Blood Is Thicker

By Silas H. Patterson

BLOOD IS THICKER Part1 is the first part of a multi part series that starts with a womans strange last request: Dont Save Me. It follows the story of Adam Davis, her vampire husband, as he begins this 25 year story to his son, from the steaming war torn jungles of the last years of the Vietnam War, to the exclusive high rise hotels of the Ginza District of Tokyo. Blood is Thicker part 1 takes you on a bloody, whirlwind ride as Adam Davis acquires and is taught how to use his powers, from his vampire mentor; Dr. George Stein. In a race to get home to help his wife and newborn infant son, he discovers his powers and his responsibilities as a vampire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 17, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468539066

Silas H. Patterson

Silas H. Patterson grew up during the 1960's and 70's in Kenwood and Hyde Park, the neighborhood of the University of Chicago. He graduated from Kenwood High School and attended the University of Illinois Chicago Circle Campus (UIC). He was heavily influenced by the various movements that were occurring around him, from the Civil Rights and Anti-Vietnam war movements of the 1960's to the Black Nationalist movements of the early 1970's. All of which led to his joining the SGI and converting to Nichiren Buddhism in 1976. During his entire life he has spent working at all kinds of jobs in all kinds of places, from the University of Chicago law school print shop, m state to state as a traveling advertising agent, serving in the Illinois National Guard. Then from bicycle messenger to taxi driver, security guard, and telemarketer. Today he resides in the South Suburbs of Chicago with his wife and family

Book preview

© 2012 Silas H. Patterson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 9/18/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4685-3905-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4685-3906-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012900102

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Cover art by: Glenn Perkins

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements:

Chapter 1

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Acknowledgements:

I wish to thank my family; who because of their love, desire for perfection and their care, made this book a whole lot more readable.

Lastly I wish to sincerely thank my mentor, SGI President Daisaku Ikeda, without him this novel would not have been possible.

CHAPTER 1

There was a flurry of activity at the emergency room, paramedics rushed a woman on the gurney trough the double air assisted doors. The one on the left side is holding at shoulder level a plastic bottle of hastily yet skillfully applied saline solution the one on the right trying to hold the bandages to her bleeding chest and abdomen. The bullet wound would not have been serious if it had not cut across a piece of lung causing blood to rapidly fill inside. The medical staffs on duty during the 3rd shift included Dr. Abdul Halim-Aziz, and two RNs Junie Floresco and Amelia Washington, rush beside them. They stop at one of the beds separated from the others by a sliding plastic curtain. Above every bed there were monitoring equipment for heartbeat, respiration temperature, and blood pressure. When the woman is in place and the hasty reports are given her blood pressure has already gone down to dangerously low levels, and her respiration has all but faded, so an oxygen mask is applied.

Dr. Halim-Aziz begins his work by trying to stop the bleeding but the wound is too deep.

Take her for emergency surgery, now. He says in his Jordanian accented English. His accent became even more pronounced when there was a crisis. Nurse Washington, who has seen this scene far too many times in her long span working in various hospitals, has been in this situation many times before. As the instructions become more blurred and hurried the woman lying on the gurney opens her eyes and looks up as if with a spark of renewed life, before the application of anesthesia, before the operation has even begun. In her pain-clouded eyes, a clear center focuses on one face, hidden behind the others in the room. She utters a single phrase, she is asking, almost pleading but more like a demand

Please…don’t…save…me… and her last words fade into nothing.

Of course you’ll be all right miss. Says nurse Floresco in a high pitched almost nasal voice as she tries to remove the rest of her clothes using a pair of paramedic scissors. Through the rush of voices and other activities she is almost unheard. No one notices a man standing behind the plastic curtain. He is a tall thin black man with short hair like an Afro dressed in a black trench coat and he remains silent as he watches without any sign of emotion on his thin youthful face.

The woman again turns her head and in a weaker version of her last statement says:

Please …don’t…save …me…

What is she talking about? Nurse Floresco says.

I don’t know but I’d need someone to save me. Nurse Washington replies sarcastically.

Quiet, quiet! The doctor says looking up as the indicator on the screen goes flat and the intermittent peaks and valleys disappear to a plain more flat than Kansas, and the steady single pitched whine of the is heard through the speaker. After a few seconds there seems to be a collective sense of resignation in the fact that no matter how extensive their skill or experience they cannot save everyone.

She’s dead. Washington says with a kind of bland finality in her voice.

