Sovrano

by Michael Powers

  Through all these dealings, Eric managed to keep his name out of the news. Only Eric’s immediate family, a few trusted subordinates, close friends, and a U.S. Senator sworn to secrecy were aware of Eric’s identity as Jason York.

  A month after the limo explosion in LA, Jack Gentry presented his boss with full reports on the seventy-five names Eric had given him. Most on the list were involved in Eric’s drug-dealing past. The rest of the list was comprised of people who might have reason to hurt one of the Yorks. Finally, there was Jackie Johnson, the widow of Eric’s first lover. Joanna York’s comment had piqued Eric’s curiosity.

  Eric was amazed by the results. Ten on the list were serving prison sentences for crimes committed after Eric left his hometown. Another 23 were living outside the U.S. Fifteen had moved to another state, settling into respectable careers and lives. Twenty-five were still living in or near Eric’s hometown and appeared to be model citizens. That left two: Jackie Johnson and Marcus Sloan.

  Eric learned Jackie had moved to California and married a wealthy businessman who died shortly after the wedding. Married again, Jackie was living in Los Angeles with her third husband, Mark Jensen, and three children, including a son named Keenan.

  Jack Gentry had proof that Marcus Sloan and Mark Jensen were the same person. Eric and his chief cop were both convinced Mark Jensen had blown up Eric’s limo, but LA police were unable to find evidence implicating anyone. Mark never returned home after the incident, and none of his staff, family, or friends had seen him since. He had simply vanished. Of all the people Eric wanted to locate, Mark Jensen was at the top of the list, so Eric ordered his security chief to assign ten full-time investigators to the search. Any lead was to be brought to Eric’s attention immediately. If the police couldn’t arrest Mark, then Eric was determined to have Mark followed until his agents caught Mark committing a crime he could be arrested for.

  Five months after Eric’s return to his hometown, his siblings Keira and Jerry were located in Acapulco. Eric was notified at midnight. He woke Cody, called his pilot, they dressed hurriedly, and drove to the airport. Landing in Acapulco at 10 a.m., Eric hired a car and driver to take him to Keira’s villa.

  Eric thought it best to go to the door alone. He waited patiently, pounding on the door every few minutes. Just as Eric was about to give up, Jerry limped into the living room in his bathrobe. When he opened the door, Jerry saw a casually dressed man he assumed had come for a prescription.

  “Sorry, sir, but we don’t open until noon,” Jerry explained through a yawn.

  “Are you Jerry York?” Eric asked.

  That struck Jerry as odd since everyone asked for Keira. “Yeah, I’m Jerry. Who’re you?”

  Eric smiled broadly. “Your brother, Jason.”

  Jerry stared at Eric. The stranger resembled Jason, but Jerry had never seen his older brother with facial hair. “Is this a joke?”

  Eric anticipated his siblings would not recognize him. “Remember the last birthday we celebrated together? You and Keira gave me a gift.” Eric reached into his pocket and produced a wristwatch with a well-worn leather band, then handed it to Jerry. “You can still make out the engraving on the other side. Who else would have a watch like this?”

  Jerry examined the watch. Perspiration from Eric’s wrist had worn off the gold finish, but the inscription was still legible. Happy 20th From K & J.

  Tears formed as Jerry read the inscription. He had missed his older brother the most after he disappeared. Jason had made him feel safe. Jerry felt an eerie mixture of emotions as he looked into his brother’s eyes, unsure what to say after so many years.

  “May I come in, Jerry?” Eric asked softly.

  Jerry held the door as Eric entered the villa. “Sorry the place is such a mess. Please sit, if you can find a clean spot. I’ll go wake Keira.”

  Eric looked around in horror at the clutter and filth. Cockroaches were scurrying around dirty dishes piled high in the kitchen sink. Dust coated the furniture. He felt intense sorrow and pity for his siblings, but held it in check, wanting their reunion to be a happy occasion. He knew it might be difficult to regain their trust. The most important thing was to get them back home. The last thing Eric wanted was to alienate them.

  Keira staggered into the living room, still in the early stages of her daily hangover. Her hair had the spiked look of a punk rocker. She reeked of stale cigarette smoke and booze. Her wrinkled pink bathrobe was stained and torn. The muddy pools in her eye sockets churned vainly to bring the room into focus. Keira found her glasses on a chipped coffeetable and raised them to her face. “Jason? What in hell ya doin’ here? How’d ya find us?” Keira asked, wiping her glasses with her bathrobe.

