Echoes of a Distant Summer (80 page)

“This is the second time you’ve asked about cigar smoke. No, I didn’t smell any cigars. But since you brought up last night, what was that foolishness with Tree? You could’ve been killed!”

“Honestly, I don’t know what came over me. I just got real angry and wanted to make him pay. I can’t explain it.”

Carlos leaned forward and stated firmly, “Don’t think that your month of working out with a knife makes you anything more than an amateur with a few moves. There are people out there who’ve been practitioners for years. Don’t let anger make you take chances that you don’t have to take.”

“I hear you,” Jackson conceded with a wave of his hand.

Carlos continued, “Another thing, and I know I’ve mentioned this before, but you need to hit San Vicente’s operation in Mexico. He has to know there’s a penalty for his actions. Just give me the okay and I’ll set it up. It would be wise to start gathering information now about his bases, in case Elizabeth gets taken across the border.”

“Whatever you need to do, do it! After I get Elizabeth back I’ll still need to deal with him and the DuMonts. The more information I’ll have, the better.”

Carlos nodded and returned to tasting some of the hot dishes. Jackson stared absentmindedly out the window and contented himself with watching the steady stream of pedestrians going back and forth between the street fair and Ghirardelli Square. He and Carlos were waiting for DiMarco’s to close for the night, but during the time that they had been watching the restaurant, they had noticed Paul DiMarco leave by the kitchen door several times to meet with some men whose cars were parked down the street from the restaurant. The men DiMarco spoke with never got out of their cars, nor did they leave when he had finished speaking with them.

“It looks like DiMarco is up to something,” Jackson surmised. “You think those are just his bodyguards?”

“Hard to tell,” Carlos replied, staring through a pair of binoculars. “We’ll just have to keep an eye on them.”

The crowds attending the street festival began to abate around ten-thirty in the evening. As they waited Jackson and Carlos conducted a rambling conversation.

Jackson was not aware of exactly when he stopped hearing Carlos and fell into the deep well of his thoughts. He had the vague impression that he was suspended in the dark far below his consciousness on a terribly thin hawser as angry images came boiling up beneath him and dominated his thoughts. His actions of the night before had not saved Elizabeth. It had been close, but she was still in the hands of his enemies. He didn’t even know if she was still alive. They had gone to both houses that Harold had identified. The first had been vacated and the second had been guarded by Dobermans. The dogs gave the alarm before they had gained entry to the house and a firefight had ensued. It had been a strange battle. Both sides used silenced weapons and bullets were whistling in every direction making more noise when they hit than when they were fired. It had been brief and intense, lasting less than five minutes. During that time Jackson’s team killed three dogs and one man. Deleon and the rest escaped.

Jackson and his team had little time to go through the house before the police arrived. It was a mad search for clues that might lead them to the next hiding place. In one of the bedrooms Tavio Lopez found some plane tickets with names on them, and one of the names was Francisco San Vicente, the Jaguar’s grandson. The dead man’s identification indicated that he was a resident of New Orleans. There was no clear evidence to indicate where Deleon and San Vicente might land next. As Jackson was driven from the scene, a disappointment had settled upon him like a cold fog off the Pacific. He could only hope that Elizabeth was still alive. Although he felt he had no right to ask God any favors, he prayed for Elizabeth’s survival, that he might hold her in his arms once again and know the soft caress of her skin.

When his thoughts were not inundated with images of Elizabeth, Jackson pondered his other sources of frustration and disappointment. It appeared that Braxton had gotten away clean. Although men were assigned to watch both his house and his office, there was no sign of him. Jackson could not even be sure he was still in the state.

Jackson had to wait for more information to be gathered, yet while
he was waiting he planned to take whatever action he could to destroy his enemies. With Braxton on the run and Tree dead, DiMarco was next in line. Jackson intended to take the three kilos of heroin that he had removed from Tree’s and stash it in DiMarco’s office and then he planned to start an electrical fire to burn just the dining area of his restaurant. If everything went correctly the drugs would be found by the authorities. As he reviewed his plans, he wondered what had become of the person who had thought his grandfather had been a cold-hearted brute. Even as he searched his soul, Jackson could not find remorse for the lives that he had taken. Was he really any different from his grandfather?