She just lost too much blood. Dr.Halim-Aziz says as he exhales deeply. His shoulders sag beneath his smock until he resembles a white deflated balloon. As he turns around slowly the figure in the trench coat turns away and walks toward the entrance, Nurse Washington catches a glimpse of this scene and says:

Hey! Who was that?

Don’t worry; it’s probably a cop or someone like that. Floresco says dismissing it with a wave of her blood soaked latex gloved hand.

Come on, we’ve got work to do right here. Let’s finish this up first clean up and get ready for the next one. Call the morgue and let’s call the time of death at ehh 12:05 AM June 19, 1996.

2 YEARS LATER

It was a warm late spring day; the hot sun beat mercilessly upon this cemetery in Chicago’s south suburbs. The grass has been cut to almost golf course green like flatness with the exception of the area around the irregular square or rectangular grave markers of reddish brown or gray polished granite. A young black man in blue jeans and a nearly tight fitting white polo shirt stands almost solemnly while looking down at the grey granite grave marker at his feet

MARIAN BOUSHARD DAVIS

1951-1996

REST IN PEACE

He sits down on the cool slightly damp grass and crosses his legs, and then slowly he reaches in front of him, and touches the gravestone. Running his fingers over the name then he looks at the words REST IN PEACE.

It’s funny momma you had so little peace in your life, your life sure didn’t end in it. He stops to bow his head brush away a tear from his face and eyes then straightens his gaze.

I’ll tell you this though; I finished law school, just like you wanted. The bar exam was hard but I passed on the first try. As always you were right. I know you are up there watching me, like you always did. Its’ just so many things I wish you could have told me

If there was anger in his voice Adam Davis II masked it well. He was angry with the Chicago Police when they told him his mother died from a stray bullet from a drive by shooting. Hers was just another anonymous death in Chicago, just like many before and many that will come, no great loss to anyone. If it were a public figure it would have been in every paper, but a Black working woman from the north side. Who cares? Not even a 1" column in the local paper.

He shakes his head trying to drive the demons of that day 2 years ago, but they will come back in every vacant unguarded moment, every time there is for him to have an unoccupied moment. Adam Davis thinks of his life before his mother’s death. His grades shot up through college and then above average during pre law. Then as if a flash of lightning had come through a dark sky, his grades improved during the entire time at law school.

What was it that kept him going he asked himself many times? A few of his classmates had experienced similar things and those who did not quit, struggled hard to continue. Most people at the he death of a loved one especially a parent will wilt away like a flower with no water; Adam not only survived but bloomed. Was it a conscious act? Or was it because he tried not to think about her death, and focus on a higher purpose. No matter what the answer he had only one thing to concentrate on, and that was law school. Even after her death working at night became easier for him, living although uneventful was easier. It was as if the great chains and shackles were broken and he was allowed to run free instead of shuffling along.

Now what will he do?

Even though he has finished and passed his bar examination with unbelievable ease, the problem of getting a job, which he had never even considered, now came up rising suddenly like a pop-up target at a shooting gallery. It would be ridiculous for him to go back to shelving books at the public library when he has a law degree.

Tomorrow. He says to himself slowly and then he raises his eyes to the sky, and then he returns his gaze down to the grey polished marble tombstone. Tomorrow I really should start putting out some resumes, but where do I go from here?

He looks around slowly panning the cemetery like a movie camera, taking in the sunny landscape. The grass of different shades of green, light green and tan, sway in the gentle southwest breeze like a multitude of flags, punctuated by a sprig of flowers here and there. To either side people gather to place flowers at, or near the gravestones. Then he looks up again to the cloudless blue sky as though he were either looking for guidance, or checking for rain.

Adam Davis was an unusually quiet and reserved young man, the second to carry that name after his father. His mother often said he never got to meet his father he was told many times that he died in the Vietnam war shortly after he was born, so he never had a chance to see him. For some strange reason his mother never remarried, preferring to raise him alone, first in an old apartment in Hyde Park then when it burned down, to a town house in Ravenswood on the North side. There never seemed to an absence of money when he grew up and even during the time when he was in college. He very seldom asked why, when he was younger and when he did his mother would always reply: Your dad had good insurance. And she would say nothing more about the subject.

After his mother died, he continued to receive enough money from her insurance policy to live on and continue with law school. He was not very tall so he did not participate in any sports. So he channeled most of his efforts into academics, his mother always telling him that: Your friends may be in the NBA but they will need a lawyer or a doctor, be there for your friends. And so it was all through high school and college.

