Silent Joe

by T. Jefferson Parker

  Interesting. I hadn't considered it. "Why not?"

  "I don't know, Joe, I'm speculating."

  If the life of an eleven-year-old child wasn't at stake, I'd admit that Will would have used just about anything to make things hard for Jack Blazak. He would have delighted in it. Because Jack Blazak was everything Will loathed.

  Blazak was an immensely wealthy man, and his influence in the county was large. He'd put two politicians into the California Assembly recently, mostly with soft PAC contributions made through the Grove Club Research & Action Committee. Likewise, he backed both the north and south Orange County U.S. Congressional Representatives. He sat on the board of eleven companies, all of which rank in the Fortune 500. Estimated personal worth, something like $12 billion. He was four years younger than Will--- fifty.

  "What about the airport, Joe? Will would have . . . gone to some lengths to throw a monkey wrench into that."

  The new airport was Jack Blazak's signature project. In the last year he'd spent hundreds of thousands of his own dollars, trying to convince voters to build a new international airport on the abandoned marine base at El Toro.

  Although the airport we have now is new by airport standards, and one of the best organized and easiest to use in the whole country, Blazak and his business allies were contending that it was already too small, too outdated and too dangerous. He and his business allies also stood to make profane amounts of money by building it and—through their friends government—running it. Blazak and his friends called themselves the Citizens' Committee for Airport Safety. Their bureaucratic dance partner was of course, the Orange County Transportation Authority, led by Carl Rupaski.

  To answer the question of cost, Blazak was proposing that the county spend eight hundred million dollars of its Federal tobacco settlement money to build that airport. The tobacco money was supposed to be spent on public health facilities and services, although technically each county free to spend it however it wants.

  The pro-airport people said Blazak's plan was a stroke of genius and had spent five million dollars to convince the voters of it. The anti-airport crowd said it was illegal and immoral, and spent two million to convince them otherwise.

  It was a hot topic, gallons of ink and miles of videotape devoted to it. Easily, the most divisive issue in county history. A special election was set for November, and a huge voter turnout was already predicted.

  And Will had been fighting that airport, tooth and nail, ever since Blazak had proposed it.

  Yes, Will despised Blazak's greed, but I couldn't fit Savannah into it. Will wouldn't play with an eleven-year-old. He wasn't that kind of man.

  What she said next surprised me.

  "I'm so angry at him, Joe. For his scheming and his conniving and his philandering. I know you were privy to all that. I know I was supposed to be in the dark about it. Somehow, I think that's what got him killed. All that night business he did. All the intrigue he just couldn't live without."

  I felt my face warming with shame.

  "It's okay, Joe. I'm not blaming you in any way. Please believe that."

  I couldn't speak. Even then I couldn't admit my father's secrets to her, even though she must have known many of them, even though my face betrayed my knowledge.

  "You were his son for that," she said, matter-of-factly. "Junior got prosperity. Glenn got happiness. You got the truth."

  I looked down, eyes stinging. Lowered my hat brim a little to cut the glare and keep Mom from seeing my face.

  "And then, Joe, I hate myself for being angry at him. I think of what happened and I can't believe I could add anger to all that pain and loss. But I am."

  "I feel some of that too, Mom."

  She looked at me a long time. "I'll bet you feel more anger at yourself, and at those men. And I'll bet you torment yourself over how it happened, how you could have avoided it."

  "Yes."

  "Oh, my sweet, silent Joe."

  Silent. Mom's term of endearment.

  "Stop," I said.

  "You want vengeance, don't you?"

  "Very much."

  "Now, see . . . I'm angry at Will again, for putting you through this."

  "No. Dad didn't kill Dad. We have to keep things straight. If we don't, we'll do something stupid and make it all worse."

  "I know. I know."

  I felt the warm June breeze on my face, thick with the salt air of the ocean. I was aware of each second going by. They weren't happy seconds, but I wanted them anyway.

  "Joe, you know what I do sometimes, late at night? I can't sleep so I get up and drive. Just drive, anywhere. Like Will used to do. Not many people are out and about then. Makes me feel like I'm getting a head start. Though a head start on what I couldn't say."

