodded. He continued, “The second day I was there I interrupted an assassination attempt on my grandfather. He died shortly thereafter from the wounds he received.”

  “My God! Your grandfather was murdered? What happened when you interrupted the assassin?” She put several serving spoons down by the food cartons and waited for him to answer.

  Jackson sighed and replied, “I killed him and I killed his two assistants.”

  “What? You did what?”

  “I killed the men who murdered my grandfather!”

  “How?”

  “I killed one with a knife. I shot the other two.”

  Elizabeth stared at him for several seconds then asked, “Was it self-defense? How did you explain it to the police?”

  “It was self-defense and it was never reported to the police.”

  “What? How did you dispose of the bodies?”

  “They were disposed of discreetly.”

  “Who disposed of them?”

  “My grandfather’s men.”

  Elizabeth sighed slowly. She asked, “Have you taken over for him? Are you the head of some sort of crime family? What’s going on?”

  Jackson shook his head. “I’m just looking for a way out of this mess.”

  “I thought you weren’t interested in his business or his money.”

  “I’m not, but until I work something out, my grandfather’s enemies are my enemies. I’m hoping that I’ll be able to negotiate some kind of settlement with them. I have a lot of money at my disposal to sweeten the kitty. If I can’t work it out, I’ll have to fight them.”

  “You could leave the area. You could live somewhere else.”

  “Are you serious? And have these people track me down? No! These people killed both my father and my grandfather. If they don’t want to settle, I’ll fight them. I’m not going to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.”

  Elizabeth sat down at the table. “What are you saying? When I asked were you going to stand up to them, this was not what I had in mind. I was thinking that we would use the law to put them away. Not gunning down people in the streets!”

  “I’m trying to be honest with you because I value you. I want you to have all the information necessary to make the decisions that you feel are correct. Look, I think we have the possibility of having something really special, but I want you to understand what is happening in my life. I want you to know because of your legal position, as well as because it may be dangerous to be with me. I wouldn’t want you to take a bullet meant for me.”

  Elizabeth gave him a long look then asked, “How do you know these people didn’t follow you over here?”

  “Because no one knows that I’ve returned but you. I haven’t even contacted any of my friends. I would’ve had some concern about these people knowing where you lived if I had picked you up here rather than meeting you at the ferry for our trip to Angel Island. Since then I’ve been very careful to ensure that I’m not followed.”

  “Why haven’t you contacted your friends?”

  “I wanted to keep to myself until I’ve developed a strategy. You’re the only person I had to see.”

  “What’s your strategy?”

  “I’ve got people investigating every aspect of this situation. I’m hoping to unearth something that these people don’t want revealed. Maybe with a mixture of blackmail and money, I can diffuse their desires of revenge.”

  “And if you can’t?”

  “If I can’t, there’ll be war.”

  “Don’t you realize you’re compromising my position as a district attorney by informing me of felonies that you have yet to commit? My oath of office means something to me!” Elizabeth stood up abruptly and paced back and forth. “The first time I meet a halfway decent man in years, he turns into the Godfather while I’m getting to know him!” She turned to face him and pointed at him. “It hasn’t even been a week since I saw you last and your words now have the authority to dispose of people. This is out of a movie or novel by Danielle Steel or Michael Crichton. This doesn’t happen to real people!”

  Jackson replied, “I wish! I don’t have any control over this situation. This is a blood feud between my family and theirs.”

  Elizabeth was aghast. “A blood feud! It’s 1982; that went out with the Hatfields and the McCoys!”

  “You don’t know how I wish that was true! But wishing doesn’t change reality. If I don’t find a way out of it, people will be killed.”

  “My God! You say those words so matter-of-factly, like you’re talking about the weather.”

  “Would their meanings be changed if I said them dramatically with heartfelt regret? I have made the necessary accommodations to my circumstance. I am not happy about it, but how I feel doesn’t matter a damn! I’ve got to prepare my mind a
nd my strategy for dealing with the enemy. To do otherwise would be foolish.”

  Elizabeth sat back down at the table and looked Jackson in the eye. “You sat here and told me that you’ve killed three men! How do you feel about that? Or do you feel anything?”

  “I killed the men who killed my grandfather. I don’t feel good about it, but it had to be done. Be real! What do you think I should’ve done with these men? Let them go? They’d have been back in less than two hours with a death squad. This is not a game. These men were professional killers.”