Well, I’ve got to go now Momma, I’ll see you later. He said again touching the cool polished headstone.

He stood up and suddenly he had a chance to reflect on his words, did he really mean he would be here at another time or that he would see his mother spiritually in heaven, or was it because he could think of nothing else to say. As he turned around to look at the numerous gravestones around him as he slowly felt the feeling come back to his legs he felt more alive than ever. Then, with slow but ever increasing steps back to the narrow paved road that runs through the cemetery. He pulled a set of keys out that included his house keys, and the car keys. After unlocking the door he slowly began to wonder why anyone would steal a car in a cemetery, after all the dead don’t drive, and if they could drive they would want something better than a 1992 Cavalier. He sat down in the driver’s seat closed the door and turned the key, after 6 turns the engine finally came to life in a cloud of bluish white smoke. His car like all of his other tastes were simple, just enough to get from home to work to school and back. When the smoke faded away from the air that usually meant he could put the car in drive. As he exited the iron gates he turned on the radio then turned it off as though he were bored with it.

Adam then started the long drive home letting the tall buildings of Chicago’s western skyline roll past him until he finally arrived at the townhouse owned by his mother, now by him. Most of the furniture was purchased after they left the south side apartment back on December 5, 1987. Although he never gave it very much of a thought he still found it odd that his mother never cried much for the material objects in the apartment which became so much soldering charcoal, but, when it came to the loss of the few pictures and documents of his father, or as she sometimes called him A.D.. Only then did the realization hit her and she sank into one of her characteristically deep meditative states. For some it was depression but not her, for she quickly shrugged off the loss and smiled for what she had and continued with life, and accepted the fire as a part of life. And when the town house became available, which was in a matter of days, she rushed down to the lawyer, who she had always known and had helped her with the right forms and within the next three days they had moved into a fully furnished townhouse.

Adam sits down on the couch looking at the west wall, mostly a staircase leading upstairs to the other two bedrooms and a small bathroom. The largely unused 27" color TV sat squarely in front of him. In front of the couch was a long cocktail table, littered with old newspapers, and magazines which looked like it had seen some years of abuse, unlike some of the other pieces of furniture in the house. As he looked toward his right on the north wall where there is a white painted door at the corner of the west and north wall, and then next to the door is a large bay window were large planters of indoor flowers, at the front window, which she tried to grow but now they have become withered pieces of twine colored dry wood with only a slight indication that they were once living plants. He looks and closes one eye then shakes his head in total embarrassment at his own stupidity for letting them die like that.

Then a sudden spark of inspiration struck him as though he had found a new scientific discovery.

I wonder if I can call up the lawyer who helped us get this place. Maybe he could hire me.

With that he tries to remember where the business card with his name and number was. Since he didn’t have it the only other place was in his mother’s room. Quickly he stood up, stepped over the narrow table and ran upstairs. When he got to the top he stopped and turned left, then slowly he walked forward, each step more difficult to take than the next, then he reached for the small brass doorknob, an act he had not done in two years, when the funeral parlor had said that they needed a dress to put on her to put her away. Adam turned the doorknob slowly and upon feeling the doors pressure give away slightly he pushes the door open. There it was the familiar white painted walls, and white curtains, her bed, a queen size, which took up most of the room, is untouched, made up the way it was, when she left the house for work that day. The air inside was stale, and dry, and as he slowly overcame the habitual urge to say: Excuse me mom. Can I come in? He took his first step in planting his right foot on the light gray carpet and then standing inside fully. Adam looked to his left and turned to the set of drawers, made of highly polished light oak which made the area around it smell of furniture polish, above it mounted securely to the wall was an 8ft long mirror. On top of the chest of drawers was a glass top, with smooth beveled nearly jewel like edges, under the glass top was a single business card.

IRVING JOHNSTONE

ATTOURNEY AT LAW

2200 JOHN HANCOCK CENTER

CHICAGO, IL.

[phone]

He looks down and tried to remember the number, engraving it into his mind then walking over to the yellow bedside phone, he lifts the receiver and assured of a dial tone, dials the number, trying to remember how it works to ask for an interview, and not sounding like a beggar. After two rings, a woman’s voice answers.

Good afternoon, Johnstone and Associates how can I help you?

Is Mr. Johnstone in his office?

Who shall I say is calling?

My name is Adam Davis; he was my mother’s lawyer.

Just a minute, I’ll see if he’s available. She replies, and then the line goes blank for a brief second, before some anonymous elevator music chimed in. Before the next song starts, she comes back.

