by Guy Johnson
Elroy ordered, “Get up! Get up!” When Xavier refused to get to his feet, Elroy began kicking him. “Get up!”
Xavier wailed as he was kicked. “Please! Please, don’t hurt me anymore!”
Pug watched his son and was filled with embarrassment. “Don’t beg, Xavier! Goddamn! This is a Tremain! Be a man, Xavier!”
Xavier did not heed his father. He begged, “Please, I’ll do anything. Please don’t kill me! I’ll do anything you want!”
Elroy looked down at Xavier’s quivering body without sympathy and demanded, “You’ll do anything, will you?”
“Yes, just don’t hurt me anymore.”
“All right, I’ve got a mess for you to clean up! I want you to lick my shoes clean of all that pastry crap you spilled on them!”
Pug was appalled. “Don’t do it, Xavier! Don’t do it! At least die like a man!”
Xavier crawled over to where Elroy stood and began licking his shoes. Elroy watched him for a moment then looked at Pug. He asked, “This is your son? This is your legacy? You really are dead!” Elroy knew he could strike no more telling blow to Pug than abasing his son in public. He lifted his shoe and ordered, “Lick the bottoms too!” Xavier didn’t argue. He began licking the sole of Elroy’s shoe.
Tears were running down Pug’s cheeks as he shouted at Elroy, “Kill him! Kill him! He ain’t no son of mine! He don’t deserve to live! Take him out of his misery! Kill him! Save me from killing him!”
Elroy stared down at the man who was licking his shoes and thought, Cowardice like yours causes the worst cruelty. Your father is right, you do deserve to die. He bent down and put the barrel of the gun against Xavier’s head. When the cold metal touched his skin, Xavier screamed, a high, wailing keen. Elroy stepped back, surprised that such a sound could come from a man’s body. Then he noticed the smell of feces. He looked with disgust down at the trembling figure at his feet, then he glanced at Pug. “You smell that?” he asked. “Your son just shit on himself!”
Pug shouted, “Kill him! He ain’t no son of mine! He ain’t a DuMont. He ain’t got no backbone! He just a worm!”
“You’re begging me to kill your own son?” Elroy looked at Pug and shook his head. “You raised him! You do it! I’m finished here!” Elroy turned and walked over to the door. He pulled Donnell’s body out of the way, swung the door open, and continued down the hall to where he left his cart. The music of the band was loud and filled the hall.
As soon as Elroy had left the room, Xavier pulled himself into a sitting position and wiped the tears from his face. He stared at Elroy’s retreating back then looked around and saw the butt of Donnell’s gun sticking out from under his jacket. Xavier quickly crawled over to Donnell’s body and pulled the gun from its holster. Using Donnell as a rest, he aimed the revolver at Elroy’s back and fired. His shot went true. The bullet hit Elroy high on his back and he fell to the floor as if he were dead.
“I did it! I did it!” Xavier shouted with surprise. “I killed him! I killed a Tremain!”
“Good,” his father retorted. “Now use the gun on yo’self and kill yo’self! You ain’t got nothin’ worth living for! You just scum! Cowardly scum!”
Anger flashed across Xavier’s face. “What do you mean? I killed him!”
Pug waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah, you shot him in the back after he made you lick his shoes and shit on yo’self. You ain’t nothin’ to be proud of. Why don’t you save Deleon the trouble and kill yo’self!”
“What do you mean, ‘save Deleon the trouble’?”
Pug actually smiled. “Me and Deleon got us a deal. When he finish killin’ King Tremain’s grandsons and setting things to right, he gon’ come back here and kill yo’ cowardly ass! I told him if’en he did right in Frisco, I wouldn’t stand in his way when he came to do you.”
Xavier was irate. “You goddamn bastard! You set my own son against me?”
“You the one who did that by smacking him and his mama around!”
“I didn’t do anything to him that you didn’t do to me!”
“Guess he got way more backbone than you, huh? Which ain’t sayin’ much ’cause you ain’t got nothin’ to keep yo’ back straight!”