  Elizabeth persisted: “Do you regret that you’ve taken lives?”

  “Yes and no. I didn’t enjoy killing them, but they murdered my grandfather. Despite all the bullshit I said about him, I discovered that I loved him. We had our first man-to-man talk the evening he was killed! I lost somebody important to me!” Jackson stood up tiredly. “May I use your bathroom before this inquisition goes on?”

  “Sure.” Elizabeth gestured with her hand. “First door on the right down the hall.”

  Upon his return Jackson passed a photograph sitting on an end table of three hatless black men in fifties police uniforms. What caught his eye was that one of the men looked like his grandfather: the shape of the head, the eyes, and the smile. Jackson went over and studied the photograph, then carried it into the kitchen.

  “Who are these three men?”

  Elizabeth took the photo and replied, “My older brother, my father, and my uncle Elroy. I told you about him when we were on Angel Island.”

  “Well, this is a hell of a coincidence. Your uncle Elroy is my uncle too. He is a Tremain!”

  Elizabeth scoffed, “Your stories are getting more bizarre by the moment. My uncle’s last name is—”

  “Fontenot. He was stolen by the DuMonts when he was about a year old and raised in an orphanage in south Texas, an institution run by the Oblate Sisters outside of Port Arthur. He came out to California in 1947 with the military police, and when he mustered out, he got a job working in the colored section of the jail. He became a temporary police officer in 1951. He was hired on as a regular in 1952.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “He’s my grandfather’s oldest son.”

  “You’re not making this up? You’re serious? You think you’re related?”

  “I’m serious as a heart attack. I need to speak to him. Do you have his number?”

  “Why? What could he possibly have to do with this?”

  “If they know he’s got Tremain blood, he could be a target. And there’s always the chance that he would be interested in collecting some of his inheritance. It’s legally his should he choose to opt for it.”

  “I’ll have to call him and ask him if he wants you to have his number. You have to remember that he was a policeman for more than twenty years. He may have problems with your criminal activities.”

  “You act like I’m involved in the rackets.”

  “Killing people is about as bad as it gets.”

  “I didn’t have a choice! Please call him now before you convict me of everything.”

  Elizabeth stood and went to the telephone. A short, muted conversation followed. She returned to the table and stood leaning against it. She said, “He wants me to bring you over tomorrow afternoon. He said he’s been expecting you.”

  “Great! Let’s eat this food before it gets too cold.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I can’t. Why don’t you take it with you? I’ve lost my appetite.”

  “What’s wrong? Have I become so heinous that you can’t eat with me?”

  “No. It’s just that I believe we’re traveling on very different roads. I took an oath to enforce the law and I am committed to it. I’m interested in you, but I can’t afford to throw my values and my career away.”

  Jackson stood. “I don’t want the food. I’ll go now if you wish.”

  Elizabeth put her hands on her hips. “That’s all you have to say? Some stiff-necked gallantry? That’s it?”

  “What more is there to say? I want to get to know you better. I’ve already said that I thought we could have something very special.”

  “Special? What does that mean?” Elizabeth threw up her arms in frustration. “God! I want to argue with you! I don’t want to argue with you! I want you to leave! I don’t want you to leave! We’ve spent one day together and I feel like I know you, like we’re old friends. It’s like getting in the car with you tonight. I didn’t have to tell you I didn’t feel like talking. You knew it and complied. I just needed to be quiet and the ride in the car really calmed me down. I’ve needed a friend and partner for a long time, much more than I’ve ever needed a lover. I want you to be that friend. I don’t want to stop seeing you, but I feel I have no choice.”

  Jackson rose and went around the table to where Elizabeth was standing. “I don’t know what to say, but I think about you all the time. I thought about you in Mexico. I wanted to be with you tonight. I don’t want to stop seeing you. Frankly, I was looking forward to you being the love affair of my life.”

  “Oh, Tremain! We seemed so right for each other!”

  Jackson moved forward and took her in his arms and kissed her lips lightly, brushing his lips back and forth against hers. She did not resist, but lifted her face to his. After the kiss they stared into each other’s eyes for several moments. Her arms moved around his waist and they kissed again, this time passion was more prominent as their bodies molded together. When their kiss subsided, they stood cheek to cheek in a tight embrace for several minutes.

