by Guy Johnson
The blush was gone from the rose for Elizabeth. The warmth and joy of the last few days had somehow dissipated in the last half hour. She no longer felt optimistic. Nor was she pleased by Jackson’s inability or unwillingness to recognize how their recent exchange had affected her. She was searching her mind for a way to broach the subject without letting her growing disappointment wash over everything.
Jackson was staring through his scope when he began to speak to her. “After I’ve had a little more practice, my accuracy will improve.” He looked up and gave her a quick smile. “Why don’t you fire off a few rounds?”
She had no reason why she shouldn’t shoot, so she picked up the revolver and began firing methodically at the target. They finished out the shooting period and were standing behind the safety line when Jackson was hailed by Dan Strong and Lincoln Shue. The two men were walking toward the pistol range down the path from the registration office. Jackson beckoned in response and awaited their arrival.
“Goddamn, you’re alive! Thank God for that!” boomed Dan. “We were beginning to think the worst! Where the hell have you been?”
“We’ve all been trying to reach you,” Lincoln added. “Pres tried to get ahold of you just last night. He wanted to stay with you, but he ended up staying in a motel.”
Dan put his big slab of a hand around Jackson’s shoulder and gave him a bear hug. There was a look of concern on his face when he asked, “Where have you been, Jax? You had us worried to death!”
Lincoln also gave Jackson a hug. “Man, it’s good to see you! Good to see you in good health!”
Jackson was a little surprised with the fervor of his friends’ words and affection. He asked, “What’s all this? I mean, I’m happy to see you guys, but—”
“Then you haven’t heard?” Dan asked. “All the shit that’s been going on?”
“What shit?” Jackson inquired.
Lincoln ignored his question and asked Elizabeth, “What’s your relationship in all of this?” His tone was polite, but his manner was all business.
Jackson interjected quickly, “What’s that about? This is Elizabeth Carlson. You met her at Justin’s!”
Lincoln nodded to Elizabeth. “We still have to know whether we can talk candidly.”
“She’s with me. Say what you have to say.”
Lincoln grimaced then said, “Wesley has been murdered.”
“Wesley’s dead?” Jackson was flabbergasted. He sat back on the table where the gun cases lay. He felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach. “How? Why?”
Lincoln answered, “He was knifed in the back and then his throat was cut. We read about it in the newspaper. His body was found the Saturday after you left in a Dumpster in Emeryville.”
“In a Dumpster? Damn!” Jackson exclaimed as he put his head in his hands and closed his eyes.
“Yeah,” Lincoln said without inflection as he took a long-barreled Ruger revolver out of its case. “Dan and I went down to the morgue with his mother and arranged to have his body taken to the funeral home.”
Dan declared with an angry glint in his eyes, “I never want that particular job again! Old Mrs. Hunter tried to be strong, but when she saw his body she broke down. We had to carry her out. It was terrible. It made me want to fuck somebody up.”
Jackson couldn’t contain himself. “Do the police know who did it?”
“No. They asked us if he was involved in drug dealing. But we think we know,” Lincoln answered as he finished loading his revolver. “Because that’s not all that’s happened.”
“There’s more?” Jackson exclaimed. “What else?”
Dan said, “Two men tried to abduct Pres outside KFRE the same day Wesley’s body was found. The trainees from his program stopped them and called the police.”
An expression of shocked concern flashed across Jackson’s face. He questioned, “Was Pres hurt?”
Lincoln answered, “He was smacked pretty good with the butt of a pistol. The side of his face was bruised and swollen for a couple of days, but he’s all right.”
Jackson scowled and asked, “Who were the guys who jumped Pres?”
Dan said, “After Pres filed charges against them, the police told him that the men were small-time Mafiosi.”
Jackson looked at Elizabeth and asked, “Are these guys in jail?”
“Not hardly.” Lincoln chuckled humorlessly. “They made bail the very next day.”
Dan added, “No shit! Last night when Pres stopped by your house he saved Rhasan from being killed by one of the same guys who had attacked him outside KFRE.”
