Caged: Reclamation
Chapter 6
Téa walked through the old mansion on the outskirts of Llanview, kicking dust on the wrecked wood flooring as the real estate agent chattered like a duck about the history of Chartwell Manor, the fact that it was post-American-Revolution, luckily, coincidentally, not historically designated so you can make all the upgrades you want even though it is a 1778 stone farmhouse that the previous tenants had in their family all this time, transferred from father to son to son to son, etcetera, until just this year when the last member of the family died, a car crash, so tragic, but the price is so good considering-
The property was gorgeous, highly defensible. The land surrounding the farmhouse was dotted by sycamores and oak trees, featured rolling hills, and was backed by a large wash, kind of a moat. Nobody would be sneaking up on Method Makers, Inc., that was for sure. The rest of the property was guarded by a solid stone wall, coming around the front where there was a long driveway and an iron gate. The building itself was rundown, needed lots of work, probably needed demo all the way to the studs, but thanks to the zoning, she could easily update and refurbish to serve the company. She had plenty of money.
The agent chattered drone-like as Téa looked up the wooden staircase that went up the three floors. Watched a mouse run along the curved banister, up, up, up, brown and fast and scrambling like it was being chased by the devil.
At the very top she saw him.
She'd visited tens of houses and not in any of them did she see him. Bastard. He knew she liked this one. Liked how old it was yet if she wanted she could demolish it all to hell.
Bomb it, if you will.
He stood, grinning, hands on the railing, looking straight down at her, hair hanging. His chest was bare always so she could see his ink, the snake that crawled up his neck, black and deadly, next to the spider web on his shoulder and barbed wire on his biceps, the color of his life, his death, all foretold beneath his skin. Funny, that the letters identifying him as MK were lost to her, the exactness fuzzy, Los Reyes Del Mambo, hidden. Ironic. A twist of reality.
The jeans still rode obscenely low to remind her of the angry cock beneath the buttons that tormented her at the beginning of their relationship and at the end. A sword that got him put into prison, then something he learned to forgive through love of her, and Rico certainly, loving Rico in his way, loving specifically with his hands and body, Rico's cock. How interesting that this most human body part that caused him, and others, such pain, ultimately tied them together and transformed them from the ordinary to something beyond all conventions, all papers, all traditional ideas of marriage and love, leaving everyone else in wasted space of suburban life.
My god, practically magical.
The ghost of Todd heard her and laughed, voiceless, grabbing his dick. Don't you know it. He never spoke out loud because she had forgotten the sound of his voice. She had banished it from her head so it was more an intentional forgetting. He hawked silently and spit and the glistening drop fell the three stories onto her outstretched palm. He gazed at her with an intensity she felt right down to her toes. Her eyes prickled despite forbidding herself to ever cry for him.
Can you feel me, Delgado? Can you taste me?
He let go of the railing that kept him safe from a horrific fall, backing up into the dark until he was completely gone. Téa raised her palm to her lips and licked the wetness there. Rainwater that tasted like Havana nights outside Sylvia's casa, like sweat on his neck after she fucked him good, like bittersweet come licked off Rico's chest and transferred to her in a kiss, like the tears of Lucia who cried into her pillow every night for her father who died in the undocumented unfair war that everyone refused to acknowledge, tears she hid from Téa who could hear her and yet could do nothing to soothe.
She held her hand to her eyes, blacking out any more visions, echoes of hurt resonating through her body that she fought, that she tried to diminish through her mantra she spoke hundreds of times every day to get her from one minute to the next.
Fuck you, you fucking bastard. You left me. I hate you with everything I am.
She breathed the must and wiped her hand on her hip. Must be a leaky roof. For the first time in her life, she understood his cigarettes being used to burn private parts. She wanted to do it too, burn herself, to stop the aliveness in her cunt, the thrum that told her she was a woman who had once been in love, who had loved so madly she had three children with him and then sacrificed them to run to Cuba, to save him once more, only to fail yet again.
Forever failed devotion. A spectacular fail.
I love you, Delgado.
"I'll take it," she said.
"You don't want to think about it?"
She laughed, the agent, a nervous laugh.