  “I hired detectives,” Eric replied. Repulsed as he was by his once beautiful sister, Eric crossed the room briskly and kissed her on the cheek. “I was so excited you’d been located, I hopped on a plane and came immediately. I can tell I caught you both at a bad time. How’d it be if we have lunch together? Can I stop back in an hour? That’ll give you time to get dressed. All right?”

  Jerry and Keira both nodded their agreement.

  “Great! That’s just great! Okay. I’ll be back in an hour,” Eric promised.

  Moments after Eric left the villa, Keira turned to Jerry and sighed. “Pretty, isn’t he? Sorta looks like one of those trendy magazine models. Jesus, I hope he’s not queer.”

  “Keira! How can you be so cruel? He traveled a long way just to see us. He’s our brother for God’s sake! Please be nice to him while he’s here. I’m glad he came to see us.”

  “We’ll see,” Keira snorted as she wandered to a window and looked out into the street. “I wonder what he wants.”

  “He just came to see us, that’s all,” Jerry insisted.

  Keira turned her maternal smile on Jerry. “Hon, you didn’t know Jason the way I did. He’s a very shrewd man. With him, there’s always the stated reason and the real reason for doing something, and they’re hardly ever the same.”

  When Eric returned with Cody, he treated his siblings to the best lunch they had since arriving in Acapulco. After Eric promised to pay for corrective surgery and therapy, Jerry couldn’t wait to leave Acapulco. Keira agreed to accompany them, but just until Jerry was fully recovered. Eric could see Keira was well on the way to chronic alcoholism. He decided it was best to get her home before telling her she had to seek chemical dependency treatment.

  Two days later, they left for Minneapolis. Jerry chatted happily the entire trip. Keira sat sullenly, repeatedly sipping a martini from a flask she had smuggled onto Eric’s jet. She suspected the part of the deal Eric had not told her, so she was determined to drink as much as possible before she lost the option.

  Together, Harry and Jerry persuaded Keira she had a drinking problem. Reluctantly, she checked into a private treatment facility, paid for by Eric. She emerged forty-five days later, chemically free and revitalized. After several sizeable political donations and a promise to add a new wing to the hospital where Keira had worked, her medical license was magically restored. She began her career again with a dizzying amount of energy. Eric was extremely proud of her recovery. Yet, the more prominent each of them became professionally, the wider the gulf between them grew. Unable to rekindle the close relationship he and Keira had once enjoyed, Eric waited patiently for Keira to welcome him back into her life.

  CHAPTER 21

  Eric and Cody were returning to Minneapolis after one of Cody’s concerts. Eric decided the three-hour flight would be a good time to tell Cody about his past, as he had promised many months earlier.

  “Cody, how’d you like to hear a story during the flight home?” Eric asked.

  “Fairy tale or one of those depressing heterosexual stories?” Cody teased.

  Eric chuckled. “Some of each. It’s the story of Jason York and why he left Skyline.”

  Cody settled back into his seat, demeanor suddenly serious. “You have my complete attention.”

  “
I'm sorry this has taken so long,” Eric apologized. “You already have bits and pieces of the story, but I want to tell it from the beginning. I remember most of it very clearly, but I’ve spent many years rearranging it into a palatable lie. I’ll try to go chronologically, but I may have to skip back and forth a bit to explain some things. Let me know if it gets too confusing.”

  Cody nodded his understanding.

  “I was born in Skyline, Wisconsin, the second son and the third child of Paul and Joanna York. Skyline was a town of about twenty thousand back then. Dad worked construction, so we lived in a cozy blue-collar neighborhood. We had a modern, comfortable home, big yard, and a neighborhood full of kids. When we rounded up everyone under twelve to play games during the summer, we could get around seventy kids together. Dad referred to the neighborhood as the Wilson Street Hatchery.

  “I remember being pretty happy as a kid. I did well in school, enjoyed sports, loved comic books and ice cream. You know how most kids earn nicknames because of some unusual feature? Shorty, Red, Four Eyes, Beanpole; all classic nicknames, right? Most of my friends had nicknames, but not me. In my entire life, I’ve never had a single nickname. Well, at least not one people called me to my face!” Eric chuckled. “I always blended into the crowd. Average height and weight for my age. Nothing unusual about my hair, clothing, or the rest of my appearance. Sometimes it annoyed me that people couldn’t remember my name, but I guess I wasn’t giving them much help. I sort of liked being a chameleon, able to fade into the background.