  "I told you you'd enjoy it."

  "You were right."

  At the grave we stood and looked at the fresh rectangle of sod now covering the earth. On top of the rise, a crew with a Bobcat dug a new hole. The groan of the engine said that life and death go on. You could see Catalina Island far out in the west, peeking through the haze. Gulls wheeled a squealed over the manicured green lawn.

  The tombstone said simply:

  WILL TRONA

  1947-2001

  LOVING HUSBAND AND FATHER

  SERVANT OF THE PEOPLE

  I felt close to my mother, standing there and looking at the grave. I was sharply aware of how alone we were, of how far away Will, Jr. and Glenn had gone pursuing their lives. As a mother, Mary Ann had always championed independence and self-reliance. She was always willing to trust me, give me responsibilities and freedoms. She was an inward person, slow to reveal her feelings. Impeccable manners. But I wondered now if her elegant stoicism was more of a burden than a help.

  I took Mary Ann's hand. "Mom? Will told me you were blue that night. Blue again, he said. Is there anything I should know about that?"

  She looked down at the grave and shook her head. Then she sighed and looked back up at me. "Let's talk about it in the car."

  Half an hour later we were winding down from the cemetery hills, man in black waved to us at the gate.

  "He was seeing someone. At the funeral I realized it was that pretty Mexican woman from Jaime's office. Not the first time he'd done that kind of thing. But you knew for years, didn't you?"

  I was aware of four different "affairs" during the five years I was his driver, bodyguard, confidant, gopher, lackey and beard. Two were over within a month. Two went on longer. I suspected others.

  "Yes."

  "Did you ever look at me and think, Mom's just a big dumb blonde, too dumb to know when her own husband's unfaithful to her?"

  "I thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world. I never understood why he'd spend time with anyone else. At first I thought you couldn't know. Then I knew you did."

  "How?"

  "The night you cried alone in your room. I'd seen a movie or read a book where the woman gets cheated on, cries alone in her room. It became clear to me. I think I was fourteen."

  She laughed softly. "Well, that could have been any one of a number of cries."

  I looked over at her. She smiled and I saw a tear roll out from under the rim of her glasses. Her voice was light and fragile, like it would break in a breeze. "I loved that man so much. But I hated him sometimes, too. It's my biggest regret, Joe, the biggest one I've ever had, that Will died with me hating him."

  She put her hand on my arm and squeezed hard.

  I went straight to jail. Didn't pass Go. I shot the breeze with Giant Mike Staich for a few minutes, hoping to get Sammy's attention. It worked. He called me over and waved me up closer to the bars. I got a little closer.

  "Sands worked out," I said.

  "Good-looking woman."

  "Alex isn't calling in much."

  "Maybe she's lonely. You can get a date with her."

  "I wouldn't do that."

  Sammy seemed to think about this. "They almost got Alex, twice."

  "He
's lucky."

  "He's paranoid, too. It helps." Giant Mike piped up: "It's 'cause the Feds are so dumb."

  "Speaking of lonely, how's Bernadette?"

  He eyed me with sudden distrust. "She's fine. Why wouldn't she fine?"

  "You brought up the lonely idea, not me."

  Giant Mike: "She's lonely, Sammy. They all get lonely sooner or later. The prettier they are, the sooner."

  "Shut up, Mike. You're annoying me again."

  Sammy put both hands on the bars. The orange jail jumpsuit was little big on him. He looked like an infant standing up in his crib. "You want a date with Bernadette?"

  "No. I was thinking I could look in on her, if you wanted. Just make sure she was doing okay."

  Sammy stared at me, confusion spreading across his face. "Why would you do that?"

  "You helped me. I'll help you."

  "I asked you for the good rat trap."

  "I can't give you a good rat trap. Custodian’s going to set some bait in the heater ducts."

  Giant Mike Staich again: "The rats'll die and stink."

  "The rat's in my cell, not the heater ducts," said Sammy.