Jackson’s ruminations were interrupted after midnight when Carlos tapped his arm and said, “Looks like we got some action going on. That maître d’ you talked about is being followed by the men in those cars.”

Jackson looked out the window and saw Dominique making her way up Hyde Street. The festival was over, the crowds were gone, but there were still a few pedestrians. Dominique was coming toward the restaurant in which he and Carlos were sitting and it didn’t look like she was aware that she was being followed.

Looking through his binoculars, Carlos commented, “Those guys following her are carrying. I can see bulges under their jackets and it looks like they mean business.”

Jackson stood, buttoned his own jacket, and said, “Well, I’m going to throw a wrench into their plans.”

“Not a good idea,” Carlos advised. “Let them do their business and then we’ll do ours. No reason to put them on guard.”

“I’m not going to sit by and let them kill that woman.”

“You don’t know what they’re going to do,” Carlos challenged. “Why get into it? What’s she to you? Are you willing to jeopardize our plans to save her?”

“We can always burn that goddamn restaurant!” Jackson retorted. “If not tonight, some other night. From this point on, I don’t intend to let one of their plans come to fruition if I can stop it. I know you think this is foolishness, so I won’t ask you to join me. But I have to go.” Jackson turned and walked toward the exit, which had its own private staircase to the street. He was not operating purely out of enmity. He had mentioned to Pres that he had met Dominique and Pres had evinced a strong desire to see her again. He did not want to see the look on Pres’s
face if he had to tell him that he had done nothing to save her from harm. Jackson walked out the door and descended the metal fire escape into the darkness of a small alley. Keeping in the shadows, he was walking toward the thoroughfare when Dominique entered the alley coming in his direction. Jackson figured that she must be headed toward the parking lot where the employees of the surrounding businesses all parked. He stepped into the darkness of a recessed doorway.

Dominique was now walking fast, looking over her shoulder every few seconds. It was obvious that she knew she was being followed. She was a quarter of the way when two men followed by a large sedan without headlights turned down the alley. The men following Dominique broke into a run. Dominique started to run as well. She was going to run right past where Jackson was standing, but he grabbed her arm and jerked her into the doorway beside him. It was a sudden move that took her by surprise and it was only due to Jackson’s daily training with Carlos that he was able to knock her knife away from his throat.

“I’m on your side!” he hissed as they struggled briefly in the darkness of the doorway. “I’m Pres’s friend!”

Dominique stopped struggling once she recognized his face. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Keep your voice down! I’m after your buddies, and if I happen to save your ass while I’m at it, so much the better!”

“Well, you better have a gun because they’re coming!”

“No problem!” Jackson replied, pulling his pistol out with its silencer attached. He looked around the corner of the doorway and saw in the dimness that the two men had slowed down their approach. Jackson pointed his gun at the nearest man and fired two quick shots. One of his bullets hit the man in the shoulder and spun him around.

The man cried out, “I’m hit! The bitch has got a gun!” His companion sprayed the alley with bullets from his machine pistol. He too was using a silencer and the slugs that ricocheted down the length of the alley made more noise than his weapon.

Jackson waited for a pause in the zinging bullets; then, while the man was changing magazines, he fired back. The man with the machine pistol was wearing a light-colored shirt which stood out even in the darkness of the alley. Jackson aimed for his torso and kept firing until the man fell with a scream.

The headlights of the sedan suddenly turned on, flooding the alley
with bright light. The car screeched to a halt beside the injured men and its doors were flung open as they were helped inside. The car started forward, but a hail of bullets from above knocked out one of its lights, tore through the vehicle’s hood, and ricocheted off its bulletproof glass. The sedan jerked into reverse and backed out of the alley with a screech of tires.

From above and behind him, Jackson heard Carlos call, “You all right down there?”

“Yeah, we’re okay. Thanks for the backup. I’ll be up in a minute.”

