Lord of California

by Andrew Valencia

  I felt my hands closing in around his hot damp face. He was either too weak to resist me or he thought he deserved this. Or he didn’t think he deserved it and he liked feeling unjustly persecuted. Whatever the case, I gripped his skull like I was preparing to crush it.

  That was it? Money was the only reason?

  He laughed. No, not really, he said. I’m smart and determined. If money was all I wanted, I could have gotten it some other way, and more easily too.

  Then why? Why did you do it?

  What’s the use in talking to you? I couldn’t make you understand why I stopped believing in God. How am I supposed to make you understand why I killed our father?

  You’re saying there’s a connection between the two?

  I guess. Although I never hated God as much as that.

  You said you didn’t believe in God.

  I know. That’s the trap I’m in. If you want to stop believing in God, then you really have to stop believing. You can’t kill God, because once you kill something, you believe in it forever.

  I don’t understand.

  That’s all right. I never expected you to.

  He turned his face away and closed his eyes. The shudder that ran through his neck and shoulders seemed to intensify the longer I stared at him. I would have done anything, he said. All my life I tried to get beyond you. I would have done anything just to be able to leave you behind.

  Who are you talking to?

  Don’t look at me. For Christ’s sake, just leave me in peace.

  Who do you think I am?

  Don’t look at me. Don’t look at me.

  I could tell from the rising and falling of his chest that he was still with us. My rage seemed to rise and fall along with his breathing, replaced in the falling moments by a numbness that made the idea of what I had to do next seem a lot more bearable. He was the first confessed murderer I had ever met, and he said that belief and death went hand in hand. It would take me a long time to unravel what he meant, but for now there was nothing left for me to think about, except that I was finally ready to start believing in him.

  Ellie was waiting in the hallway, just a few steps outside the door. I didn’t ask how long she’d been there or what she wanted. I let her speak first.

  Listen, she said. We’ve got a problem.

  Where’s the rifle?

  In your room.

  Bring it here. And make sure it’s loaded.

  Seriously? Now you’re ready?

  I don’t have the time or energy to explain just this moment. Go get the rifle and bring it here, along with all the sheets and linens we can spare. Then get the little brothers and sisters out of the house. Your mother and Dawn too. They don’t need to see it when we carry him out. We’ll need Will and Logan’s help for that now that I think of it.

  That’d be a fine plan if you’d decided on it yesterday. But now we’ve got another situation to deal with.

  Jesus. What now?

  Come here.

  She was practically on tiptoes leading me down the hallway. When we reached the end she poked her head around the wall and beckoned me to look as well. From the vantage point we were in I could just barely make out the form of someone, a man, sitting at the table with one leg crossed over the other. We stepped back from the wall and leaned in close enough to whisper.

  He says he’s a private investigator from the coast, Ellie said. He wouldn’t say who sent him, but he says he’s looking for our brother Elliot.

  So tell him we don’t know what he’s talking about.

  I tried that. He won’t buy it. It’s like he already knows we have him.

  How could he know?

  Maybe one of the pickers said something in town.

  Or maybe he’s trying to intimidate us cause we’re kids.

  Either way, I want you to find out how much he really knows and what he wants from us. We’ll have a better idea what to do after we get a read on him.

  What’re you going to do in the meantime?

  I’m going to get the rifle. I’ll be right here, waiting and listening. You need backup, just give me a sign.

  You like carrying that rifle around. I can tell.

  Shut up and get in there.

  I went into the kitchen and took a seat at the table. I was already sitting down before I got a clear look at the man who had surprised us with his unexpected appearance. Even more surprising, to me, was the fact that he was a Mexican, and a dark one at that. He was dressed like an old-fashioned vaquero, with his shirt collar done up in a bolo and detailed patterns pressed into the sides of his leather boots. He rested his hat on the table and brushed his fingers against the side of the band. His face wasn’t as sun-worn and cragged as the faces of the some of the old-timers I knew, though in truth he didn’t look quite as old as his clothes suggested. Somehow I never imagined a creature like him existing on the coast. In the back of my mind I must’ve known there were Mexicans in that part of the country, but I always pictured them as a pale and spiritless breed of charlatans, the kind of bit-part actors who could pass as white, Mexican, or Armenian whenever the situation suited them. This guy didn’t strike me as that sort of animal, though. He tapped a paper cup in his hand and raised it to his mouth and filled it with juice from his packed lip.

  Hello, he said. My name’s Bob Ramirez. I’m a private investigator based out of Santa Cruz County. Although I do visit the valley on occasion when work requires it.

  Is this one of those occasions?

  Indeed it is. And your name is?

  Anthony Temple.

  Anthony Temple. All right, Anthony. Here’s the thing. Four days ago I was in Delano, where I had a long conversation with Jennifer Temple regarding the whereabouts of Elliot Temple Jr., who’s been missing for nearly a month now. She’s been having a rough go of it lately. You know life on the road isn’t easy for anyone, but especially for a single woman with two young children and her parents to look after.

  What happened to Dale? Why isn’t he helping her out?