An old anger bubbled up in Xavier. He was being ridiculed by his father again, despite the fact he had just killed a Tremain. A family enemy. He should’ve been lauded and complimented. But no, once again he wasn’t good enough. With eyes filled with rage, Xavier stared at his father. “Nothing I do is good enough for you, is it?”
“Oh, go change yo’ pants!” Pug dismissed Xavier with a wave. “I can smell yo’ shit from here. Deleon be doin’ all of us a favor when he kill this one. Can you smell it, Zenia?”
Zenia nodded. “He’s stinking up the place as usual.”
Rage swept over Xavier. All his life his father had derided him. He was tired of it. He wasn’t going to take any more ridicule. He got to his feet and pointed the revolver at his father. “I’m through taking your shit, you old bastard. You best shut the fuck up!”
Pug cackled. “I don’t need to give you shit. It look like you got plenty in yo’ pants! Ain’t that right, Zenia?” Zenia nodded in affirmation.
“I’m warning you!” Xavier threatened, waving the pistol for emphasis.
“Oh?” Pug said with feigned surprise. “You got enough guts now to shoot somebody that’s lookin’ at you?”
Involuntarily Xavier pulled the trigger and the gun discharged. The bullet hit Pug in the chest and knocked him out of his chair.
Zenia screamed and rushed to kneel down by Pug’s fallen body. She checked and there was only a trace of a pulse. She pulled him into her lap, but he was dying quickly. When Pug stopped breathing, Zenia turned to Xavier and cursed him. “You killed him, you sniveling little cowardly dog! Pug was right, you’re just scum! I hope Deleon takes his time with you! I hope he takes you apart piece by piece!” She laid Pug down carefully, stood up, and returned to her seat.
Xavier pointed the gun at Zenia. He had not considered killing her, but now it seemed a good idea. He would be getting rid of a hostile witness and he wouldn’t have to share his inheritance with her. He only needed one thing from her before she died. He walked toward her. “What’s the combo to the safe, Zenia?”
“Why should I tell you? You’re going to kill me anyway!”
“Because I’ll shoot you in your feet and your legs and then I’ll shoot you in your hands and arms. You’ll tell me one way or the other!”
“All right. Come closer and I’ll tell you.”
“Why? Tell me from here!”
Zenia sneered, “Oh, the little boy is afraid of me; even having a gun doesn’t make him feel secure.”
“I’m not afraid of you!” Xavier protested, walking over to stand in front of her.
“Well, lean down and I’ll tell you the combination.”
Making sure that he had a firm grip on the revolver, Xavier bent down to hear the list of numbers. Zenia made a sudden movement and Xavier felt a sharp pain in the side of his neck. He fired his gun as a reflex as he staggered backward. Zenia was slumping to the floor when he fired a second bullet into her body. He reached up and pulled a hypodermic from his neck. He examined it briefly then threw it on the floor beside her lifeless body.
Serena spoke for the first time. “Kill me too. I’m a witness. If you don’t kill me, I’ll testify against you.”
“I’ll get to you in a minute. I got to figure my angle first.” Xavier went and sat down for a moment. He needed to think. He had to get a plausible story together to explain all the bodies. After a few minutes he had developed a plan. He would blame all the deaths on the Tremain lying in the hall. All he had to do was shoot Serena, then claim that Tremain had killed everyone then dropped the gun as he left. Xavier nodded. He would explain that he merely picked up the gun afterward and shot Tremain before he escaped. It was so simple.
Xavier pushed himself erect and almost fell. His legs were unsteady and there was a severe
pain in his neck. His vision seemed to be blurring. He had to blink several times to focus. His legs felt like they were made of lead. He had trouble lifting his feet. He fell as he tried to walk toward Serena. It was strange; he didn’t even feel it when he hit the floor. He tried to stand up, but was only able to get on his hands and knees. He started crawling toward Serena. He had to kill her. Once that was done, everything would be his. Absolutely everything. He would be living in clover. He—
Serena sat in the chair and looked around her at the dead bodies and wondered how it was that she was still alive. She could not imagine what more could be squeezed from her. Wakefulness had become nearly as terrible as slumber. She had been begging for death and her pleas had been denied. She remained sitting in her chair. She had no energy and there was no place she wanted to go. She might have gone on sitting in the chair until the police arrived, but she smelled a trace of cigar smoke and opened her eyes. King Tremain was standing beside her.