Mr. Davis, Mr. Johnstone is in conference right now. I can have him call you in about two hours. Is that all right?

Adam looked at his watch and figured that he was not going anywhere for the next few hours, so he said:

All right; my number is [phone].

Thank you I’ll give him the message as soon as he becomes available.

Thank you, goodbye. And he hung up the phone and replaced it on the rectangular area that was clean of dust. That reminded him; he had not dusted or cleaned much since he had his last break in classes and not at all in this room since his mother died. He looked around and in the mid afternoon light he could see the dust clusters drifting down through the beams of light filtering through the curtains.

Suddenly a thought came to him, his mother kept a photograph album in one of the drawers in her room. Maybe if he looked in there he could find a picture of his father or some old pictures of him. He opened the center drawer. And underneath some well-folded clothes he discovered a large, brown vinyl covered book that said photographs in gold letters. He lifted it carefully and looked around quickly for the small chair, which she usually sat in while making up her face, for church, which she found harder and harder to make him attend in recent years before her death. He slowly opened it and on the first page are pictures of her when she was younger, at church functions, Easter Sunday, pictures of him as a young boy playing in the snow at a playground not far from the old house. He turns the pages and sees more pictures, each one invoking another memory, as he gets closer to more recent times. There are color group grade school pictures, grade school graduation pictures, prom pictures, and then finally pictures of him proudly holding his High School diploma. Then when the pages become more and more sparse with photos after he graduates from the university, there is a set of blank pages then he sees another set of pictures. They are separate from the others as though they were part of another life that she had desperately tried to shut out of her present life.

The first is a prom picture with the date on it of June 1970. The man is black with dark brown complexion, his hair is thick, and very well cut, and so that it resembles a ball around his face. His father appeared to be tall, between 5’10", and 6’ tall, with large, dark brown eyes. He wears a black tuxedo with an almost gold colored ruffled shirt, and a black velvet bow tie. He has a very thin moustache, which seems to be an object of pride, which he holds dear to him because he kept it cut almost pencil thin, as though it were drawn on with a mascara pencil. Adam reaches under the slightly yellowed plastic and pulls the picture out, and turns it over, on the back is written in nearly faded blobby blue ink:

TO MY DEAREST MARIAN; SOMEDAY WE’LL BE TOGETHER.

ADAM

He turns the picture back over and slides it back under the plastic. Again he begins to analyze the picture; she was dressed in a bright yellow low cut long dress with no sleeves and a matching yellow fringed scarf that covers her shoulders. On her feet are pearl yellow pumps, holding a cluster of yellow roses. The only difference in color between her skin and the dress she wore was that her skin had a slightly reddish color from the heat. Her flat nose and thin pink lips accented her face which was topped by a head if straight auburn hair, held in place by an expensive looking tiara. Adam stood proudly close to her holding her waist as though she were the most precious object in the world. At this time they were nearly the best-dressed prom goers at their high school. Adam was taller than Marian by at least 6" but he seemed to possess a strength which was hard to define, almost to the extent of not being natural, but because of her high heels she appeared to be only a few inches shorter than him. Adam turned the page and found a more pictures, there are more graduation photos, but these are of his father his haircut is now very familiar to him. There is another picture of him and his mother together, but this one is kind of faded, like the distance was not quite set right. His eyes shift back to the graduation photo; his father is holding it overhead like it is the Nobel peace prize. The smile on his face is huge and genuine. Marian is standing next to him holding him with both arms around his thin body, since her arms seem to disappear beneath the folds of his light blue graduation robes. Adam smiles in wonderment at the happiness of his father and mother, graduating from High School, Senior Prom, and they’re in love, what a great combination. The next picture is kind of left of center of the first two. The picture has written inside the thick white border.

MARRIED AUGUST 14, 1970

CITY HALL

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

How strange it was, and then his mother’s words come back to him as if they were spoken yesterday:

We started out real young; it was while the war was still going on. Yet we thought all the time that if we got married he would not get drafted into the army, how wrong we were.

