Iron River

by Daniel Acosta

  “Dad. Wait till you hear what Cruz told me at school!”

  Dad shut off the Chevy’s motor. Mom got out of her side of the car. Dad told me to get in. He pulled out a Camel and pushed in the Chevy’s cigarette lighter. He gave me a long look. When the lighter popped out, he lit his cigarette and took a big drag.

  “Is it about the Turk?” he asked.

  I bounced in the seat. “Yeah! Cruz told me he’s in jail and headed for prison for killing Lawrence.” I was expecting Dad to be excited but he took another puff of his cigarette. “What did Cruz mean when he said the Turk copped…” I couldn’t remember what Cruz said.

  He blew smoke out his nose. “Copped a plea? Cruz is right. I got a call at work from Mr. Fullmer last week. I didn’t want to tell you until Turkness was behind bars, and you were safe. Fullmer told me Turkness’ lawyer made a deal with the D.A. He agreed to admit to killing Lawrence and go to prison, but for less than if he was found guilty at trial. They agreed to a couple of years and probation.”

  Right away I got mad. They put people in the gas chamber for murder, but the Turk would be out of prison in no time for killing Lawrence! But Dad wasn’t done.

  “You can’t tell anybody what I’m going to tell you, me entiendes? For your own protection.” He sucked in and blew out another puff of smoke. “Fullmer checked on some of the things you said at the grand jury. He had the sheriffs look for the bolt cutters, and they found them in Turkness’ garage. They matched them to the chain from the train station. And they matched fingerprints they found on the cutters and at the station. Your testimony sealed the deal, so the Turk took a plea.”

  Dad stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. A finger of smoke climbed up the dashboard. He turned to me and put his arm over the back of the seat like he does when Mom’s in a good mood and sits right next to him.

  “Mr. Fullmer called me again today at work. He said Turkness was killed yesterday.” I heard every word Dad said, but it’s like I couldn’t understand until he said it again. “He was in a county jail holding cell waiting to be moved to Chino Prison. Some inmates got to him. Turkness is dead, Manny.”

  My head was spinning. I wanted the Turk to pay, but I didn’t think he’d die like that. I was tired of people dying. All I wanted was for him to get punished and leave us alone. But I didn’t want him dead.

  “Turkness made a lot of enemies, son—a whole lot of enemies. I guess it all came back to roost for him.” I thought about Mundo’s pigeons coming back to their coop. “Mr. Fuller told me something else. After you talked to the grand jury, he called me at work and asked me if I knew the date you boys found the hobo on the tracks. He wanted proof to show the grand jury you were telling the truth about everything. I told him it was around the last week of June.”

  It seemed like it was years ago we killed the hobo, and at the same time it felt like yesterday. “He had the county coroner’s check their records. They told Fullmer that a man had been stabbed. That he was all torn up from the fall off the train, but that the knife was still in him when the c-wagon picked him up. A home-made knife hobos call a “shank.” They carry ‘em for protection.

  “You didn’t kill the hobo. Somebody on that train did.”

  31

  I ate my supper without words or taste like before, only for different reasons. And after dinner I went out by myself to the front porch. Cerberus was barking just to hear his own voice. The horn of a freight train on a west current told me it would be by soon. The night was clear and cold, but I didn’t care. I stood at the little porch wall and looked way past the rightaway and the tracks and the warehouses to where the San Gabriel mountains slept like a happy black dog.

  School would happen again tomorrow, and at lunchtime Cruz would tell the whole world the latest about the Turk and act like he was the first to know. But I didn’t care. He could say whatever story he wanted to make up because I knew the truth. And soon Danny and Marco and Little would. If they were like me, they’d be happy we weren’t going to prison but sorry how the hobo died. And they’d be glad nobody would ever again have to worry about the Turk but sad he died like he did.

  It was too dark to see the broken heart, but I knew it was there on the mountain right under the twinkling lights of the TV towers. Rudy was gone and Beans and Lawrence and the hobo and now the Turk. I never wanted any of them to die.

  I knew that even though I didn’t want to pray for him, when Grandma found out about the Turk she would tell me we should say a rosary for him so that God would have mercy on him for all the bad things he did to people.

  And I knew she would be right.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Linda, Emile, Bianca, Ivan, and Dante Acosta for your love, support and confidence. Thanks to Vikki Estrada Ng for your encouragement and counsel in the early development of Iron River. A special thank you to Rev. Ralph Berg, CMF, who launched me on my writing journey with treasured words of encouragement. Mil grácias to my collaborators at Cinco Puntos Press, especially my editor, Lee Byrd, who whipped my story into shape. Thank you to my boyhood partners-in-crime Robert Barrozo, Manuel Gonzalez, and Johnny Quiroz. RIP Manuel and Johnny.

  To la gente de Sangra, I offer my great gratitude and love. Finally, if you enjoyed this story, join me in giving all praise, glory and thanks to Almighty God who allowed me to participate in this small way in his creative Spirit.

  www.ironrivernovel.com

  ROBERT JIMENEZ PHOTOGRAPHY

  Daniel Acosta was born in Monterey Park, California and spent his childhood in San Gabriel, California, across the street from the Southern Pacific Railroad tracks. He attended Catholic seminary for four years and, afterwards, California State University, Los Angeles. Following college, Daniel was drafted into the U.S. Army during the Vietnam War. He was discharged in 1972 and returned to CSULA to earn his teaching credential and his master’s degree. He taught English and creative writing at Mark Keppel High School in Alhambra, California and is a former member of the L.A. Barrio Writer’s Workshop. Daniel is the father of four. He and his wife Linda live in Rosemead, California. Iron River is his first novel.