"I know when things feel right. Call my lawyer. Get it set up."
"Okay! You mean George Strauss? Fantastic! Wow! You gave me his card, yes, I have it. That was unexpected. Did you know that the family was a big prohibition-era smuggler of gin? And rumor says that-"
The place was perfect. Plenty of room for the offices she wanted, the two-acre property zoned for business or residential. It sat at the end of a road that passed a business park, a downtown area with a supermarket and little shops, miles of housing, before finally turning into the main highway that led to Llanview. It was a typical square-shaped farmhouse with matching square windows built out of matching square stones. Tons of weight that would probably survive a nuclear winter. The owners once owned 10,000 acres in all directions but slowly sold off bits and pieces until they were down to just the two that were left. She understood that kind of ravaging.
The afternoon was waning, darkness coming. She sniffed and turned on her heels to head out the front door.
"Did I mention the basement? The family housed slaves rescued from neighboring farms before heading north to freedom in Canada and if you wipe the grime you can see writings they left, faint scratchings of their African names to tell everyone who would come after them that they had once lived…"
Her cannabis monopoly, Method Makers, Inc., was going to have a new home and she was glad of it. They had long outgrown her tiny office on the boulevard in Llanview. She'd be glad to move away from the Sun building two blocks down that shadowed her tiny building. She hoped the renovations would go quick. She ignored the touch of his fingertips on the ends of her hair that felt like electricity as she stepped across the threshold, as the massive front door slammed shut.
Fuck you, she thought as she opened the door to the BMW, Rolon's eyes in the rear-view mirror.
"Slaves lived in the basement," she said. "Take me to the office."
As she drove down the driveway in her fancy sedan with the bullet-proof windows, she looked through the back window. She saw nothing but oak trees and the house. She turned to face the front once more.
The front of the wrap-around porch to the Manning home was littered with toys, a pretend oven and stove, a girl's bicycle flipped over, Reese's "tools" to the side. A chapter book sat open on one of the porch swings. Jedediah unlocked the door to his Moms' house and smiled to himself at the sound of Esperanza screaming her head off upstairs, the third au pair in the past month running to collect her.
"It's no good," he yelled.
As he thought, she kept screaming. Espy was six months old and an absolute demon in a cute-as-a-bunny baby human vessel. No doubt, his dad had blown himself up, got sent to hell, and burped up Esperanza as a constant reminder of him. Jed pounded up the stairs to her room where the latest, Marion, was frantically rocking her and pacing.
"Give her to me," he said, grabbing the hysterical girl into his arms. "Now, go downstairs, take a sip of whiskey to calm your nerves, and contact the missus of the house, Ms. Delgado, with the following message… 'Jed says get the fuck home to take care of Espy. I quit.'"
"But I don't quit."
"Yeah, you do. You're fired. Get the fuck out but don't leave until after you send that message to Ms. Delgado's cell phone."
"But sir, why?! I don't understand!"
"Fuckin' too long she's been crying and you were not in here. She's sweating like a pig. Get out."
The girl huffed and left the room. It was six o'clock and Viki was most likely on her way with Rose, Lucía and Reese, angels in comparison to Espy kicking in his arms. She was still crying but slightly less so. She only wanted Téa, that was her deal, and she was gonna demand Téa until she got what she wanted. They needed an Espy-whisperer but he wasn't sure that existed because, seriously, she was a hellish little thing that Jed loved like mad.
He smiled and walked and squeezed her tightly like how she needed. She had a hold of his hair, her cry piercing.
"Come on, girl," he said, "cool your tits. She's on her way."
Téa wasn't the same anymore. Jed missed her. He thought that when Espy came home from NICU that Téa would get better, would come out of her zombie state but no such luck because as it turned out, Esperanza represented everything that had gone wrong in Havana.
She would stand in her crib, standing way before she was supposed to according to all the textbooks while white-knuckling the railing, and scream like mad until Téa was huffing down the hall because Téa was the ONLY one she wanted. They had gone through a dozen helpers, all of them run-ragged by little Demonia, but she was all "fuck that noise, I want mama!"