The next picture is he in his dress green uniform, unlike the others there is no smile on his thin, dark face having the look of a man condemned to a death sentence. His mother told him that many men went to Vietnam, not as conquering heroes, but to die, and make way for other more desirable people. He studied his lean, yet somehow kind features, his strange eyes, his almost Indian like features and a kind of pointed chin that gave his face the look of a thin, dark, football. The next picture is a large group shot like the one you get when you leave basic training. He scanned the rows of men, mostly blacks and whites but here and there are a few Hispanics and, there was one oriental in the entire company. As Adam scanned the picture, from bottom to top he finally notices a picture in a circle of black ink, as if to say: Here I am. He looks carefully and sees that now familiar face, which he now knows, is his father, Adam Davis. Adam runs his index finger over the face of his father and says as if in reply: Here you are, Dad

The next picture is Adam again but this time he is shirtless, his thin yet well muscled body glistening in sweat. His baggy pants appearing to be almost two sizes too large for his stick like legs and his helmet is resting on the barrel of his M16 rifle, his thick flak jacket covering his thin upper body like and underneath that is a brown T-shirt. Lying on the ground with his web gear is a machine gun and a belt of ammunition slotted inside as if it is ready for action. He is standing next to a building that he learned was called a Quonset hut, it is sunny and the bright sun reflects off his skin giving it a kind of shiny luminescent appearance, but as he looks closer finds that it must be perspiration. Adam looks carefully at his face and even though it has a slight smile it appears to be forced, unlike the true smile he had during senior prom, and graduation. He looks back at the picture taken shortly after his mom and dad were married, and there was that all too familiar smile that was distinctively his father’s and an unusually genuine smile that was his mother’s. He turns back to the picture of his father in his baggy fatigues; he lifts up the plastic cover to remove the picture and carefully slides it out. On the back of the picture is written the words;

TAY NINH

JUNE, 1972

GLAD YOU’RE NOT HERE. WISH I WASN’T.

Very funny, Dad, how old was you something like 20 or so? What a sense of humor you had even in the face of death. Adam mumbles softly to himself, as he strokes the worn pitted picture. But he was born in August 1972 where was he, where was his father when he was born.

As he sits in the green upholstered chair in front of the small make-up mirror his mind slowly goes back to the words of his mother that he had heard so many times:

The Army sent a letter in the mail telling me your Dad had died. I was so hurt. I hurt so bad that I couldn’t do anything; I couldn’t even take care of you. It was as if all of the happiness that filled my life was washed away, leaving me with a big empty hole in my life. If it wasn’t for the woman who lived next door to me you and I both would have died. The only thing I could think about was the only man I ever loved was dead. He was not just my first love he was, and still is, my only love. Besides you baby.

Her words stuck with him and every late October and early November, she would sit at the living room or kitchen windows and stare out across cold, damp 53rd street as if she were waiting and watching for someone to appear. She would watch for hours, until he would ask his mother.

Mom; whatcha looking at? And she would turn around with at first an angry expression as if she were caught in an unguarded moment then her face would grow quickly peaceful as she said;

Nothing baby, nothing at all. And return to looking out at the dark rain-slicked street. Thus it was until Thanksgiving Day and then she would stop looking out of the window and would return to her normally lively, yet secretive self.

He looked around breaking the flow of concentration on the flood of memories, some good, and some bad. But the few pictures saved from that nightmarish evening, when the upstairs neighbors’ cigarette got out of control, starting the fire that killed him and burning the buildings entire 2nd floor. The resulting water damage caused their apartment to resemble a large swamp. All he could remember were the images of the water soaked furniture, the smell of the burned apartment and the feeling of hopelessness. Yet through it all, his mother maintained her steely resolve as she searched through their former home to find any useful items that they could use to help start their new life

He slowly closes the photo album, and replaces it in the center drawer where he had found it. Feeling the rough pebbled vinyl covered cardboard cover which was meant to resemble leather in both hands; he slowly replaces the photo album, closes the drawer, and turns off the light. Then he stands up, walks out dejectedly, and pulls the door closed before he walks downstairs as if the answers that he sought had not really come to him. Almost immediately he is in front of the refrigerator he opens it and with an almost mindless motion prepares a sandwich of sliced turkey on hard rye bread. For one of the few times in the past few years he truly felt hungry. As he spread the mayonnaise began to notice that he made a mistake and quickly wiped it off letting the thick white glob roll back into the jar. He remembered that he liked mustard add reached to get it in the refrigerator only to find that he had none. He remained there looking at the inside door shelf where he usually kept it, only he found that he could not stop looking away. After a few minutes he stood up and looked around, wondering where he put the mustard, he knew he had not been to the store in about two days yet, it is not there. As he started to close the door he snatched a can of generic cola and slid it across the table toward the still incomplete sandwich. He shrugged his shoulders then placed the top piece of bread on, reconciling himself to mustard less, turkey on rye. He opened the can of cola and took a long drink from the open top, then as if he were giving a sign of victory, let out a long loud belch.