Before he went back inside Carlos said, “Remember, we still have a job to do.”

Dominique looked up into Jackson’s face. “Who the hell are you?”

“Jackson Tremain, an enemy of the DiMarcos. Who the hell are you? And why are these clowns after you?”

“A family vendetta,” Dominique answered tiredly. “I’m a Volante. The Volantes and the Minettis have had problems for some time. This evening was planned by the Minettis.”

“A revenge hit before the election?”

“They expected it to be easy. Once I was down they would’ve taken my body somewhere else and dumped it.”

“You’re mighty calm about all this.”

Dominique raised her eyebrows quickly as a “so what?” expression flashed across her face. She said, “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.” She straightened her jacket and waved her hand in farewell. “Thanks for ‘saving my ass,’ as you say, but I’ve got to be going. I’ve got things to do.”

“Well, don’t worry about coming to work tomorrow.”

“I wasn’t planning on coming in, but why are you saying that?”

“I’m going to burn it down.”

“You’ve done me a favor, I’ll do you one: Don’t burn the whole place. Just burn the kitchen and leave the safe open; the arson investigator will have access to both sets of his books.”

“That’s good, but how do I get the safe open?”

“The combination is on the bottom of his blotter on his desk and the extra key is in the peppercorn jar in the spice cabinet by the fridge. Oh, and the burglar alarm code numbers are the same as the address.” Dominique looked both ways down the alley and stepped out of the doorway.

Jackson asked, “What do I tell Pres? He sure wanted to see you.”

Dominique pushed her long black hair out of her eyes and looked at Jackson. “Tell him it’s bad timing. If I’m still here when all this is over, I’d love to see him, but until then I don’t intend anyone to find me.”

“Why don’t you take the number of my answering service, just in case.” Jackson took out a piece of paper and jotted a number on it then handed it to her.

Dominique took the piece of paper reluctantly and asked, “In case of what?”

“In case you want to talk to him or you need help.”

“Why should I need help?”

“You needed it tonight!”

“Don’t fool yourself! They weren’t going to get me!” Dominique pulled a small-caliber pistol from her handbag. “I was just leading them to the darkest part of the alley.”

“Whatever you say,” Jackson said, stepping back. “Good luck.”

“Good luck to you. Or should I say, ‘Burn, baby, burn’?” Dominique turned and walked away into the darkness of the alley.

Jackson watched her until she disappeared in the shadows then made his way back upstairs to the private dining room. Strangely, he felt close to Dominique, as if she were a long-lost sibling. It seemed they were fathered by the same events. When she had mentioned the family vendetta, Jackson understood all that her statement implied. It was a small consolation to know that he wasn’t the only one twisted and turned on a lathe, and cut to a template that was made long before his birth.

Jackson was not a particularly religious person, yet he found himself again calling on the Lord as he entered the banquet room, praying that he would find Elizabeth unharmed and that he would vanquish all who stood against him. He had no concept of how much he had already changed.

T
he phone’s insistent, high-pitched ring was shrill in Paul DiMarco’s ears. As much as he wanted to, he could not ignore its sound. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked at the clock on his bedside table. It was three o’clock in the morning. Who the hell can this be? he wondered as he pushed himself to a sitting position. His irritation increased when he discovered that his wife had moved the phone back to her side of the bed. He thought briefly about clambering over her body, but he didn’t want to deal with her screaming. He got up and walked around the bed. Just as he got to the phone, his wife reached out and picked up the receiver.

“Hello?” she asked sleepily.

“Give me the phone, Camille!” Paul demanded.

She ignored him and asked into the receiver, “Who’s calling? Do you know what time it is? Didn’t your mother raise you better?”

“Give me the goddamned phone!”

Camille did not hand him the phone and she evinced no fear when she turned to him and demanded, “How come you got people calling you in the middle of the night? You were supposed to give everything up!”

Paul snatched the phone out of her hands, then pointed his finger menacingly at her as he spoke into the phone, “This is DiMarco, who the hell is this?… Okay, it’s you, Mickey. Why you got to call at this hour in the morning?”