Echoes of a Distant Summer (21 page)

Deleon was not pleased by San Vicente’s actions. The man had already been mortally injured and was not likely to regain consciousness. He knew that San Vicente was sending him a message. Deleon chose not to show any reaction. He returned San Vicente’s smile and got into Wesley’s car.

T
he day following his altercation with Bedrosian, Jackson completed a hard workout at the dojo and joined his friends at Justin’s. It was slightly after seven, so the press of the happy hour crowd had thinned. Jackson saw his friends seated around a table in the back. They were loudly discussing his exploits of the day before. Both Dan and Lincoln worked for the city as well, and the news had made it through the grapevine. As he neared his friends, Dan jumped up. “All hail the Gladiator from Crete!”

“Why Crete?” Jackson asked as he sat down. “Why not Africa, Songhai? Mali? Carthage?”

Dan paused, searching for the answer. “I know Greek mythology better than African. It was the king of Crete who had the Minotaur in his labyrinth, wasn’t it?”

“A labyrinth where young maidens were sacrificed,” Lincoln confirmed with a nod of his head.

“That’s it,” Dan agreed. “And the Minotaur was half man and half bull, right?”

“What the hell you guys talking about?” Jackson asked while trying to get the waitress’s attention.

“It’s Greek to me,” Pres said with a shrug, taking a long sip from his drink.

“I’m throwing pearls before swine,” Dan complained to no one in particular.

“We know what you’re doing,” Pres interjected. “Tell us what happened at the office, Jax?”

The group quieted and let Jackson tell the events firsthand. When he finished they began to clamor for explanations.

“Why did you choose this time to stand up to Bedrosian?” Pres asked.

Before Jackson could answer, Dan jumped to his feet, his big body swaying above them, and said in a booming voice, “Service! Service! I wish to buy a round of drinks in honor of my wild and madcap brother!”

“Oh, yes,” Lincoln rejoined in his most cynical tone, “let us drink to our friend, fourteen years before the mast and now he has struck an officer. Let us drink to the grimness of his fate!”

“Lincoln’s right,” Pres agreed before sipping his drink. “Jackson’s going to have to get his résumé out. There’s no way he can stay at the City now.” His friends all knew how much Jackson wanted to be a city manager and that his recent actions would only serve to hinder his chances. Pres continued his thought, “But that doesn’t necessarily have to be a negative proposition. He wasn’t happy working for Bedrosian. This forces him to give all his options a serious look.”

“Is that a euphemism for the want ads?” Lincoln asked.

Pres waved him off. “Seriously, this might be just the change that Jackson needs. He knew this was coming. He told me about it last Wednesday.”

“He knew he would bend back Bedrosian’s finger?” Lincoln challenged.

“No, he said there was a rip in the social fabric someplace, and life for him was about to change.”

The waitress took this moment to make her entrance and it was like a circus coming to a small town: There were colors and points of interest everywhere. She was a big brown-skinned woman, beginning to fill out in the middle, but it was obvious that she had once been a showstopper. She wore a short orange leather skirt over an iridescent yellow bodysuit. Her makeup and her hair were heavy with application. Everything she wore clashed with the bar’s gray, black, and pink interior. But the look she gave Dan was the pièce de résistance. It said,
Come on, asshole. I’ve met so many assholes like you that one more will not make a difference
.

“May I have your order, please?” she asked in a professional tone.

Dan took one look at her expression and her outfit and said in his most conciliatory manner, “Dear Handmaiden of Zeus, we’ll have one more round.”

After she left the table with the orders, Pres looked at Dan and questioned, “Handmaiden of Zeus? You’re a very sick puppy.”

“She’s a goddess or a demon,” Dan explained. “Her makeup looked like it was done by Picasso while he was on a binge. The only thing that saves her is she’s got a helluva butt and a nice long pair of legs.”

“That statement was backward and sexist and you know better than that,” Pres said, shaking his head.

“Give me a break from this fascism of the politically correct,” Dan answered. “If I can’t be me with my friends and say what I want, then what the hell use are they?”

Lincoln asked Jackson, “Where’s Wesley? He said he would be coming with you from the dojo.”

Jackson shrugged. “I didn’t see him. He’s probably chasing after some nubile maiden.”