Suddenly, there was a loud ring from the phone mounted next to the refrigerator door, Adam quickly sprang to within arms reach and picked up the receiver.

Hello? he said quickly.

Mr. Adam Davis? said a voice in a somewhat scholarly voice.

Yes it is.

This is Irving Johnstone. You called me earlier.

I called you because you were my mother’s lawyer. There was a brief pause and then he continued.

Oh yes Marian Davis. So, how are you Adam? he says with a tone of familiarity he had not heard before.

"I’m fine, I have just finished law school and passed the bar exam earlier today.

That’s great. Congratulations. Do you have any job prospects lined up?

Well, no I don’t. Really I called to see if you were hiring any new lawyers.

Hmm, well I think we can take you on. Actually I was wondering when you would call me. I’ve been somewhat keeping up with your progress ever since you were in college. Are you still living in the town house over on north Paulina Avenue?

Yes. He says with a more relaxed tone as he finds himself losing his fear.

Good. I helped your mother get that place after you were burned out back in…oh yes, 1983 I think it was. I was hoping you would keep it up after she died. He pauses for a few seconds then, as if to fill the empty space he says begins again: Well Adam when was the last time you have had a decent steak dinner?

Well I’d say it was when I started Law school. One of my classmates called it fattening me up for the kill. He laughs slightly and then quickly continues:

Well that’s true, that is so very true of this profession. Anyway I want you to join me for dinner in Old Town. I have two more conferences lined up today, and then I should be finished about 8:30, is that all right?

All right by me, Mr. Johnstone, I will be there. Adam replied with increasing happiness.

The name of the place is called The 1898 Steak House. It’s located near the corner of North Av. and Wells. I’ve made reservations already, so if I’m not there then just introduce yourself to the Maitre’d, he’ll seat you.

The sun was just setting in the west, as it cast its bright red orange rays down North Avenue when Adam entered the door. The outside was finished like it would have been during the Columbian Exposition, white faux marble Corinthian columns in front, and half pillars sat on either side of the large plate glass windows. Inside the window which has immense white curtains, with mock-gold stripes on the borders. The inside of the restaurant was immense, there were table’s set in neat rows, but the larger booths were set against the back walls. The deep red carpet had intricate designs in it but the white tablecloths on every table always accented it.

The 1898 as it was always called by its customers, was started in the same year by a retired trainman who had seen too many train robberies, and who had survived a shootout between Wyatt Earp and the Dalton gang. Since that time it was the favorite eating establishment of politicians, movie stars, and even frequented by the infamous Al Capone. Not a day goes by that someone famous, near famous, or even infamous has dinner here at the 1898 steak house. Even after the old trainman gave it to his son to run, and he lost control of it to his sons who sold a controlling interest to a group of stockholders who closed it up, only to be reopened by the great grandson of the old trainman himself, the place has never lost the charm it had during the Columbian Exposition. Even when it was closed up for a day when a member of Dutch Shultz’s gang was found dead while eating his T bone steak, they re-opened promptly at 12:00, the owners laughed and said:Well, at least he died happy with a good meal in his belly.

As Adam walks through the front door the doorman dressed in a plain white ruffled shirt, black pants, and a black bowtie immediately greets him. He was thin with sandy brown hair and light brown eyes, and perfectly manicured fingernails.

Hello sir. Welcome to the 1898 Steak House.

Thank You. I’m meeting Mr. Johnstone.

Just a minute, I’ll see if he’s here. The young man says as he walks toward the back. At that time Adam notices a group of four people two older white couples whose presence speaks of old money and influence. The two in front near the red velvet rope look at him as if he were a new kind of servant. The two closest to him try their best to step closer to the front as if to block him from entering ahead of them. As the doorman approaches the group he discreetly points to Adam, then as he reaches the velvet rope, and disconnects it from the waist high chrome plated pole, he waves Adam to come forward. Adam excuses himself and walks around to follow the doorman, through the opening, then smiles as if he had just won a great victory. The quartet looks at him as if they were greatly offended, while the comment is heard in whispered tones about how bad the service has gotten, and that they have been waiting longer than he has. He leads him back to a small booth where a thin light skinned black man with gray-flecked hair and moustache, is sitting. He looks up waving discreetly and as Adam comes to within arm’s reach he smiles slightly, stands and outstretches his long thin hand in greeting.

