“Hey, big bro, you’re gettin’ kinda chummy with Candace these days.” She punched Chris in the shoulder.
Chris and Sarah hated Candace when they first met her. Sarah softened up to her while Chris was hanging on to his life after the terrorist attack in Canada. Chris came around more slowly.
“Yeah, she isn’t so bad, once you get to know her.” Chris threw a wink over his shoulder.
“So bad as what?” Candace asked, flicking the back of Chris’s head.
“Well, you know, she wasn’t a bad study buddy in law school.” Chris checked in the rear-view mirror. “I gotta say though, she always has my back at the office and she intercedes with Dad for me . . .” Chris’s voice trailed off. He took a deep breath. “I mean, she always used to intercede with Dad.”
****
The limo pulled up to the front of the First Presbyterian Church on Eighth Avenue and dropped off Chris, Sarah and Candace. Chris was always awed at the tall, imposing structure. Built of white marble, it had a magnificent view of the city, Puget Sound and the Olympic Mountains beyond.
Locked arm-in-arm, the three climbed the broad stairs to the building. A tall, square concrete tower stood in the plaza in front of the edifice. Chris looked up at the structure and wondered how many times his family had gathered there.
Not that much really, Christmas for sure, maybe Easter. Not more than four or five times a year. Chris wasn’t a believer, but somehow he felt the community, the sense of home.
“How’re you doin’, Hermano?” Ted approached Chris with his hand extended.
“As well as can be expected.” He took Ted’s hand and Ted pulled him into a bro-hug.
“Candace, you look as beautiful as always.” Ted reached for her shoulders and pulled her into a long hug.
“Hermanita,” Ted said as the turned to Sarah. “I haven’t seen you in a couple of years.” He held her shoulders at arm’s length. “You just keep getting prettier and prettier.” Then he pulled her into a hug.
Maria and Ted’s sister, Hope, exchanged hugs and condolences. Hope clung so tight to Chris’s arm he was afraid she’d leave bruises.
“I guess we should go in,” Chris said. He turned and led the group to the tall, oak doors. His gaze immediately went to the ceiling. The inside of the building was, like the Gothic cathedrals, designed to draw the eyes up, towards heaven. The hugely-high white ceiling was peaked, with white wooden beams exposed and narrow stained-glass windows high up on the walls to let in God’s light.
“Chris, Candace, Sarah, you’re right up front.” The pastor met them at the door and led them to the front row.
Chris’s heart sank when he saw the elaborate mahogany coffin trimmed with brass on the red velvet draped altar. He tried not to look, but it was impossible not to stare at his father’s frozen face.
Bouquets of flowers and wreaths overwhelmed the altar. Behind the coffin were large posters of Harry in his Husky football uniform and his partner picture from the firm.
Candace bent her head and quietly sobbed. Sarah sat frozen in her spot.
People filed in by the hundreds. With the pastor’s urging, Chris and the family got up and stood to the side of the coffin so that the guests could express their condolences as they walked by.
“Your dad was a great man,” a tall, silver-haired man said as he took Chris’s hand. “I don’t know how we’ll get by without him.”
“Thanks Mr. Bernstein . . . ah . . . I mean, Harvey.” Chris had a hard time calling the partners, whom he had grown up with, by their first names.
“It’s going to be okay, Chris. We’ll work it all out next week at the office.” Bernstein placed his hand on Chris’s shoulder then moved on to hug Candace and Sarah.
It seemed interminable. Hundreds of people walked down the aisle to shake hands, hug and express their condolences.
Most were well-dressed white people in Brooks Brothers’ suits and the latest designer fashions, but occasionally a Black, Asian or Latino family made their way to Chris.
“Meester Chrees,” a middle-aged Latina dressed all in black said. “We are so sorry. Meester Harry, he saved mi hijo’s life.”
“Mrs. Lopez, it’s so good to see you.” Chris pulled her into an embrace. “How is Ernesto doing?”