“A man after my own heart,” Dan declared. “He appreciates the value of long legs and a fine behind!” He gave Pres a leer.

Pres ignored Dan and asked Jackson, “I want you to answer my question. Why did you decide to stand up to Bedrosian now?” He noticed that Jackson was not listening to him but instead was looking over his shoulder at some object behind him. Pres turned to see what caused Jackson to be so distracted. He saw a tall dark-skinned woman wearing a stylishly cut suit heading for the rest rooms.

Jackson spoke in low tones, “I met this woman briefly at Rhasan’s graduation. As they say in the Old Country, she is a stone fox! She’s simply beautiful!” His gaze followed her as she walked away from the bar. When she had first risen from her barstool, their eyes had met and held for a long instant. The connection was broken when he smiled. She continued on her way. Something in that brief shared look stirred Jackson; a sense of ease and familiarity, an understanding of the unspoken. In that moment he thought he saw beyond her eyes, into her intention. He stood up and stepped back from the table.

Observing him, Lincoln said, “Periscope up. Target sighted. Load forward tubes.”

Dan added, “The quarry may be too elusive. He may have to call in the fleet for assistance.”

Jackson leaned over and said quietly, “Would you people be cool? I would really like to talk to this woman.”

“Why are you whispering?” Dan boomed.

“Please, brothers, be cool,” Jackson urged.

“At least we’ve moved from ‘you people’ to ‘brothers,’ ” Pres acknowledged.

Dan said with a big smile, “Bring her over. I’m sure we’d all like to meet her.”

Jackson laughed but did not attempt to respond. He simply headed to a spot where he could intercept her upon her return. He waited several minutes at the doorway of the hall leading out of the ladies’ room, trying to think of something imaginative to say. But when she exited the rest room all that he could muster was “Hello, Elizabeth, do you remember me?”

“How could I forget? You’re the Big Brother of the year,” she said in her husky contralto. Her big eyes took him in slowly. There was a trace of a smile on her lips.

Jackson felt giddy for a moment as he wondered whether she was being sarcastic. He asked, “Are you accessible to polite approaches? When we met you indicated that it would be all right if I called you. Has something changed?”

She put a hand on her hip and surveyed him coolly. “Only the circumstances. I am with a few friends. Another time would be more appropriate.”

Jackson retreated back a step and replied, “Whatever you say. I hope to talk with you when it is appropriate.” He bowed his head briefly. “Pardon me for bothering you.”

“My, that was formal,” Elizabeth observed, then an impish smile spread across her face. “Are you thin-skinned?”

Jackson replied, “Not really, but in parting, I’d like to reconfirm that I’m very interested in seeing you when it’s appropriate. Have a good evening.” With those words he turned and walked back to the table with a calm demeanor, but his heart was thumping loudly in his chest.

His friends greeted him with a few derisive comments concerning his lack of commitment to them, his inability to establish sound relationships with women in general, and whatever else they could think to say.

Jackson took the hazing in stride. These were his best friends, his inner
circle. The years had proven that there was a strong love bond between the men. Theirs was a tight circle formed when the men were still boys, when trust was a simple concept, when sharing meant “everything that was in your pockets.” They called themselves the Alamo Square Rangers because they all lived around Alamo Square Park. Five boys, including Wesley, from diverse cultural backgrounds, who retained their bonds of brotherhood for over a quarter of a century. It was a relationship that grew and stretched and changed as its members grew and were metamorphosed by time, but the bonds that connected them never weakened. It was Jackson’s real family. The brothers that he never had. The folks that would always be on his side. Thus, there was no rancor for the ribbing he was taking. When one is being teased out of love, it is easy to abide.

The conversation turned to why people suddenly decide, after years of acquiescing, to stand up for their rights.

Lincoln said, “I think it’s indignation, but it’s an indignation fed by a high level of social anger and unhappiness. Patience gets used up, stubbornness sets in. It’s like adding more sugar to water that is already saturated with it. When you reach a critical mass, everything crystallizes.”

“You’re off base. All people yearn to be free!” Dan countered. “It’s intrinsic to human nature. Liberty, equality, brotherhood, these concepts are the basis of every holy book. Indignation is just a passing emotion. The desire for freedom is a constant.”