  "It's using the ducts to get in and out."

  "If I had my own spring trap I could catch him."

  "There's no way I can get you a spring trap. They're not permitted. You could sharpen up the parts, make a shank."

  Sammy pouted.

  "I made my own rat trap once," said Staich. "When I was in second grade."

  Sammy rolled his eyes. "Age, what—sixteen?"

  "I'd pinch your gook head if I had a chance."

  "Thank God for Mod J. But it's amazing what I put up with around here. Rats and stupid people."

  Giant Mike: "Hang yourself up, man."

  "Mike, I have no shoelaces, no belt, and a camera watching everything I do."

  Mike: "Swallow your tongue."

  "The gag reflex prevents suicide. Shut up, Mike. Please. I can't even think when you talk. The IQ of the module drops when you open your mouth."

  Mike: "Don't take a genius to know she's lonely. She's lonely."

  Sammy watched me, pushed off from the bars and sat on his cot. He looked up at her picture.

  "Well, you won't be here much longer, Sammy. You're going to trial soon, then you either walk or get a ticket to prison."

  He shook his head. "I'll walk. I'm innocent. And I believe in America, I believe in this system."

  "Good luck, then, Sammy."

  He looked up again at his picture of Bernadette. He jumped off the cot and came to the bars again, waving me toward him. I stepped up close, but didn't take my eyes off him.

  "Try Bamboo 33. Just see if she's there. See if anybody's giving her trouble."

  I nodded.

  Giant Mike Staich: "She's lonely, Sammy. They all get lonely."

  The word lonely stuck in my head and I thought of Ray Flatley of the Gang Interdiction Unit. I went over to the HQ building and dropped in on him, just to say hello. He had a picture on his wall, of him fishing. In the picture he stood far out in the river, and he had a long rod in the air, bent behind him like a huge whip. I asked him about it and he said the river was the Green, in Utah. He'd been fly fishing it for years.

  He looked at the picture. "There's something about standing in a river. Things go through you. Things come out and drift away. Things come in. I don't know. It's hard to explain. It's not for everybody, The fish don't matter as much as theriver."

  "I think I'd enjoy that," I said. We sat and talked a minute about the jail, the weather, the Angels. When we ran out of things to say, which didn't take long, I left.

  I liked Ray. He reminded me of myself turned inside out. I'm not sure why I thought that talking to a fourth-year Sheriff Deputy-One would any way cheer Ray or improve his life. It probably didn't. But it's human nature, I guess, to believe you can cheer a guy up just by going to see him

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Jennifer Avila agreed to meet me at the HACF center that evening. I drove through the barrio, always abuzz, even more animated now with the longer days and the summer heat. Walking across the HACF parking lot I could smell grilling food mixed with the narcotic scent of a trumpet vine that hung over a near fence. Barbecue smoke rose from behind the big pale blossoms. Music. Voices. Laughter.

  Jennifer met me at the back door and came out. She locked up and started around the building, boots crunching on the gravel.

  "Can we walk?"

  "I'd be happy to."

  "Oh—I didn't even say hello, did I? Hello, Joe."

  "Hello, Ms. Avila."

  It was hard for me to look at her. Black hair and deep brown eyes and smooth skin and the dark lipstick she'd worn before her thing with my father. A modest yellow summer dress that couldn't begin to hide her wonderful shape. It was the first time I'd seen her arms.

  The tips of my fingers tingled. I felt ashamed of my attraction, ashamed to betray my mother and father, even secretly. And angry with Jennifer too. For what she'd done with Will, and to Mary Ann.

  Jennifer had The Unknown Thing. Will had seen it and I did, too.We walked up the busy street in the shade of awnings and magnolia

  "What do you want, Joe?"

  "I want to know how Will found Savannah Blazak."

  "With help from us."

  "Can you be more specific?"

  "Alex Blazak did some business with the Raitt Street Boys and Lino 18th. We know people who used to be down for those gangs. So we just put the word out."

  "What did you come up with?"

  "A warehouse in Costa Mesa. A nightclub in Little Saigon—Bamboo 33. Some hotels. We told Will about them."

