by Guy Johnson
“I want it more than anything!”
“Then you have to prepare yourself. You must be willing to learn all the lessons of leadership. But most of all you must be willing to work and take your responsibilities seriously. We’re not going to let the power to ruin or improve this family fall into the hands of a fool. Otherwise, we’d give Franklin control. He’s family too. You don’t get anything until you have shown that you have the discipline and focus to guide this family’s fortunes.”
“What do I have to do to show that I have that?”
“Be willing to work hard in all family-related matters. Complete your college degree with a B or better grade point average and get your nose out of your ass. Treat your mother with the respect that she deserves. Do more than your share of the work.”
“Okay! Okay! But I’m moving out! I’m not going to live under her roof ever again!”
“Where will you live?”
“You won’t let me live with you?”
“No!”
“Well, Fox has some room—”
“If you do that you’ll throw away your future. You better move in here.”
Rhasan’s eyes got big with excitement. He looked around the room. “Move in here? Sure!”
Jackson continued, “You can take my old room. But you’ll observe all the rules of the house, including whatever chores are demanded, being here for dinner every night, and the hours of curfew. You fail to comply, you lose the BMW.”
“Curfew?”
“You heard me right. Unless you’ve received permission from Grandmother, you’re home by the time the house closes up.”
“Do I keep getting the training in self-defense?”
“As long as you show that you’ve got your eyes focused on the family’s long-term goals.”
“Okay. I can do that.”
“One last thing. Don’t ever come down here without knocking and requesting permission first.”
“But I thought—”
“This matter is not open to discussion. You are not part of the business until you’ve completed college. Another thing, until you head the family you cannot bring anyone in here without permission. Not your friends. Not anyone. This room is sacrosanct. Don’t ever violate the rules concerning this room!”
“Okay, but can I come down here and play pool if no one is here?”
“As long as you don’t touch anything else and you clean up after yourself.”
Rhasan nodded his head and said, “That’s cool. I can live with that.”
“Good.” Jackson turned toward the rolltop desk, but his nephew stopped him.
“Say, Uncle Jax. I know I don’t have the right to ask this, but if it wasn’t important to me I wouldn’t ask for it.”
Jackson faced his nephew. “Go ahead.”
“Ever since you brought Diablito home, you know he and I have been tight. I’ve been taking him everywhere and you encouraged it.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed that you and he seem to have bonded.”
“You know I’ve never had a dog before and I’ve always wanted one. Well, Diablito is my dog now and I don’t want to leave him. When I come home from college next summer, he won’t be a puppy anymore. I don’t want to miss that time.”
“But you’re living in a dorm.”
“I know, that’s the problem, Unc. So I was talking to Terry Strong—”
Jackson interrupted. “Dan’s son?”
“Yeah, he’s going to Morehouse now. And we’ve been talking about getting an apartment, but we need some help with the money so …”
Jackson’s first reaction was to tell his nephew that he hadn’t demonstrated sufficient responsibility to live off campus or have a pet, but as he thought about it, other ideas sprang to mind. He had to get a place in Atlanta anyway. Why not let it serve multiple purposes? He gave Rhasan a long look, then said, “Your schedule, including your studies and your martial arts training, is going to be pretty rigorous. Are you sure you want to add the pressure of a dog? Pit bulls in particular need a lot of attention and must be taken to obedience school. It’s dangerous to have one that isn’t trained. Are you sure you have the vinegar and commitment to do all this?”
Rhasan considered Jackson’s question a moment then nodded. “I think I can do it.”
“What did I tell you about the difference between thinking and doing?”
Rhasan affirmed, “I can do it. I’ll make you proud.”
“All right. I have business in Atlanta, so I’ll buy a house in which you and Terry can stay. Further, I’ll send Theresa out there to watch over things and make sure you get at least one good meal a day.”
Rhasan was exuberant. “You’ll send Theresa too? Uncle Jax, that’s the bomb! Wait till I tell Terry. Thank you! Thank you!”