“He can’t be here because he ees en school. Your papa, he got him into the La Universidad. He ees een school today.”
“I’m sure he’s here in spirit.”
Mrs. Lopez moved down the line.
Candace shrieked and burst into tears. She had been talking to a tall, gray-haired woman, Harry’s sister.
“Candace, are you all right?” Chris put one hand on her shoulder and the other on her forearm. “Do you want to sit down?”
“Ye . . . yes . . . I’m sorry, Chris. Joanie just looks so much like Harry, I kind of lost it.”
Joanie, Harry’s older sister, always intimidated Chris when he was little.
“C’mon. Let’s sit down.” Chris led her back to their pew.
The pastor stepped to the podium and called the congregation to order.
Chris’s mind slipped away. I’ve got to be strong now. I’m a rock. He tried to silence his heart. You’ve always had a big brain, asshole, so use it now.
He was in the Twilight Zone. He had no idea what the pastor was saying or how much time passed.
“Chris Hardwick.”
He heard his name and looked up.
The pastor beckoned him. “Chris, you wanted to say a few words.”
Chris shook the cobwebs out of his head. He stood and walked up to the podium. He couldn’t help looking at Dad as he passed by. He almost lost it.
His eyes felt watery and his stomach tumbled.
“Thank you, Reverend Waterson.” Chris reached in his breast pocket and pulled out his speech. “And thank you all for being here. I’m sure Dad would have been proud to know so many great people cared about him.”
He looked through the open doors and saw two TV news trucks parked in front of the church.
“The Reverend asked me to tell you about my dad. You all knew him from different parts of his life. He wanted me to tell you about his whole life.”
He opened the folded document in his hand.
“As they might say in a corny novel, my dad came from humble beginnings. His father was a mill worker in Springfield, Oregon. He was a Marine in WWII. He came home from the South Pacific a changed man. He was cold and distant. He never gave Dad the time of day, never told him he loved him. All of his life, Dad tried to get his father’s approval, but nothing he ever did was good enough.”
Chris stopped to clear his throat and looked out at the crowd.
“The only thing that they ever agreed on was football. The closest thing to affection that Dad ever felt from his father was when he was playing for the Springfield Millers. Grandpa used to like to take Dad to the tavern with him after a game to show him off.”
The pages blurred in front of Chris’s eyes. He stopped to wipe his eyes dry.
“Dad was kinda good at football.” Chris paused and the audience chuckled. “He won a scholarship to play at the U-Dub. He still holds several all-time rushing records there. In his senior year, he was the leading candidate for the Heisman Trophy, then he hurt his leg and missed the last half of the season.”
Chris saw his mother in his mind’s eye, a tiny blonde woman from the backwaters of Eastern Washington. She smiled at him and bade him go on.
“He never played football again. Dad said it was the best thing that ever happened to him. Mom was a nurse’s aide at University Hospital. They met when he was at the lowest point of his life. She lifted him up to the skies. She put him through law school. They were never apart, now, they’re together again, at last.”
It took Chris a moment to calm himself down enough to go on.
“Harry Hardwick built one of the largest, most respected law firms in Seattle, in the country. He argued cases in front of the Supreme Court. But, he was a man with a
soul. He never turned anyone away because of money. He loved to champion the little guy, to right an injustice.”
Chris’s mind flowed back to his teenage years, when he helped Dad with his sailboat.
“My father won numerous trophies and first places on his sailboat, the Defiant. He had an unconquerable competitive spirit. After my ‘accident’ up on the Inside Passage, Dad turned over the helm to me. He was always there as an advisor and confidant, but he was able to step aside and let me run my own boat.”
Chris looked down to meet Candace’s stare. She had a firm, fixed gaze in her emerald-green eyes. He nodded to her and she nodded back.
“Dad always considered himself to be the luckiest man in the world. After Mom died, he had the great fortune to meet Candace. They planned a long happy life together. They adopted a client’s daughter when her mom was killed in a hit and run.”