  Let’s just say when the chips were down he proved to be less reliable than she thought.

  Good. She can rot for all I care.

  I thought you might say that, considering the circumstances by which you parted ways.

  What did she tell you about that?

  Everything. She told me everything, at least up to the point where she was expelled from the farm. She told me she and Elliot were conspiring to cheat you and yours out of a fair deal. She said Elliot was planning on coming back here the day he disappeared.

  I don’t know anything about that.

  Before you start denying anything, listen to what I have to say. This isn’t a shakedown. I’m not here as anything but a mediator. All I want is to see this situation resolved peaceably with each side getting what it’s owed.

  I’m sorry, Mr. Ramirez, but I have a hard time believing that. And an even harder time believing a peaceful solution is possible at this point.

  I can understand that. That’s why all I’m asking is for you to hear me out.

  He reached into his jacket and produced a folded stack of papers and set it on the table beside his hat. The papers unfolded and lay still on the table. He looked at the papers and then at me and then he nodded unsmiling.

  I’ve just come from the Russert Growers Company, he said. Mr. Russert’s reconsidered his position and is willing to offer you all a new deal separate from the one that was originally proposed. He’s upped his price and devised a contract that divides everything up equally between the five original Temple women. That includes Jennifer. But, of course, it leaves out Junior, and it leaves out me. No one gets anything from this deal except those that had a stake in it to begin with. All he ever wanted was the land, and he doesn’t much care who serves as intermediary. Take a look. It’s all official.

  I took the stack of papers off the table and read through it as best I could, deciphering the legal jargon in my own limited way until I more or less understood. Ramirez was te
lling the truth, so it seemed. Russert was offering us a plum package for control of the co-op lease, enough so that each family could start over, if we wanted to, on some better stake of land, or go in together again and come out richer than we’d ever imagined. That was the gist I got from it, at least, though it wasn’t enough to reassure me. A private investigator was little better than a lawyer in my book, and so he might know all manner of ways to cheat the little guy when it came down to brass taxes.

  Suppose we don’t care whether the deal is fair or not, I said. Suppose we still don’t want to sell regardless of whatever Mr. Russert’s offering us. What would you say to that?

  Ramirez shrugged. I’d say this farm is nothing but a millstone, he said. Elliot’s been wrong about a lot of things, but that doesn’t make him wrong about the way the wind’s blowing. Once Vandeman gets his bill passed in Congress, there won’t be a parcel farmer in the country who can afford to hold onto his land. Russert’s offering you all a chance to escape before the market opens up and the big boys come in to pick the bones of this valley clean. And he’s offering you a fair shake this time, with no middlemen to siphon money off the top. One lump sum divided five ways between the remaining co-op wives and Jennifer. You’ll all finally have enough money to make your own stand in this world without relying on your father or the government to look out for you. And you won’t have to watch your back for Jennifer anymore. She’s agreed to take an equal share of the deal, no more no less. All she wants now is to be able to support her kids and look after her parents.

  He held his open palm in front of his chest, like everything was on the table now, laid out plain to see. The whole time he was speaking I’d been sitting with my head turned down and to the side, staring at the dark soles of his boots, mulling it over.

  You make a strong case, Mr. Ramirez, I said. I wish I could believe it’s as good as it sounds. But I like to think I’ve dealt with enough horseshit in my life to know when somebody’s trying to con me. A professional man like you, going out of his way to do this for us, and not asking for a cent in return? It makes about as much sense as a Hubbard bible, which is to say it doesn’t make any sense at all. So either Mr. Russert is trying to fool us both, or you’re trying to take advantage of a household run by folks a whole lot younger and less experienced than yourself. Either way, it’s a shameful business you’re involved in. Shameful and see-through.

  Ramirez gave me a solemn nod and emptied his lip once again into the cup, which had begun to wilt and turn brown around the edges. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel shame for some of the work I’ve done, he said. Truth is, shame is part of what brought me here.

  How’s that?

  Well, son. Little over a month ago, I was parked outside the tree line of this property with a high-powered listening device zeroed in on your house. Little while before that I was in the state record’s office digging up everything I could find about your mother and your sister’s mother and everything else about your family that was available. I did it because your brother Elliot was paying me to do it. That’s how I first got involved with this debacle, cause he wanted me to scope out the place and find out as much as I could about you all.

  That’s a bold thing to admit in this house, Mr. Ramirez, I said. We’ve been to hell and back the past month on account of what that man tried to pull. And you helped him bring that evil down on us. You need to realize that. You need to realize what you put us through.

  I do, son. I really do.

  Ramirez took his hat up from off the table and fanned himself with it, which seemed an odd thing to do considering it was a mild day and not particularly warm inside the house at all. Then he set the hat back down and uncrossed his legs and leaned forward with his hands on his knees and his eyes fixed on me like all the worth of heaven and creation depended on the words he had to say next.