  “The first hint something might be wrong with my comfortable life came when I was eight. It was Labor Day weekend and we were supposed to meet some of Mom’s relatives on Saturday, then drive to the lake together. Friday night Dad came home from work smelling like my old Uncle Jake who drank beer every day in a small tavern. Dad and Mom started arguing and they sent us outside to play. We’d never seen Dad act so strange, so we sat on the front porch, trying to hear what was going on inside. We heard Mom scream occasionally and there was lots of yelling. It damn near broke our hearts to hear Mom cry. Dad told her he wasn’t going to the lake with her arrogant relatives and made her call them to cancel. I sneaked into the house and couldn’t believe what I was seeing and hearing. Through her sobs, Mom was telling her sister on the phone she had the flu and thought it was best to stay home. Dad went into his bedroom and fell asleep. Mom went to the basement and laid face down on an old bed, crying softly. I had never seen her cry before. None of us had ever seen Dad drunk. We didn’t know what to make of it all, but we were pissed we weren’t going to the lake.

  “The next day Dad came home from work all smiles and announced we were going to the drive-in that night. We even got root beer floats before bed. It was great having everything back to normal, but I couldn’t help wondering what changed Dad’s mood, and why he and Mom were getting along again.

  “We went a few more years without another major incident. We noticed Dad had that tavern smell like Uncle Jake more often, but usually it just meant he talked louder. When he got like that, we found excuses to leave the house. It must have bothered other people, too, because family friends and relatives quit dropping by for visits.

  “By the time I was twelve, Dad got drunk at least once a week, with predictable behavior. He’d come home several hours after supper and begin fighting with Mom. He’d get mad his dinner wasn’t ready, so she’d fix something. When she served him dinner, he’d ignore it while he kept drinking. Then he’d complain his food was cold. He complained about everything, but mostly about money and Mom’s relatives. Neither made much sense to any of us since we had the nicest house in the neighborhood and Dad was always very pleasant to Mom’s relatives when he saw them. We all saw the contradiction, but it was easier to ignore it than to suffer the consequences. Didn’t take long for us to discover arguing with Dad when he was drunk made him mean. Pointing out his inconsistent behavior when he was sober was useless since he denied everything he said when he was drunk. I don’t know how much he blacked out, but my siblings and I learned to play the survival game. We either agreed with Dad or avoided him as much as possible.

  “What none of us appreciated was the restraining influence of Grampa Demeuse. Apparently Dad was afraid what Grampa might do if he found out his son-in-law was a drunk who abused his family. When Grampa Demeuse died, I was fourteen. The next two years were a living hell as Dad’s drinking spiraled out of control. He was drunk nearly every night, beating Mom a couple times a week. The four of us kids surrounded Mom to protect her from him when it got too bad. My older brother was a strong, beefy kid, but he was only three years older than me. Dad was a pretty strong guy. Even when he was falling down drunk he could lick all four of us. I still have nightmares of my Dad slapping my tiny, defenseless mother, and the agony I felt when I heard her scream. It was awful, Cody, and it seemed to go on forever. I hated to be home. That’s why Harry, Keira, and I all got part-time jobs as soon as we turned fifteen. It gave us an excuse to be out of the house and we didn’t have to feel guilty about asking Dad for money. My anger slowly accumulated during those two years.

  “One night I came home from my theater job, desperately hoping everyone would be in bed so I could go right to sleep. It was past midnight and I was really tired, so I dreaded another night of shouting and fighting. I honestly didn’t understand why Mom didn’t leave Dad, but she said the Catholic Church forbid divorce. She claimed she couldn’t support us all by herself, but I think she was just too afraid Dad would hunt her down and kill her if she left him. As soon as I walked into the house that night, I could tell something awful had happened. It was much worse than usual. There was broken furniture everywhere and Mom lay on the carpet, wearing only a torn white slip. Harry, Keira, and Jerry huddled in a circle to protect Mom. Dad was in the kitchen yelling at them while he poured another drink. Mom was sobbing and barely coherent. I saw blood on Keira’s mouth where Dad had slapped her. Harry’s left eye was swollen and Jerry sat there trembling. They were determined to keep the old man away from Mom, even if it meant they’d take the beating instead. God, how I admire them whenever I play that scene over again in my mind. Night after night, they used their own bodies to shield Mom, refusing to side with either parent. They wouldn’t strike back at my Dad because they didn’t want to hurt him. Trapped in the middle of a tragedy they didn’t create, and couldn’t end.”