Chris stopped. He looked out on the audience. He let the pause drag on.
“I don’t know how we’ll get by without him, but if there’s one thing Dad taught us, it’s that we will always make it. We’ll find a way to win.
“Thank you, Dad, for all you gave me, all you did for me . . . and for all of us.”
The ride to the cemetery was long and quiet. The family, along with Ted, Hope and Maria rode in the stretch limo. No one uttered a word.
They pulled though the wrought-iron gates after the hearse. They waited in the car while the workers moved Harry’s coffin from the vehicle to the gravesite.
A couple hundred family and friends surrounded the grave. Chris finally opened the door and stepped out. He led his little contingent to the chairs at grave-side.
Chapter 7
Enrique and Arturo had labored in La Mina de la Virgin de Guadalupe, the Virgin of Guadalupe silver mine, since they were thirteen. In their mid-forties, they were long past the expected life-span for a miner. Maybe that’s why they accepted El Professor’s offer to leave the silver mines and work for him.
It was a double-edged sword. They were paid more money than they ever expected to see in their lives, but their families were in jeopardy. If Enrique or Arturo made any mistakes or pissed off their superiors, their families would pay the price.
El Professor was a very smart man. He built numerous tunnels in all kinds of soil conditions. He knew how to test for ground water, what kind of shoring to put in what kind of soil. His expertise made him a very rich man.
This particular tunnel was dug under a partly-constructed house on the outskirts of Mexico City. ‘Rique and Arturo started by digging straight down. For twenty meters they dug before El Professor said they reached safe soil. With modern drilling equipment they never had in the silver mines, they started out horizontally. The tunnel was two meters tall and two meters wide. They shored it up with timbers where El Professor said it was necessary. Two shifts of fifteen laborers each bagged the dirt and hauled it out in a specially-made cart with the front half of a motorcycle.
El Professor decided he wanted railroad track laid in the bottom of the tunnel for the cart. He designed an air-conditioning system to remove the carbon monoxide the cart emitted and bring in fresh, breathable air.
With the modern tools and expert supervision, the tunnel progressed at nearly five meters a day. The sixty cubic meters extracted per day were hauled up the shaft and put on waiting trucks. When the trucks were full, the soil was driven off and dumped in the countryside.
The house construction project moved forward slowly. After the walls and roof were erected, the builder found every excuse in the world to delay completion. No one was interested in finishing the house. It was merely a cover.
“Hey ‘Rique,” Arturo said as they chipped away at a rock wall with pneumatic drills, “you think maybe after this túnel we quit and go home?”
Enrique set his drill on the ground and wiped his brow. “How estupido are you, compadre? They will never let us quit. We will dig until we drop dead, then they will shove us aside and cover us with dirt.”
Arturo took a deep breath. “Oh, well, at least we live better than when we dug in La Virgin. At least our families are better fed.”
The two men went back to drilling.
On and on it went. Day after day, meter after meter. For almost two kilometers, the crew tunneled, virtually living underground. They weren’t allowed to leave the premises and rarely poked their heads up into the sun and air.
Every day a bevy of women, wrapped in rebozos, showed up in the early morning. These were the miners’ wives. They built fires inside the walls of the building and began making tortillas. There was always a pot of frijoles and one of arroz. Meats and other items were added as money permitted.
A few men from the mine came up and took the food back down the long ladder. Very few wives ever saw their husbands. Those that did always had tears in their eyes.
There was plenty of tequila for off-shift miners. Men slept in comfortable sleeping bags on the floor of the tunnel as it progressed.
Always El Professor was worried. Always he felt that they weren’t digging fast enough.
The miners had no idea where they were headed. They simply followed the laser pointer that showed them where to dig. When they got to the end, someone would tell them.
***
Harvey Bernstein, the middle third of Hardwick, Bernstein & Johnson, pulled his flashy red Mercedes SL550 roadster into the parking lot at the cemetery. The lot was full and cars overflowed onto the shoulders of Aurora Boulevard. A white bus with a purple “W” on it jammed in ahead of the hearse alongside the driveway.