Jackson’s jaw dropped. “What? Rhasan? Is he all right?”
Dan replied, “They chipped a tooth and gave him some lumps, but other than that he’s all right. They were going to kill him, but the gun misfired.”
Jackson was incredulous. “Why? He’s a kid!”
“They were trying to find you. Other than that, all we really know is they carry guns and they mean business,” Lincoln answered. “We’ve had to take precautions to protect our families. Dan has half the Samoan population guarding his house. I’ve got my wife and kids staying at her mother’s. Tell us what’s going on!”
For a brief moment, Jackson felt the old hatred for his grandfather settle in his throat, but the feeling was quickly whisked away by the realization that his grandfather was murdered by these same people. When he began to speak he felt only an icy anger. “I wish I knew! I had no idea these bastards would attack my friends and family. Believe me, if I thought this was a possibility I would’ve contacted you as soon as I returned.” He turned and looked at Elizabeth and said, “They must’ve been following me long before I realized.”
Elizabeth returned his gaze and shook her head sadly. Her premonitions had been right. The conflict was heating up and Jackson was going to be pulled into it whether he liked it or not.
Dan put his hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “You can see why we began to worry about you.” He dropped his voice. “When I received that coded message from you to meet here today, I was so relieved.”
Jackson sighed and stared down at the ground. He questioned, “Why would they kill Wesley? Why would they attempt to kill Rhasan? What have they to do with my grandfather? It doesn’t make sense.”
“It may not make sense, but this shit is scary to those of us who have families and children,” Lincoln said with a grimace.
“I’ll bet!” Jackson acknowledged. “Damn! I’m so sorry that this crap has come down on you. Understand, I had no idea things would develop this quickly. I thought they would contact me and present me with some demands before taking action. I just wish I understood the logic behind their attacking my friends. What’s the connection? Why would they come after you guys? How can you help them?”
Elizabeth ventured, “Ransom. They probably feel they will be operating from a position of strength if they have a hostage you care about.”
There was a snarl on Jackson’s face when he replied, “They could not have struck deeper into my heart!”
Dan nodded and asked Jackson, “Will you go to the police about this?”
“I have nothing to tell them! I’m not even sure who all these people are. Nor do I have evidence as to who was involved in these crimes. And if I had something to tell the police, do you think that would make these people change their minds about attacking you, or sending more people after me? You said that Pres filed charges against his attackers; did that stop that same asshole who attacked him from being at my house?”
Dan conceded, “No, it didn’t, but this seems to have escalated awfully fast.” Then he gave Jackson a long and steady look and asked, “Have you killed someone, Jax?”
Jackson looked down at the ground then answered, “I killed the men in Mexico who murdered my grandfather.”
The range master’s amplified voice squawked, “Cease firing, secure your weapons, and step behind the yellow safety line!”
“My God,” Lincoln exclaimed. “Your grandfather was m
urdered?”
A scowl flashed across Jackson’s face then disappeared. “It was an assassination squad. They were after both of us.”
Lincoln raised his hand. “Man, I’m so sorry. We were so caught up in our own stuff that we didn’t even ask about him!”
“That’s why I didn’t contact you. I thought they might follow me to your homes and I didn’t want to endanger you. If I had known what they were going to do, I wouldn’t have delayed.”
“We know that,” Lincoln affirmed. “We know who you love. Right now, we just want to know what you know.”
Jackson said through gritted teeth, “I promise that I’ll share what information I possess and do everything I can to ensure your families are safe.”
Dan asked, “You think you can get the thugs to back off? Can you tell them we’re noncombatants?”
There was an angry glint in Jackson’s eye when he said, “These assholes haven’t even contacted me and it doesn’t seem to me they’re interested in talking much. Despite that, I’ll initiate a dialogue as soon as possible.”