“Understand Theresa is not there to be your maid and I’ll be visiting often to check on things.”
“No problem. I intend to be a man of my word like you and Great-grandfather. Can we shoot a game of pool to celebrate this?”
“You go ahead, my nephew. I have a letter to read.”
While Rhasan racked the balls on the pool table, Jackson lit a cigar and opened the envelope. The letter it contained was one page, typewritten. It read:
Well, Grandson,
If you’re reading this, you’ve done almost everything I wanted you to do. Congratulations!
I guess I should clear up a few things so I got somebody to write this letter for me—the hand ain’t steady now. First, there are no blank certificates. It was all a ruse to keep my enemies from killing you before you were ready to fight. Sampson Davis gave his life to set up the ruse. He was dying of cancer anyway. (Make sure he was buried right.) Like me he wanted to go down fighting rather than die piece by piece in a hospital. Your name has been on everything for years. You own everything that I possessed. If you want a full account of all your holdings, contact my attorneys (Goldbaum & Goldbaum) in New York. Ira Goldbaum is dead, but his son, Noah, is an able and honest man.
I know you’re probably wondering why I didn’t tell you this following item while I was alive. Well, I didn’t tell you because then I wasn’t sure you had the stuff to deal with it successfully. But now that you’ve proven yourself, here it is. There’s a boy in Tampico who’ll be around eighteen as you read this and he looks just like you. I never saw him myself, but my sources say it’s clear he has Tremain blood. He’s Maria’s son. To protect him, she let another family raise him. He’s working in a shoe factory. The one problem about going to get him is he’s in the middle of San Vicente’s turf. They don’t know exactly where he is, but they know he’s somewhere on the northeastern coast of Mexico. They haven’t really looked for him, but they probably will now. You’ve got to beat them to the punch, otherwise they’ll take him hostage. Then they’ll torture him and keep him alive for years waiting for you to come and get him. Understand, there’s no way you can get him without spilling blood. When you go after him, plan it well and know that you’re going to be in a fight. Just by the by, Maria died in 1975 of pneumonia.
I want my ashes spread in the Sea of Cortez, the San Francisco Bay, and wherever you buy land to build a family house. Until then keep my ashes behind the bar in my office in the Fulton Street house.
One last thing: I don’t ever want Franklin to inherit or be given any part of my estate. He is not of my blood and I don’t want him benefitting from my sacrifice and my sweat. I know you have become attached to Samantha and Rhasan. My feelings toward Franklin do not apply to them. From what I hear, Rhasan acts like a Tremain. Take him hunting. Train him like I trained you. And with that in mind, you should train all the young Tremains. One day you will need the strength of their arms, the will in their hearts, and the quickness of their minds.
I just want you to know that I feel comfortable leaving the family’s future in your hands. My only request is that you do everything in your power to make our family strong! Help build the family spirit. Maybe buy some rural acreage with a lot o
f trees and build a big house where all the family can gather during the summer. All your big decisions should be made based on what’s good for the family, not on what you personally want. Don’t make my mistakes! I judged harshly and I didn’t forgive easily! That was one of the many ways I went wrong. I did what I wanted and I let the devil take the hindmost. That isn’t the way to build a family. If you choose correctly, you’ll bring the Tremain family together as it has never been before and you will fulfill the legacy prophesied by Sister Bornais. Do right, my grandson, and there will be a Tremain standing at the scratch line for as long as there is a race of men.
You are my blood and my heir.
Jackson put down the letter and wiped the sweat off his forehead. Suddenly it was quite warm in the room. He got up and walked out of the exterior door. He stood on the paved walkway on the side of the house and felt the cool breeze blowing across his face. He had a son. A son that he had never seen. Jackson let his cigar go out as he reread the letter. How long had his grandfather known of the boy’s existence? Why was everything so byzantine with his grandparents? Jackson began thinking about how he would mount a rescue effort. There was never a moment’s doubt whether he was going to go after his son. He would not knowingly abandon a child of his blood, particularly when that child was in danger. Jackson was angry when he turned back into the house. Why did his child have to pay this price? Eighteen years lost! Another Tremain raised by strangers. He needed to talk to Carlos, to plan.