  "Which one paid off?"

  "The Ritz-Carlton. Will knew the GM. The GM told the bartenders keep an eye out for Alex. Alex and Savannah ate there late one night and the bartender called him."

  "What night?"

  "I don't know. Early in the week."

  "I've seen the warehouse. And I think they were both there—Alex and Savannah."

  She said nothing.

  "Did you know what was in the tennis bag?"

  She nodded. "It was ransom. One million dollars in cash."

  "Why didn't Daniel give it directly to Will?"

  "Warren had it. Jack wanted it left in neutral territory, like an escrow account. Daniel vouched for Jaime, so they brought it here, until the last minute."

  I thought about Jaime being the holder of one million dollars that HACF could use. He was all but asking for some of it that night.

  "Did Jaime know about the Lind Street apartment?"

  She looked at me quickly. "I don't know."

  "Did you?"

  Again, just a flash of her dark eyes. She picked up her pace, like she could outwalk the question. "Why would I know?"

  "Because lovers tell each other things."

  "Stay out of my business."

  "I can't."

  "Look, I knew Will was making arrangements between Alex and the parents. He told me. I knew an apartment in Anaheim was some kind of pickup or drop-off. I didn't know more than that."

  "How about the address?"

  She shook her head.

  Get Pearlita.

  We crossed at a busy intersection, then headed back toward the HACF. We got a lot of stares—a beautiful woman in a yellow dress, and a scar under a hat.

  "Did you know when he'd be at Lind Street?"

  "Approximately. Why?"

  "I need to know who knew where Will would be, and when."

  She was nodding along but staring straight ahead. She seemed to be concentrating, trying to process the information while she walked.

  Then she glanced quickly at me. "Yes. Okay. I knew where. I didn't know when."

  "Why did you call Pearlita?"

  She stopped and stared up at me, right into my eyes. "You're a professional listener, aren't you?"

  "I hear and remember things."

  "God."

  She turned away, shaking her head, m
aking time down the sidewalk now. I listened to the rhythm of her shoes on the cement. You can hear emotions in footsteps. Disgust. Anger. Shame.

  We walked past a joyeria and the discoteca blaring music onto the street.

  "She's an old friend. She came up with the Ritz and the Ritz came up with Savannah, so she thought Will owed her a favor. I called her when you got to Jaime's."

  . . . Okay, okay. Yeah, right now.

  "But she didn't show."

  "Some things came up, she said."

  "What things?"

  "She didn't say."

  "Why did she want to meet him?"

  "Luz . . . Pearlita wanted to talk about her brother. Her brother is Felix Escobar."

  And then it made sense to me. Will's good friend, DA Philip Dent, was arguing the penalty phase of Felix Escobar's double-murder trial. Escobar was a Mexican mafia soldier who'd shotgunned two men at close range during a convenience-store holdup. Dent had gotten the conviction just two weeks ago, from a jury that deliberated forty-five minutes. He was trying for a death sentence.

  "Pearlita wanted to plead his case to Will," I said, "hoping Will could talk to Dent."

  "She wanted leniency for him."

  "Felix didn't show much leniency."

  She stopped in front of a cafe window and turned to me. "Go away Joe. You're ignorant and dangerous."

  "Just leave you right here on the street?"

  "Get away from me."

  My ears got hot. A car went down Fourth Street with music so loud rattled the window glass. I looked down at the rage in Jennifer Avila's beautiful face. I waited for the loud car to go by.

  "Miss Avila, Pearlita knew some of the when. She knew that he was the HACF office because you called her when we got there. And later that night she knew that Will was on his way because she called him. Maybe she shared that information. Did you tell her about the money, the arrangement? The where?"

  "I don't remember every word I said. I help friends."

  "Did you give Pearlita Will's number?"

  "Maybe. I don't remember. What's a phone number? Anyone can get anyone else's."

  "You must have known how dangerous that could be, with everything that was going on."

  "I help friends."

  "Maybe they took your help and burned Will with it."