  I’m here to barter for that young man’s life, he said. That’s the only reason I’m here. Time came when I knew he was headed for trouble, but by the time I worked it out to do something about it, he was already a missing person. I’m trying to make up for that now. Been trying to this whole past month. That’s what led me here. That’s why I went to see Russert and hammered out a better deal for you all. Because I’m wrapped up in this mess in a way I’m not proud of, and if that boy dies on account of it, there’s no way I’d be able to escape feeling responsible. Do you get me? Am I making sense to you?

  I shook my head. It didn’t make sense to me, any of it. There was either something he wasn’t telling me, or he had worked himself up over nothing. Does he owe you money? I asked. Is that the real reason you’re chasing him down?

  He let out a tired sigh. No, sir, he said. He already paid me what was owed for the work. This doesn’t have anything to do with that.

  Are you in love with him?

  He looked at me puzzled and laughed softly without breaking the seal of his lips. I am not, he said. I don’t go in for that way myself.

  Is he in love you, then?

  I doubt it. Last time we spoke he pretty much said he wanted nothing more to do with me.

  Then why? Why go through the trouble? You’re not related to him.

  No, sir. I figure I’m just about the only person on this farm who isn’t related to someone else here by blood or marriage.

  Then I’ll ask again. Why put yourself out like this? Why bother over the likes of him?

  Ramirez leaned back in his chair. He wasn’t a fat man, but his chest rose high with each breath, like he couldn’t get enough air to satisfy him. He stood and walked to the window and looked out through the blinds at the sun-swept land he was trying to convince us to sell. He was still squinting when he turned back around.

  I don’t have to talk to you, he said. Your name isn’t on the lease. The only reason I’m pleading with you right now is because your sister sent you in here, and so I figure that means you’re the one who decides what happens to Elliot. Am I right in thinking that?

  You’re free to think whatever you want. Doesn’t matter to me.

  Right. Well, let me tell you something, warden. I’m an old man. I’ve been all around this country from one border to another since before it was a country at all. I’ve killed men and had men try to kill me, and through it all I’ve managed to avoid messy entanglements. That was the closest thing I had to a code for a long time. Don’t get attached. Trust nobody. That sort of philosophy might suit a man well in a time of war, but it doesn’t lead to a very rewarding life afterwards. If you can even call it a life at all.

  He took his seat back up at the table. His stomach rested high over his belt, making his whole upper half appear stiff and compressed. If he was uncomfortable, he didn’t show it.

  You were a soldier?

  He spat into his cup and nodded. I was never in any army, he said. But I served as a sort of soldier nonetheless. My war was here, in California.

  What war was that?

  The war that made this country into a nation.

  I don’t know that one.

  You wouldn’t. They don’t teach about it in school. It’s not the sort of founding myth they want to advertise.

  You’re talking about the early days of the Republic.

  I was spilling blood for this country before anyone thought of the Republic, he said. Nowadays people try to forget what a shitshow it was back then. After the US fell, years passed where California was just as lost and divided as the rest of the former states. San Francisco and L.A. were like Athens and Sparta, fighting to control as much of the land between them as possible, with Sacramento in the middle trying to hold it all together. Rich men in those days weren’t picky about who they depended on so long as we could get the job done. Student activists, Unionists, local secession movements. I killed a lot of people to protect the interests of a few, including some who really didn’t deserve it. They just got mixed up with powers greater than themselves.

  I could hear the tone of his voice, and it seemed like he was sincere in
his regret, but at the same time all I could think about was how badass it must’ve been for him to live like that from day to day, not knowing whether his next assignment would be his last, or if he would ever again have a country to call his own. The Israelites, too, were a violent bunch in the time of old Canaan, back when they had to carve out every inch of their promised land from the flesh of their enemies. Suppose that’s how a lot of nations get started, in blood and terror, rewriting their stories as they go along, leaving out the grizzly bits for the sake of posterity.

  That’s all very interesting, Mr. Ramirez, I said. Seriously. I could listen to your war stories for days, but I’m not sure how it fits with what we’ve got going on here.

  I’m getting to that, he said. First I wanted you to understand where I’m coming from. Sometimes that’s all a person can do to make themselves heard.

  All right. Go on then.

  He looked around the room like he was worried about someone listening in. To be fair, Ellie was listening from her blind behind the wall, but I had a feeling he knew she was there already and didn’t mind if she heard what he had to say. A lot of what he was telling me, in fact, seemed like it was spoken to the family as a whole.

  That boy you’ve got locked up in there, he said. He’s a spoiled brat. Worse than that, he’s a brat who’s had to struggle and suffer some compared to the friends he grew up with, and so that makes him think he’s tougher than he really is. The whole time I was on the case for him, he looked at me like I had never existed separate from the job he was paying me to do, and like I would cease to exist in this world once the job was finished. The rest of the time he treated me like a dumb beaner, like all the things I’d seen and done in my life didn’t matter cause I wasn’t carrying a slip of paper from a university.

  Know what you mean, I said. He has that way of looking at people.

  So now it was out. He knew we had him. I watched his face for changes, holding my breath. He didn’t blink, though. Just tapped his finger against the side of the cup and continued from where he left off.