Rhasan leaned on his cue and looked around the room. It seemed like he was in a dream. He was shooting pool where his great-grandfather had stood. All the stories he had heard, now he was standing here himself. The future was laid out for him. All he had to do was perform and one day, he would be a man like his uncle Jackson; one day he would lead the family and he would be the one explaining the rules of this sacrosanct room. His chest was filled with pride. His family was one of the toughest that walked the earth. Not only was there King Tremain and Jackson, but his great-uncle Elroy was something too! Rhasan had wheedled the story out of him about how he had walked into the den of the DuMonts and held a gun to old Pug himself. He knew that there were real men in his family and that there was nothing he wouldn’t do to earn their respect.
He broke the rack and followed the cue ball down to the other end of the table. He had sunk half of the balls when he heard footsteps coming down the stairs. He stopped and looked up, expecting Carlos. He was surprised to see Franklin step into the room. Rhasan returned to his pool game without a word. He had never gotten along with his snooty uncle Franklin and he had nothing to say to him now.
“Well, I see that Grandmother opened up this old room. It looks the same as I remember. Is that cigars I smell?” Rhasan continued shooting pool and did not respond. Franklin declared angrily, “I’m talking to you!”
“Oh, I thought you were talking to yourself.”
“I was talking to you! Was someone smoking cigars?”
“Yeah, Uncle Jax. He’s got a box of them on the table.”
Franklin went over to the table and exclaimed, “Portugas! These are some of the best Cuban cigars! I’ll take a few of these!”
“You better ask Uncle Jax, they belong to him!”
Franklin retorted, “The way some people talk, he owns every damn thing! Hell, I’ll take the whole box! He has enough money to buy more!” Franklin scooped up the box and turned toward the stairs.
Rhasan repeated, “Those don’t belong to you!”
“You young punks are so disrespectful! You better watch it or I’ll have to teach you a lesson! You use that tone with me again and I’ll knock you down!”
Rhasan looked at Franklin and said, “You may knock me down, but I will get up!”
Franklin started toward Rhasan. “You little punk—” His harangue and forward motion were stopped by Jackson’s entrance.
“What the fuck are you doing down here?” Jackson demanded as he walked toward Franklin.
Franklin drew himself up and retorted, “I’ve got as much right to be here as you do!”
Rhasan volunteered, “He’s stealing your cigars, Uncle Jax! And he was going to try to slap me around!”
Franklin declared, “He needs it! I won’t tolerate insolence from street thugs!” He turned toward the stairs.
Jackson quickened his step and intercepted Franklin before he reached the bottom of the stairs. When Franklin spun around to face him, Jackson did not hesitate: He hit Franklin with a hard right on the side of the head. Franklin went sprawling on the floor and as he started to rise, Jackson kicked him hard in the gut. Jackson put his cigar in an ashtray, stepped back, and growled, “Get up, Frankie. It’s time for another ass whipping! Come on, I only have one hand!” Jackson held up his bandaged left.
“Wait! Wait!” Franklin pleaded as he pulled himself up. He discovered that he was standing next to a rack of cues. He pulled one off the rack. His face filled with anger as he clutched the cue like a club. “I’ll show you who’s going to get their ass kicked!” He swung wildly at Jackson, who gave ground around the pool table.
Franklin was swinging the cue so hard that he was uncovered after every swing. Jackson timed him after one particularly wild swing and rushed him. Jackson did not even bother to grab the cue. He aimed for Franklin’s throat but caught his chin with his right fist and knocked Franklin down again.
This time Franklin did not get up. Blood was running from both his nose and mouth. He screamed out, “Help! He’s trying to kill me!”
“Shut the fuck up!” Jackson ordered. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead!”