  Elizabeth said softly, “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to feel this.”

  “It does feel good,” Jackson confirmed as he caressed the nape of her neck and then allowed his hand to trace the line of her spine.

  When his hand touched her behind, Elizabeth pushed him away and took a deep breath. “Well, it’s nice to know our connection isn’t just platonic.”

  “You knew that before we ever touched.”

  “I definitely knew it when you put your hand on my butt.”

  Jackson laughed. “I tried to resist but there was an intense pull.”

  “Listen, Tremain, I don’t want to be any more invested in you than I already am. I don’t want sexual intimacy until we’ve figured this thing out. As long as you haven’t committed any crimes in this country, we can go on. If you just stay and eat, will that present a problem to you?”

  “No, as long as I know where your butt begins, and other such off-limits areas are identified with posters.”

  “If you make the right decisions and don’t push your luck, you just might get enough answers eventually to satisfy your curiosity.”

  Jackson bowed in a courtly fashion and said, “Let’s eat.”

  Tuesday, June 29, 1982

  Elroy Fontenot put down the phone and chuckled cynically at the fate that had kept him from his blood family for sixty years. Now, when he was more aware of his death than his birth, when the fires had burned low within him, suddenly the forces were aligned and conducive to the meeting for which he had sorely yearned in his youth. His eagerness to meet the family that had abandoned him in his infancy had faded, and an abiding bitterness had taken its place. All the long years of wanting, desiring to be part of a family had eaten away at him, leaving caverns of disappointment that no future action could ever hope to fill.

  Elroy was sixty-one years old and a retired policeman. He had long been divorced from the mother of his two sons. He bore his ex-wife no malice. She had not possessed the makeup of a policeman’s wife. She hadn’t been able to handle the long hours that he put in at the job or deal with the frustration that he often brought home from work. It had been extremely difficult for him, enduring for years the racism and injustice of the whites who didn’t want Negro officers in their department, while on the opposite side having members of his own race call him everything from an Uncle Tom to the worst they could imagine. He had walked that tightrope for many years. He had taken umb
rage from both sides and kept his course. But he took no one into his confidence. He was self-reliant and strong. No one could tell that he was going through hell.

  Elroy looked around his apartment and saw nothing that indicated his life had been special. He possessed nice furniture and a few paintings, but nothing that couldn’t be bought in any of the nicer furniture showrooms. His medals and awards were for fleeting moments, for actions taken many years in the past. His apartment, like his life, was empty of true valuables, absent of the objects that symbolized success, void of the emblems of romance and affection. It could have been a hotel suite, for all the meaning it had for him. He had no family life, no one to share the lonely moments of the day, no one to warm up the shadows of the night. One son was dead in Vietnam, the other was estranged and hadn’t spoken to him in nearly five years. Thanksgiving and Christmas were ominous, terrible holidays that emphasized everything he didn’t possess.

  He hadn’t realized how much his life in the orphanage had shaped his ability to love and be loved until his children were born. In the marching, metered, organized chaos of an institution run by women, none of whom were mothers, he had not learned how to nurture, how to express disapproval constructively, how to compromise without resentment, how to show love in little ways. By the time he came to understand what he did not know about love, a wedge had been driven in his marriage and his sons displayed only anger and rebellion in response to him. He saw himself as a negative force, the Midas touch in reverse, in all serious exchanges with his wife and sons. No matter what he intended, their communication ended either in unhealthy silence or in shouted words. He lacked the ability to communicate the hard lessons that experience had taught him. Elroy knew himself to be a failure as a father; his sons grew up in spite of him and in reaction to him, not because of him.

  What could he say to this man who was coming tomorrow? Was there any reason to acknowledge a blood relationship after all this time? Elroy went to his refrigerator and got a can of beer. He popped the lid and felt the bubbling burn of the cold liquid flowing down his throat as he walked into his den. A desk, where he had finished so many police reports, stood in front of the window, along an adjacent wall was a leather sofa and against the opposite wall was his television. The bookshelves above the TV were lined with books about law enforcement administration and tactics. He had spent many lonely hours in this room, days of processing paper, nights spent studying for promotional examinations in which there was no chance of his appointment, wasted years watching forgotten TV programs. This room where he had spent so much of his life had the warmth of a padded cell. What did he have to say? Why had he agreed to let Elizabeth bring the young man over?