Adam Davis. I thought this day would never come. But, I’m glad for once in my career I was wrong. It’s good to meet you, sit down I took the trouble to order for you.

Thank you sir it’s good of you to take the time to meet me.

No problem. The pleasure’s all mine. Johnstone said. For Adam the tension of meeting him was melting away, as if he were meeting an old friend.

Irving Johnstone was a tall man, nearly 6’3" with dark sandy tan skin. He wore a light steel gray suit with a powder blue shirt and fire engine red tie; there was a white handkerchief in the left breast pocket, which seemed to be pressed into the suit itself. He wore neither glasses on his thin face nor other extensive jewelry on his hands or wrist except for an old Boulava watch, with a standard silver expansion band. He had no wedding band on his fingers so he could only assume that he was either single or divorced.

Johnstone cut in and looking around spoke:

Don’t worry Adam, It’s my treat whenever the firm makes money we celebrate whenever we lose a case, well I have a drink in private with the lead attorneys, and a pep talk. Once and a while the whole office goes out for a party here. White people don’t like seeing us here because they think we are beneath them. But you see that couple you passed by at the door?

Yes I see them?

Well I defended their little girl last year; they were going to have her do 15 to 20 on a possession charge. I defended her, personally and got it down to 5 years probation and mandatory treatment.

That’s great, but how?

"One day I’ll let you know. But I will tell you this; I know most of the aldermen, top cops, and even a congressman or two. Not to brag about the people I know just fact. You’ll be surprised at how well friends can help you.

How about the mayor; is he one of your friends, Mr. Johnstone?

I’ve done him a favor for a friend, and a relative.

Adam sits back amazed by what he has heard. As he does the waiter arrives. His pearl white with red and gold striped plate has a well cooked T-Bone steak with a large baked potato. Johnstone’s meal was a sirloin steak that looked as though it were 6 wide and at least 1" thick. As the waiter left Johnstone settled back against the back of the red upholstered booth and began to speak.

I guess you are wondering how I came to know your mother, Adam.

Adam looks up startled and replies:

How did you know that?

When you’ve been a civil and criminal lawyer for nearly 20 years you learn to read people’s faces. And besides, my very good clients are, how should I say, are very, very perceptive.

Very perceptive, what do you mean by that? Adam says as though trying to grasp the meaning behind the words. Suddenly Adam gets the feeling that Irving Johnstone has just thrown out a free clue.

For the moment, let’s leave it like that. Johnstone says, and then takes another bite from his baked potato.

All right, I think I understand. Adam says letting the flow of conversation go back to his future boss.

I’ll tell you the story. I had just finished my hitch in the Nam, ending up in the JAG Corps in Fort Huachuca for a few years. Well, when I got back in touch with your mom, I found that she had not received any death benefits from your father. She was working as a cashier at a department store downtown and really, didn’t know what to do. He stops and takes a drink from his glass. As he sets it upon the white tablecloth, he twirls the glass, holding it by the stem first clockwise then counter-clockwise he glances at Adam and continues. I figured that it was the least I could do to repay the debt I owed your father.

What debt? Adam said tilting his head slightly as though he was going to hear a government secret.

I was platoon leader in your fathers unit during the 1972, Viet Cong offensive. He saved my life and was almost killed. We evacuated him along with the rest of the wounded to a field hospital. After a few days I learned he died en route to Okinawa, or Tokyo. He shrugs his shoulders slightly as though he is at a temporary loss for words and then returns to eating.

Adam suddenly began to see the light, as pieces of the puzzle began to come together. But still it never explained why his mother was so secretive about his father all of his life and then when he did it was as though he were some kind of odd mix of a criminal and a hero.

I helped her get the $50,000 Uncle Sam owed her but she wanted to pay me, but I refused. Well at that time your mother insisted on paying me so I took $5,000 and invested it for her.

You reinvested $5,000 back in 1975, even at bank rates that’s a lot.

Well it was really 1976 but who’s counting.

But, it took the Army….

That’s right almost 3 1/2 years to pay a death claim?

She’s a lucky woman, some never got a penny.

But why is it my mother never told me the whole story? Adam says turning to Mr. Johnstone. Johnstone looked to the far side of the restaurant as if he were remembering some scene from a distant time and says as he turns toward the young man seated beside him:

I have no idea, I guess your mother was trying to protect you from something, I guess she had her reasons.

Adam looks away then as he scans the room he glances over to the couple he encountered at the front door. Suddenly he remembers what he learned in law school, that everyone has a secret, no matter how large, or small that they need to hide, and that his own mother was no different.