“What do you want?” she demanded. “What more can you do to me?”
King smiled and said, “Yo’ heart is just a dried prune, but the rest of you is flesh.” He turned to the doorway and called, “Lakeesha! Come on in here, girl.” The little girl that Serena had seen at Sister Bornais’s house walked in the room carrying her doll. King said to the girl, “Why don’t you show her how you done learned to use yo’ needle?”
The look on the girl’s face was so filled with hate that Serena shuddered involuntarily. The girl pulled a long needle out of her hair and wiggled it slowly through the head of the doll.
A piercing pain exploded in Serena’s skull. She screamed and fell out of her chair. She put her hands to her head, but the excruciating pain would not abate. Serena begged for it to stop. She pleaded, but it didn’t cease until King said, “Okay, Lakeesha. I think she got the idea now. You can go.”
Serena sat up with difficulty. She could barely open her eyes. The pain had been so great that the mere memory of it caused her to wince.
King puffed on his cigar and said, “There’s a whole mess of her kinfolk just waiting for you outside. If it wasn’t for me, they’d be in here now makin’ yo’ life hell. They done already divided you up. Each one of them is ready to cause you enough pain to drive you out of yo’ mind.”
Serena didn’t have the strength to argue. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”
“You know who that is lyin’ out there in the hall?”
“I know who it is.” Serena nodded. She knew it was Elroy. The one who had begun it all. She had recognized his facial features from the moment he first entered the sitting room. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to get off yo’ ass and go out there and take care of my son! Like you should’ve done when he was a baby! I want you to call an ambulance and get him some medical attention! You do that and maybe I’ll keep them off you.”
Serena stood up and moved woodenly to the phone. “Put some speed on!” King prodded. Serena hurried up and called an ambulance and the police. King then directed her to remove the pistol from Elroy’s hand and place it in Pug’s. When the police and paramedics arrived Serena was kneeling beside Elroy. She had covered him with a blanket and had attempted to stanch the flow of blood. She watched the paramedics start an IV and connect telemetry wires to Elroy. Once he had been stabilized, they went on to see if there was anyone else alive among the carnage. Serena’s mind was a thousand miles away. She thought about the boy Elroy had been and the evil she had perpetrated on him. Now more than fifty years later, he was lying injured on the floor in front of her. She knew there was no way she could atone for what she had done.
A detective interrupted her reverie and asked her for a statement which she gave exactly as King had coached her. It included her saying that Elroy was her son. Her explanations seemed to satisfy the officer’s questions. After scheduling an appointment at police headquarters the next day, the officer allowed her to assist in getting Elroy out to the ambulance. As he was lifted into the vehicle, one of the paramedics asked if Elroy had insurance because if he had none, he would be taken to County Hospital. Serena climbed in the ambulance and told the man to drive to the best hospital in the city. She would take care of all the bills. When the paramedic told her that only family could ride with the patient, she replied without hesitation that she was his mother. She was strapped in beside Elroy’s gurney, but before the paramedic closed the rear doors, Serena looked out and saw a crowd of people standing by the side entrance of the mansion and they were all staring at her. These were people whom no one else seemed to notice. Law enforcement personnel moved through them without ever stopping. The caterers moved trays and food warmers through their midst without a word. They were silent watchers, but in their silence was an ominous hatred. It was palpable. She looked down at Elroy and for a moment thought she saw King lying in his place. The doors were slammed shut and the siren began blaring as the ambulance pulled out into traffic. Serena stared out the small rear windows as the watchers and the mansion disappeared in the distance.