The all-clear horn blared and the PA system echoed that it was safe to cross the safety line and begin firing. Jackson said, “I need a few moments to gather my thoughts.” He crossed the safety line to his stall and picked up a pistol. The regular discharge of his gun betrayed no trace of preoccupation. He seemed to be concentrating solely on firing his weapon at the target.
Dan and Lincoln exchanged looks, then they stared at Jackson’s back for a while. However, after a few minutes their gazes fell upon Elizabeth. She returned their stares, shifting back and forth between their faces. After a few moments, she asked, “What’s the question?”
Lincoln answered, “How much do you know about this?”
Elizabeth answered, “Not enough to tell you anything. All I can say is that he had no idea that any of you were in danger. He was thinking that he would have some time to work out an arrangement.” Elizabeth stuck out her hand and said, “By the way, we haven’t really met formally. Elizabeth Carlson.”
A sad smile crossed Dan’s face. “Pardon our manners, I’m Dan Strong and this is Lincoln Shue.” Dan extended his hand. “We’re Jax’s oldest friends. He’s told us about you, so we’re happy to meet you and welcome you into our community. Although this isn’t the best of times.”
“Glad to meet you both,” Elizabeth said with a brief nod of her head.
Lincoln shook hands with Elizabeth and said, “You’re the first woman he’s been excited about in years. Too bad you have to come along now. I hope when this is over we’ll be able to welcome you in a more appropriate manner. But right now, we don’t want any more of our friends turning up in Dumpsters.”
Dan tapped Lincoln on the shoulder and pointed in Jackson’s direction. “Look at those pistols he’s using. I’ll bet you they were his grandfather’s. Look at those ivory handles.”
“You’re right,” Lincoln answered. “We haven’t seen those before.”
Elizabeth asked, “Does Jackson have a lot of guns?”
Dan shrugged. “Is thirty to forty a lot?”
“That’s quite a few,” Elizabeth acknowledged, shaking her head. Of course, it was consistent with her recent feelings. The puzzle was falling into place and the picture was rapidly becoming clearer. She now realized, whether he admitted it or not, that Jackson would never walk away from this conflict. He possessed all the skills and wherewithal to carry on this war to its bitter end. He was merely a warrior who needed to be awakened, and the events of the past few days were enough to bring him out of his slumber. She knew this to be true down in the pit of her stomach. It seemed so obvious now, she didn’t understand why she hadn’t seen it from the very beginning.
Jackson walked up to the table and opened a box of bullets and began loading magazines for his pistols. Jackson turned and faced his friends and said quietly, “This is not the place to talk about this. Let’s go someplace where we can have a little privacy. I have a proposal to put to you concerning this situation.”
As he strode across the open meadow to get his targets, Jackson realized with foreboding that he would have to take some proactive steps in order to deflect attention from his friends and family. His situation was complicated by the fact that Carlos was in Mexico and not available for consultation. Nor would his decision be made easier by the expression he had seen on Elizabeth’s face. It was clear that his dangerous and winding path into the future would be traveled without her presence. He swallowed his sadness and tore the targets off their mounts. When he looked at the shreds of paper in his hands, he felt he was holding the ripped tatters of his heart.
BOOK III
The Resurrection
Sunday, July 4, 1982
Dominique Volante Asti stood at one of the large wooden cutting boards, expertly chopping zucchini into thin slices. Her knife flashed in the bright kitchen lights as it cut through the soft squash and hit against the cutting board in a rapid staccato. Dominique moved swiftly through the large bowl of zucchini. She did not let her anger affect her efficiency. It was nearly eleven-thirty, time to open the restaurant’s doors for the lunch crowd. Simple vegetable preparation should have been completed by ten o’clock. She was furious at the lack of organization with which DiMarco ran his business. Once again Mickey Vazzi, the prep cook, had called in sick and DiMarco, who had the responsibility of setting up the cash drawer and assisting in lunch prep, was nowhere to be seen. In addition, Carlo Luna, the head chef, had not arrived. Consequently, she had to reassign the waitstaff to lunch preparation chores instead of letting them set up tables with linen and cutlery.