I’m not going to put my baby in danger in that lot.
Harvey continued on the serpentine drive to pull onto the lawn behind the hearse and limos.
What good did it do to have money if you couldn’t flaunt it a little?
He stepped out of the expensive car and took in the scene. Herds of people crowded around the grave-site. Hundreds of acres were covered with soft, green grass. Clumps of trees and foliage strategically placed around the facility gave it the atmosphere of a grand park. A classic Greek-style marble mausoleum stood on top of a small hill in the center of the cemetery.
The graveyard was separated into distinct sections. A granite star of David signaled the Jewish part of the memorial park.
That’s where I’ll end up.
A tall flagpole with a fifty-foot long American flag showed the veteran’s section. The funeral party was gathered around the gravesite under a large purple “W,” the symbol of the University of Washington.
A few puffy white clouds snuck in on an otherwise blue sky.
Good weather for May. Harry always had good luck. . . until last week.
Harvey knew he was a good-looking man. Tall and slim with silver-gray hair, it amused him that the women at the office they called him the “silver fox.” Everything about him shouted “class.”
Dressed in a black Seville Row suit with polished wingtips, Harvey strode purposefully towards the grave. He had to pay his respects to the family . . . and he had important business to transact.
As he moved through the crowd, a tall woman with short blonde hair and gray eyes caught his eye. He slowed down.
There was a quiet confidence in the way she stood, sad, but not cowed.
There is a woman to be reckoned with.
The woman was dressed in a long black wool coat and black pumps. What he could see of her legs looked delicious. With her four-inch heels, she was eye-to-eye with him.
Harvey changed his course and walked over to her. As he approached, he smelled the female scent. His heart-beat sped up.
“Hi, I’m Harvey Bernstein.” He held out his hand.
Her black kid skin gloves felt smooth and soft in his hand.
“Catrina Flaherty,” she said. “You must be one of the partners.”
“Yes. Harry, Ben and I go back to law school. We started out together. I can’t believe it’s been over thirty years. I never expected to lose Harry like this.”
“How did you know Harry?” Harvey asked.
“My partner is his son’s best friend.”
“Your partner? Are you an attorney too?”
Catrina smiled and dug in her purse. “No. I’m a private investigator. Flaherty & Associates.” She handed Harvey a card.
Harvey looked at the card. He was glad he’d never had to cross swords with her. He dealt with business law. He left the criminal law and family law to his subordinates.
“Ted Higuera is my partner.” Catrina wiped a tear from her eye.
“Oh, yes. Mr. Higuera. I’ve crossed his path from time to time.” Harvey had a hard time taking his eyes off of this breathtaking woman. Her eyes reminded him of gun metal. They told the story of her sadness.
“Listen.” Harvey pulled a business card from his pocket. “This is a horrible time and place to meet, but I’d like to see you again.” He handed her the card. “May I call you at a more appropriate time?”
Catrina looked at the card, then gave him a little smile. “Sure, why not?”
Harvey reluctantly turned from the woman and walked towards the grave.
Now, there’s some prey worth stalking.
He smiled to himself and made his way through the crowd.
Sitting in folding chairs opposite the casket, Candace, Sarah and Chris were decked out in black. Candace and Sarah’s eyes were red from crying. Chris sat stiff as an ice sculpture.
“Candace,” Harvey took Candace’s hands. “I’m so sorry. I can’t express the depth of loss we all feel.”
As always, he was surprised by Candace’s beauty. He saw her at the office every day, but her jet black hair and emerald eyes never failed to take his breath away. He couldn’t see her body, dressed in a black coat with a fur-lined collar, but he’d seen her in cocktail dresses enough to know what lurked beneath.
It was hard to talk over the roar of the Husky Marching Band. A glee club chorus pounded out “Bow Down to Washington.”
The Cartel Strikes Back: The Ted Higuera Series, Book 5 Page 5