She looked down at Elroy’s face again. She saw how she had briefly mistaken him for King. The Tremain genes were strong. She could see pieces of Jacques and Jackson in his face. She took his hand in hers and studied it. It was the large, callused hand of a working man. Although she knew nothing about his life, she took comfort in holding his hand. He was the son of the only man she had ever loved. She could’ve made him her son as well, but she had lacked the wisdom to make such a decision. She sighed. The past could not be undone, but perhaps she could be of use to him now. She resolved to get Elroy the very best doctors and the best medical care money could buy. She recalled that hospitals were terribly lonely places at night. Perhaps she could even provide him companionship. As she was pondering other ways that she could make a difference for him, she realized that the heavy cloud that had hung over her since the funeral had risen noticeably. She felt a sense of purpose that she had not experienced in a very long time. She squeezed Elroy’s hand gratefully. She thought, If I am to go crazy, at least let this one not be on my conscience. As the ambulance drove through the streets with its siren blaring, Serena held his hand and prayed out loud, “Please, don’t die! Please, Lord, don’t let him die.”
Sunday, July 18, 1982
Pres set his coffee cup down and leaned both elbows on the table. He looked across at Jackson and said, “I really appreciate you allowing me to stay here. Last night was the first sound sleep I’ve had. I’ve been sleeping in my car and staying at motels for the last couple of weeks and that has really been a bear.”
“No problem, bro,” Jackson replied, sipping his own coffee. “That’s what friends are for. If you’d told me about your living situation earlier, we could’ve made arrangements. There’s money for you to live in the best hotels if you want it. And wherever I have a roof, you always have a place to stay.”
“I didn’t want to ask you, particularly after all I had said against taking the money and getting involved in this war. But I’ve realized that you never had any choice. And now that your woman has been kidnapped …”
At the mention of Elizabeth, Jackson put his head in his hands. He had not been able to sleep the last couple of nights because of his concerns for her safety. Each day that passed without word from Deleon caused him to get more depressed. He doubted the wisdom of his attack on Deleon’s house and he regularly cursed himself for failing to save her when he had the chance.
Pres watched his friend with concern and said, “I’m sorry to remind you of her.”
“The thought of her is never out of my mind. I wish I could stop worrying.”
“I’ve only seen you like this once before, that time you came home from Mexico talking about that Mexican girl. What was her name?”
“Maria. Maria Cervantes.”
“Well, seems this woman has gotten under your skin in the same manner.”
“This is different. I was a boy with Maria. I love Elizabeth as a man loves a woma
n. And I never told her how much I truly love her.”
Theresa came with two steaming plates of food and set them down in front of Jackson and Pres. Jackson pushed his away. He wasn’t hungry, but Theresa wouldn’t hear of it. She pushed the plate back in front of him and said, “Eat! Must be strong! Eat now! Good food!” Jackson merely shook his head. An expression of worry spread across Theresa’s brown face. She put her hand on Jackson’s shoulder and said forcefully, “We get her! Everybody looking! We get her!”
Jackson patted Theresa’s hand and mumbled a few words of gratitude as he looked down and studied his plate. He picked up his fork and pushed the food around.
“How long has she been gone?” Pres asked.
“I don’t really know. We got a call from them on the twelfth and haven’t heard from them since we hit their hideouts.”
“From what you told me, it sounds like you’ve been leaving no stone unturned. The papers are full of news about the fire at DiMarco’s restaurant. The heroin that was found has created an uproar and it looks like Paul is now under investigation for drug dealing, racketeering, and tax evasion. The family has disavowed all knowledge of his activities and are distancing themselves from him too.”
“Yeah,” Jackson said with a grim smile. “His neck is in a pretty tight noose.”
“I read something else in the paper.” Pres looked into Jackson’s eyes. “It seems that Bedrosian was beaten severely in the same parking lot on the night you fought those two thugs.”
Jackson answered with an uncaring shrug, “So?” and returned Pres’s gaze without blinking.
Pres merely smiled and returned to his original line of thought. “There was a big spread in the afternoon papers on the death of John Tree and his gang. The papers are saying that it was a professional hit because the building was blown up with some high-tech form of plastique. You’ve been busy.”