Anyway, she used a lot of that money to support herself while she went to eventually get her MBA. Now enough of that, go on and eat there will be plenty of time for us to talk.

The two men ate almost in total silence, Adam, glancing at Mr. Johnstone in total silence. Mr. Johnstone looking at him as though he were the son he had never had, but yet he had watched him grow and develop from a baby to a man. The steak was so good in his own mind that for a brief moment, he has stopped wondering about his own past and started concentrating on the present. Adam glanced up at the chandelier above the center of the room while eating and barely noticed Johnstone sliding a white paper envelope in front of him. Adam looked up as if out of a dream and fixed his gaze upon it like it was the only thing in the world. He tilted it toward his eyes and he could plainly see his name typed on the front.

Aren’t you going to open it? Johnstone says pointing at it with his fork. Adam nervously took the envelope in both hands and turned it over and saw that the flap was merely tucked inside. He drew a deep breath, then opened the envelope, then pulled out the neatly folded piece of paper inside. The letterhead was pre printed with the name and address of the law firm then a couple of spaces down he saw his own name, then he let his eyes slide further down. It was a proposal. The thing he had been working for since high school, but had always eluded him, he had received without begging or pleading or even selling his soul.

The list of payment and benefits were almost like a menu of fine food to a hungry man some of the benefits included a 3 weeks’ vacation with use of the company time-share condo on the island of Martinique. And a flat salary of $50,000, per year for the first 2 years until, experience dictates a raise, or bonus. Compensation for all company related expenses including phone and transportation. Then he looked inside the envelope and saw a check for the sum of $5,000, Adams eyes grew as large a saucers having never seen a check made out to him for that much money at one time.

What’s the matter, ever seen a signing bonus? Johnstone says smiling widely.

Not from the Chicago Public Library. Adam says; as he looks at the check one more time to make sure he was not dreaming.

That is not for what you have done, but for what you will do for the company.

Adam rubs the check between his thumb and forefinger then turned to look into Johnston’s face. Again, he looks at the check, and thinks about the amount of it and then the words come to his head:

This not for what you have done, but what you will do for the company. Before he could say another word, Johnstone breathes in and speaks:

"That does not come cheap. I’ll expect you in the office tomorrow morning at 10:00am. You have a lot to do before you can come close to earning that check.

I’ll be there sir, you can count on that. Adam said smiling, and reached over to shake his thin yet strong hand.

You sound a lot like your father only now you’re; let’s see, 5 years older than he was when he first said that to me.

What was my father really like; my mother didn’t tell me much. Johnstone shifts his gaze as he glances up at the ceiling.

Oh I see, well, when he was shipped in like so many other young men he was different, scared, yet strangely enthusiastic. Some of the men called him Hero because he tried to do more than the more experienced guys. He pauses and cuts another bite from his steak leaving one small cube on his plate I guess that’s what got him killed, and why you’re talking to me right now. Johnstone takes a drink from his wine glass and drains it then leans back and starts again.

He loved Marian, I’m sorry, your mom, very much, and he couldn’t wait to finish up his term so he could go home to her. He was really something else. And now I see you’re just like him in a lot of ways.

Thank you Mr. Johnstone.

Also you’ll have to excuse us because we don’t have an office for you yet. I didn’t expect you to call me so suddenly, and ask for a job. However we can let you use a desk and a cubicle like all of the rest of the new associates, but we’ll figure something out. He changed the subject as though he was trying to alter or at the very least hide the truth.

That’s all right with me.

Now when you come in you’ll be working with a more experienced associate until you learn how to do things on your own. He’ll show you how to take care of some of our clients.

Your very good clients, I suppose? Adam says making quotation marks with his fingers.

Johnstone turns to him and fixes an angry gaze into his eyes then slowly his eyes softened as though he were remembering something after he showed his reaction.

No, not them, but very soon, in the meantime I need you to do some paperwork; you know research work, maybe sit in on a few cases with me so that you know how I operate. Oh yes I just remember there’s a large land transaction taking place and I need a lot of research work done before we purchase it.

You buy land?

That’s right. Well, I mean for our clients who need our services, but all of that comes for a hefty fee.

I understand completely, sir. Adam says. The two men look around the room, Johnstone, not believing that so much time had passed so quickly and Adam not believing that he was on his way toward achieving his goal of being a lawyer. By now the crowd was slowly beginning to thin out