Franklin screamed again. “Help! He’s—”
Jackson kicked him hard in the stomach and cut off his air, then stooped down and dragged Franklin to his feet. He slammed Franklin into the wall at the bottom of the stairs and growled, “I know you are a traitor! Samantha told me about you calling Braxton’s office every day this week! I know all about you, but you don’t know me! If you ever do anything against me again, I’ll have you killed!” He jammed his elbow under Franklin’s chin, pressing it against his throat. “Do you understand me? You can be dead tomorrow!”
Serena heard the front doorbell and went to answer it. She was feeling happy and could not keep the smile off her face. Elizabeth stepped in when she opened the door and gave her a warm hug, which she returned. Serena walked arm in arm with Elizabeth down the main hall.
Elizabeth asked, “Did the reading of the will go well?”
“It went as expected. Everyone but Franklin is happy. Jackson’s friends and their wives all seemed pleased. And I am extremely happy. Jackson gave me this house. So Elroy and I will continue to live here. For me this is the happiest period in my life in a long time. I’m looking forward to spending my remaining years in the bosom of my family. I must say I was a little surprised that you weren’t here for the reading.”
“I had a doctor’s appointment.”
Serena stopped walking and turned to look into Elizabeth’s face. “A doctor’s appointment? Is there something wrong?”
Elizabeth was about to answer when the sound of a muffled scream came through the closed door that led to King’s old office. Both women rushed to the door and opened it. Below them at the bottom of the stairs, Jackson was pressing his forearm against Franklin’s throat.
To Serena it was déjà vu. It was the powerful slope of Jackson’s shoulders and the angry frown on his face. It was the fear in Franklin’s eyes and the blood that was dripping onto the floor. She had seen many such scenes before. Everything that had been gained seemed on the verge of being destroyed. Without thinking, she screamed out, “King! Please, don’t hurt him!” Franklin looked up at her with pleading in his eyes, but Jackson’s concentration on Franklin was unbroken by the sound of her voice. It looked like he intended to kill Franklin. She turned wordlessly to Elizabeth, begging for assistance.
Elizabeth called out, “St. Clair! Let him go! St. Clair!” For the first time, Jacks
on looked up the stairs, then he backed away. As soon as Franklin was released he scrambled up the stairs, happy to escape.
Jackson warned him, “Don’t ever come down here again!” Franklin did not stop or turn around. He pushed past the two women and ran down the hall.
Serena was so thankful, she grabbed Elizabeth and gave her a hug. “Thank you, dear. Thank you!”
Elizabeth kissed her cheek and said, “For nothing, Grandma T. Let me go down there and corral my man.”
Serena nodded and closed the door behind her. She rested for a moment against the wall. Everything was not going to be milk and honey. The family still needed the help of a kind and gracious God. Serena knew intuitively that her primary duty in her remaining years was to keep Franklin from doing something stupid that would cause Jackson to kill him. She had seen the look on Jackson’s face and realized that King was not absolutely dead. His presence was alive and well in his grandson.
Elizabeth went down the stairs to Jackson, who stood waiting for her at the bottom. “What was that all about?” she asked.
Rhasan blurted out, “That slimeball was trying to steal the cigars that Great-grandfather Tremain had left Uncle Jax and he was going to try and slap me around for telling him that he was stealing! But Uncle Jax took care of him but good!”
Jackson turned to Rhasan with a smile on his face and asked, “Would you mind going upstairs and letting Elizabeth and me have a moment of privacy?”
“Sure thing, Uncle Jax, but can I ask one question first?” When Jackson nodded, Rhasan asked, “Were those rules you told me about this room the ones you had to follow?” Jackson nodded again in response and Rhasan smiled and said, “I knew it! That is so strong!” He put his cue in the rack and ran up the stairs two at a time. At the top of the stairs he turned and said, “I picked up the cigars and put the box on the table.” He went through the door and closed it behind him.
Elizabeth looked at Jackson and said, “For a moment there, it looked like you thought you were back in Mexico.”