“Rosaria, bring me the bowl of red bell peppers and I’ll chop those before I go out and open the restaurant’s doors. Did you finish washing the lettuce and cutting the tomatoes?”
“Almost, Dominique,” Rosaria answered. She was a short, plump woman with rosy cheeks and short brown hair. She bustled over with a large metal bowl. “Here’s the red bell peppers. We won’t have all the tables prepared by the time you open up. Do you want to hold off opening until twelve?”
“Can’t run a restaurant business like that,” Dominique said with a shake of her head. “We’ll prepare the tables by the windows first and seat people at those until we finish with the rest.” She began cleaning bell peppers while cursing DiMarco under her breath.
Carlo Luna staggered into the kitchen with a huge box and set it down on the counter. He stared at Rosaria and Dominique performing their chores and asked, “Where’s Mickey? He was supposed to have that finished this morning.”
“He called in sick again,” Dominique answered without warmth. “Where were you? You were supposed to be here.”
“I’ve been to the fish market. I told Paul that I could get some good prices on fresh calamari, crab, and shrimp from my brother. Paul told me to go ahead. He knew I was going to be late.” Carlo took off his jacket and washed his hands. “Did somebody take out the sauces? Is the minestrone on the stove?”
“Only the minestrone,” Dominique answered. “I didn’t know what the specials were going to be today. We’ve got to work out better communication. Nobody told me you were coming in late and I don’t know where the hell DiMarco is. If we are going to run a good restaurant I need to know what’s going on!”
“I don’t blame you,” Carlo said as he began moving swiftly around the kitchen. “I’ll make sure to tell you my ideas for the next day’s menus before I close the kitchen at night. You can go and finish in the dining room. I’ve got the kitchen covered.”
Dominique took off her apron and went out to assist with the work in the dining room. At a quarter of twelve, she opened the doors for customers. There were two men waiting at the door. She showed them to a table by the window and informed them that lunch entrées were a bit delayed, but if they would wait she would provide the wine free of charge. The men declined the wine and indicated that time was not a problem. Dominique returned to her chores and told the waitress to be attentive to the
two men. Several other customers entered and Dominique seated them and made them the same offer as she had the first two.
Nearly all the tables were set with linen and cutlery when Jackson Tremain entered the restaurant and waited to be seated. Dominique grabbed a menu and went to greet him.
“Would you like lunch?” she asked with a smile.
He returned her smile and nodded his head. “A table by the window would be great.”
“You’re just ahead of the rush hour, so I think I can squeeze you in.”
Jackson looked around at the nearly empty restaurant and said, “I certainly hope so. It looks like people really knock one another down to get in here.”
Dominique was in no mood for sarcasm. “We’re running a little late today, sir. Perhaps you’d rather choose another restaurant. I can recommend several that are close by.”
“No, I’ve chosen correctly. Sorry if I offended you. I know the restaurant business takes considerable work and investment of energy.”
Dominique was mollified by the apology and as she led Jackson to a table by the window she said, “I normally have more of a sense of humor, but on days when people don’t show up for work, I get a little crazy. It makes it quite hectic for the remainder of the staff.”
“I know what you mean,” Jackson said, sitting down. “I ran a bar on the east coast of Spain that served food in the late sixties and early seventies.”
“I spent a lot of time in Spain,” Dominique said. “Where did you manage a bar?”
“In Sitges, about twenty-four clicks southwest of Barcelona.”
“I’ve been to Sitges!” Dominique exclaimed. “I was there in 1969! What was the name of your bar?”
Jackson replied, “The Taverna, but everyone called it the American Bar. We used to sell hamburgers and fries from four to ten in the evening.”
Dominique took a step backward and said, “I’ve been in that bar!” She looked closely at Jackson. “You were the black guy behind the bar. You used to put on Jimi Hendrix’s ‘All Along the Watchtower’ at closing time. I remember you! You and your roommates had an apartment on the beach and used to give wild parties.”