  Verbalizing his nightmare overwhelmed Eric. Simply describing the scene brought back all the anger and sorrow he had felt so many years earlier. Stunned by the tidal wave of emotions, Eric paused to wipe his eyes.

  Sensing the worst was still to come, Cody gently prodded his lover. “What happened when you got home that night, Eric?”

  “I was horrified. Mom claimed Dad was going to kill her and begged me to help her. I’d finally had enough, so I hurried to my bedroom and waited for Dad to make his next trip from the kitchen to the living room. As soon as he left the kitchen, I slipped down the back hallway, and grabbed a twelve-gauge shotgun and a couple of shells from a closet just off the kitchen. I loaded the shotgun, switched off the safety, then yelled for my Dad. I kept yelling until I heard the shuffle of his boots on the kitchen linoleum. I was positioned where he couldn’t see me until it was too late.

  “You should have seen the look of surprise on his face when he rounded the corner and came face to face with that shotgun. He asked what the hell I was doing and I told him I was going to blow his brains out if he didn’t leave. He sneered at me and said the gun probably wasn’t even loaded, so I fired a shot into the ceiling. Still not convinced, he told me I wouldn’t dare shoot him because I didn’t have the guts.

  “As he moved toward me, I pulled the hammer of the remaining barrel back with my thumb and raised the gun to his eyes while I held my index finger on the trigger. I told him to stop because I was mad and scared and my shaking might make me pull the trigger even if I didn’t want to. I asked him if he was ready to die, because I was ready to kill him.

&n
bsp; “He decided not to find out if I was bluffing. He realized my finger might accidentally squeeze the trigger, especially if he grabbed for the shotgun. If he had come one step closer, I would have pulled that trigger. Part of me really wished he’d make me shoot him so I’d never have to deal with him again. Fortunately, he left the house, cursing me all the way. In less than a minute, all our lives changed forever.

  “After Dad left, Keira and Harry got scared. They didn’t like what I’d done. We all knew something was seriously wrong with Mom. I called a friend for help, even though Keira and Harry felt it was wrong to let outsiders know our problems. My friend’s dad was a doctor and only lived a couple blocks away, so he came right over. He took one look at Mom and said we’d have to take her to a hospital because she was having a nervous breakdown.

  “I worried the whole next day at school about Dad showing up, but I could hardly carry a shotgun everywhere. I knew I’d have to face him sometime, but I figured I could still outrun him. We didn’t see him for three days. His boss called the house and asked why Dad hadn’t shown up for work. Worried, I called my friend’s dad again. He suggested I call our bank, and they told me Dad had emptied the family checking and savings accounts, then closed them. That’s what a man does before abandoning his family.

  “Keira and Harry were mad at me, saying everything would’ve been all right if I hadn’t interfered. I told them things hadn’t been all right for years. They whined about how we would lose the house, have to drop out of school to take full-time jobs, and Jerry would probably be sent to a foster home. I promised to take care of everything. We wouldn’t tell anyone our parents were gone and I would pay all the bills. They were skeptical, but didn’t know what else to do.

  “We pooled our part-time job money, but that barely paid for groceries and utilities, so I began selling things from the house. When we ran out of things to sell and the bills started piling up, I got desperate. My solution was to resell tickets at the theater where I worked. Lots of employees did it back in those days, but I raised it to an art form. I organized the process so no one could tell we were doing it. As head doorman, when customers gave me their tickets, I was supposed to tear them in half, dropping half in a grinder and returning the other half to the customer. Each night, I palmed a hundred tickets, giving the customer one of the ticket halves from the ticket grinder. I’d slip the cashier an envelope full of whole tickets each night before the theater opened and she’d sell off our tickets along with tickets already in the machine. Before closing, she’d pocket the extra money and we’d split the proceeds later. We were very methodical. The theater usually sold twenty thousand tickets on a good weekend, so we could easily slip in about a thousand of our recycled tickets without attracting any attention. I got all the cashiers and a couple of other doormen involved and we would plan how many tickets we were going to sell each night so it wouldn’t be too obvious to the manager and the home office. I got fifty percent of everything and even organized the same scam at two other theaters. A few months after I got my system rolling, I was taking home much more than my Dad ever earned. I easily paid all the household bills and Mom’s medical expenses. I even had cash left over to buy luxuries for myself and my siblings. It was a great little racket and nobody got hurt.