Pres turned to Jackson and asked with a smile, “Was it as simple as indignation, or was it your innate desire for freedom that stirred you to rise up?”

Jackson was in another world. He had been basking like an alligator underneath the warm, bantering conversation of his friends, intermittently rising to the surface to voice his opinion on the issues under discussion, but otherwise sipping his drink and lying submerged in meditative thought. A couple times during the discussion he had caught Elizabeth staring at him, but she averted her eyes. When Pres asked his question Jackson was once again exchanging looks with Elizabeth. This time she did not look away but held his eye for more than ten seconds. It was incomprehensible, yet energy seemed to be ricocheting between them. Jackson did not know whether it was good or bad. He was drawn to her like an iron filing to a magnet or a lemming to the sea; he didn’t know which, nor did he care.

“Earth to Jackson! Earth to Jackson!” Pres prodded, trying to get Jackson’s attention.

Regretfully breaking eye contact, Jackson turned toward Pres and said sarcastically, “Yes, my celestial fundament, how can I help you pursue the greater truth?”

Pres hesitated for a second then asked, “What does
fundament
mean?”

“It means ass or anus,” Dan volunteered.

“That’s a shame,” Lincoln chimed in. “It doesn’t appear that our Third World brother knows his fundament from a hole in the ground.” Everyone laughed.

Repressing his desire to join in the laughter of the others, Pres declared, “You fools are lucky that I know you need me. Otherwise, I’d have hit the trail long ago. I get all the abuse I need from the station where I work.”

The rest of Pres’s words were lost on Jackson; he had made eye contact again. Elizabeth was looking at him while idly sipping her drink. He was attracted by the smooth, dark, bittersweet-chocolate color of her skin, the dimples at the corners of her mouth, the large, dark eyes with the mischievous gleam. She lifted one hand and beckoned him with a finger. Initially, he was hesitant, but he decided to make another effort to talk to her. He stood up. The comments began again but Jackson ignored them and made his way over to Elizabeth and her friends. She was sitting with two other women. Her friends were engrossed in an intense conversation while she was left to her own devices. She watched him without a change of expression. When he arrived he said, “May I buy you and your friends a drink?”

Elizabeth said nothing, merely looked him up and down approvingly. She held up her glass. “Chilled Stoli with two olives, no ice.”

“A friend of mine drinks that,” Jackson said and caught the eye of the waitress and waved her over. One of Elizabeth’s friends turned and faced Jackson. There was a trail of tears down her brown face. Her eyes were still red and angry from crying. Jackson nodded to her out of politeness.

She demanded angrily, “What are you looking at? Why are you over here bothering us? Can’t you see that we want to be left alone?”

Surprised, Jackson mumbled, “Sorry to disturb you. I was just buying Elizabeth a drink. No harm meant.”

“Leave now!” the woman ordered in a loud voice. “You’re so damn arrogant.
You think women want to meet you? Well, they don’t! We just want to have a drink in peace!” At this point the woman broke down in tears and turned away.

The waitress came up and asked bluntly, “You bothering these ladies?”

Jackson denied responsibility. “No, ma’am, it was all a misunderstanding. I’m returning to my table now, but I’d be happy to buy all these ladies a round of drinks should they desire it.” As he gave Elizabeth one long last look he saw her make a discreet calming gesture to him with one of her hands. He nodded in acknowledgment and returned to his table.

This time there were no teasing remarks. The woman’s outburst had been overheard and his friends understood Jackson’s disappointment. Lincoln put a brotherly hand on his shoulder as he sat down.

Dan raised his glass and made a toast: “To our brother, who yesterday stood up for freedom.” Then the conversation began anew and centered once again on why Jackson had chosen to confront Bedrosian. Pres pressed the subject. It was almost anticlimactic that after being placed in the spotlight, Jackson had no explanation. All he could think of was his grandfather and how the old man had always spoken his mind without concern for the consequences. He related his thoughts to his friends and Dan reacted immediately.

“The spirit of your grandfather must be speaking to you or through you,” he said emphatically, as if no other possibility existed.

“That’s an interesting thought,” Pres mused. “Do you really believe his grandfather has the ability to project his intentions?”