Sins of the Fathers

by John Richmond

AFTER SCHOOL, MR. Horton drove Jeremy home in the back of his father’s Lincoln Town Car. Jeremy tried to read his book, but just couldn’t stop seeing the fight from earlier in the day. Seung had moved like...liquid. He tried to describe it to the back of Mr. Horton’s head as he drove them to the house deep within the gated community of Ottawa Hills.

  “It was kinda’ hard to see past Noah—he’s such a blimp. But it was like Seung hardly moved a muscle. He just flipped this great big kid end over end.”

  Horton smiled under the smoked lenses of his sunglasses. Jeremy kind of thought they made him look a little like a skull with the bald head and everything. He wasn’t sure if he liked that or not. Horton seemed to glance at Jeremy—impossible to be sure with the shades—in the rear view.

  “Sounds like Aikido.”

  “Yeah, why?” Jeremy asked, “I mean what makes you say so?” Jeremy wondered, not for the first time, how many martial arts and dirty little tricks Mr. Horton stored in his bodyguard repertoire. “You know any of that stuff?”

  “I know some Aikido,” he said as the car slid up to a red light. Mr. Horton scanned the intersection, peered into the other cars. “You learn to use an attacker’s force against him, so it doesn’t matter how much bigger the other guy is.”

  Jeremy sat forward. “Yeah, that’s just what Seung did. He barely touched Noah, but wha-BAM!” He slapped his left palm with his right fist and sat back.

  “Yup, Aikido’s a good one,” Horton said. “Maybe I’ll show you a few moves.”

  Jeremy grinned. “Really?”

  “Sure, you’re old enough, and Aikido’s pretty gentle stuff. I don’t think Mr. Mason’d mind.”

  They drove the rest of the way in silence. Every now and again as they made their way deeper into the suburban enclave of Ottawa Hills, Mr. Horton stole a glance back at Jeremy. He had been in the employ of Frank Mason for two years, but mostly on Mason’s personal detail. This assignment, watching over young Jeremy, could be considered a combination of reward and light duty.

  Six months ago, while enjoying a cappuccino at an outdoor cafe in Florence, a cleaner had taken a shot at Mr. Mason. Horton had seen the man riding up on a scooter and without much thought, shadowed a step or two closer to Mr. Mason than usual. When the gun came out and the muzzle flashed, he was already in position. The other two body-guards on Mason’s personal detail practically evaporated the would-be assassin with a storm of return gunfire, but Horton took a hit in the chest. The slug, a nine millimeter, collapsed his left lung, and he nearly expired right there on the seven-hundred year old marble of the piazza. The doctors had called his survival a miracle. Horton liked to joke that he figured God wouldn’t want him, and the Devil was probably afraid to deal with him, so he stuck on earth instead.

  At first, this assignment had pissed him off. He’d recovered fully, was back in fighting shape, as it were. He shouldn’t have to be the one to watch the kid. He wasn’t nobody’s nanny, for Christ’s sweet sake. But after three months of playing guardian angel to Mason’s son, Horton realized that he’d never been happier in a job. Jeremy was more than an all right kid.

  He wasn’t what Horton had expected at all, not like some of the brats he’d seen in his time. Jeremy had something that a lot of rich children don’t get: Character. And he was tough, especially for his age and privilege.

  Horton would never say anything, but he’d watched the entire exchange in the school yard earlier that day from a darkened classroom window. He’d have been on those other kids faster than they could’ve wiped their little punk asses if he’d been needed. He knew Jeremy wouldn’t call for him, probably even if he should have. While that worried him a little for his young charge, it also made him like the kid that much more. Jeremy wasn’t just tough, though, he was a good kid, too. Kind. Maybe that made the boy a little naive or something, but Horton had seen him stand up to three other boys for that little slope. This Seung hadn’t needed the help, sure, but still, that meant something in Horton’s book.

  And smart? Jeremy knew about stuff that Horton could never wrap his mind around. Sometimes when he would go on about this physics shit, and probability this and theorems that, it made Horton just want to laugh. Might as well be another language. What it all came down to for Horton was that if the rubber ever broke, he’d be proud as hell if the kid were like Jeremy.

  They pulled into the driveway of a grand Tudor mansion, shouldered by spreading oaks and venerable cottonwoods. “Home sweet home, kid.”

  Jeremy, who had rediscovered his focus enough to delve back into A Brief History of Time, looked up from the pages, eyes a little frosty and far away. “Did you know that gravity’s considered a weak force and that electromagnetism is a strong one?”

  Horton put the car in park and threw an arm over the passenger seat so he could twist around and look full on at Jeremy. “Nope,” Horton made sure he looked serious. “What’s the big deal?”

  “Well, nothing all that big right now.” Jeremy sat forward, his eyes fast and bright, “but if in the future we could generate enough electricity, we could probably control gravity with electromagnetism, or overcome it.” He thought for a second. “Oh, hey, we already do that.”

  Horton’s eyebrows went up. “No kiddin’?”

  “Yeah, with superconductors. I was watching the Discovery Channel the other day and I saw them playing around with a superconductor. This little piece of ceramic or something was just floating in mid air. It was the coolest thing.”

  Horton smiled, huge teeth under reflective lenses.

  “Just think,” Jeremy said, eyes far away, “what we could do if we could build a field generator big enough to move a ship in outer space.”

  “What, like Star Trek?”

  Jeremy zoomed back, “Just like that,” he said, “I didn’t know you liked Star Trek, Mr. Horton.” He squinted, “Next Generation or Capt’n Kirk n’ Spock?”

  Horton lowered his sunglasses just enough to reveal a pair of starburst-green eyes surrounded by smile (or scowl) wrinkles. “Listen,” he conspired, “I know people my age ain’t supposed to like that stuff, but Star Trek, the Next Generation is about the only good TV show I ever saw.” He thought for a second. “Hawaii Five-O was pretty cool, too, though.”

  Jeremy looked down at the cover of his book. Steven Hawking looked back, somewhat amused. Horton saw how difficult it was for Jeremy to do what he was about to do and wanted to put a hand on the kid’s shoulder or something. Dammit. Made him a little misty. But he kept his cool and just waited for the kid to ask.

  “You know, my father’s got this new widescreen in the game room. A plasma TV? It’s supposed to be much clearer than other kinds of screens.”

  Horton nodded.

  Jeremy tore his eyes away from Hawking. “If you wanted to, you could maybe watch Star Trek with me sometime.” He blurted, “It’s in syndication now, all re-runs and all, but I know all the times and channels it comes on. I got a bunch TiVo’d, too.”

  “That would be great, kid. When’s it comin’ on?”

  Jeremy checked his watch, a child-sized Rolex his father insisted he wear, and said, “In about ten minutes on TNT. They’re going through the last year of the series this season, so it’s all the really good ones.”

  “Like when Troi and Worf are dating?”

  “Yeah,” Jeremy’s faced opened like a flower. “That’s right.”

  Horton popped the locks. “Let’s move then. Ten minutes is just enough time for Mrs. Sanchez to fix us up some Trek food.”