Yeah, he had no doubts. Todd Manning aka Blanco lived in that little girl and Jed in fact did get soothed by her special little crazy.
He was reminded.
Just like now, he would pick her up and she'd be screaming and he would rock her and she'd sniff like he was just the lowest piece of shit and he'd smile and he could swear she'd smile right back like high five, brother, is that woman running like she should be? Is she getting that cereal like she supposed to? Is she on her toes serving the real queen of this house?
And in her desire to get Téa to run he could hear his own father's mean-as-fuck voice in his head, through little Espy, he could see that bare-chested bastard in the window of that Havana house the morning he called Jed to come get Téa who'd spent the night with him...
Wait over there, down the block. I wanna see her run. Splash dem puddles with dem lawyer...boots.
Esperanza finally settled. He looked at her and she looked back at him with those hazel eyes all the Manning kids had and she licked her rosebud lips and hit his head hard with her little fist.
"Ow you little brat!"
He laughed, holding her hand, cuddling her, and walked downstairs to get her dinner. They had a cook, Hector, a professional chef who left everything ready to go, a typical healthy dinner for the family, all veggies and chicken and stuff. He picked at it while Espy kicked her legs and yelled incomprehensible words, probably cussing him out.
"Yeah, yeah, here, have a carrot."
He held the soft carrot piece to her mouth and she sort of gummed it and liked it and he smiled while he put her in her high chair which she hated, fighting the entire process. She was all stiff legs kicking at the chair, hands pulling his hair, and screeches. Five minutes later she was screaming as usual but firmly fastened and tucked in.
"You're stuck, dudette. No choice but to eat."
He got her little foods and sat next to her, the spoon getting her attention, her cries abating. Tears sat on her round cheeks, her large eyes on Jed as she tasted and ate the pureed peas and squash and other such un-yummy foods. Before long, the rest of the crew arrived and the usual chaos ensued. She'd just started eating cereal but Carlotta had suggested her crying was for real food and it did seem to be the case. Espy ate well and quite a bit.
Jed lived here now with his own daughter Rose by the late MK whore, Leticia. Rose looked enough like her to always make him smile. She was beautiful with her brown curly hair, six years old and in kindergarten, and a good friend to her cousins Lucía and Reese. They were their own little gang.
Téa finally arrived around eight, so fucking late, irritating Jed. She did bathe the kids like clockwork. Got all of them to bed. He did his thing with reading to Rose, talking about the day, and tonight, letting her know he was off on a job and he'd be back in a week. No longer. Five days was his promise.
"Pinky promise?" She asked.
"Pinky promise. I love you. Sleep. Ignore the devil girl if she cries."
Rose giggled and admonished him, "Daddy! Mama Téa says no names like that!"
"Okay, officer. Just Espy. Sleep." He kissed her and tickled her and then headed downstairs for the big fight that was coming.
He was headed to Havana and the real she-devil was gonna have a shit-fit over it but he had a job to do. Things needed looking into the truth of which he couldn't tell her because her grief-driven crazy couldn't handle it. So he was going to lie with an even bigger, more intolerable story. Shook his head as he skipped down the steps.
See, Bo Buchanan, their favorite commissioner, had contacted Jed earlier in the month and asked him to usher around town, Ian Correa, a Cuban underground reporter.
He has some crazy theories about the death of your dad. I figured you'd want in on it.
What are you talking about?
I'm going to let him tell you all about it. You might have to go back to Cuba.
I don't ever want to see that goddamn island again.
I know, son, but I have a feeling you might be interested.
Téa will hate me going down there.
I know. So don't tell her specifics. Don't tell her anything of what you're doing. Find a cover. If you decide you should go.
So yeah. The reporter guy said the bombing scene was screwy, and the reports on Todd's death were equally as screwy. Jed knew the truth, of course, that Todd was killed in the bombing. He was letting the guy follow breadcrumbs and Bo wanted that to continue. Bo told Jed about the necklace.
Your dad wore a silver chain.
Yeah, Rico gave it to him. Something Catholic.
That's right. A picture of a saint on a pendant. But autopsy photos show a gold chain.
That's weird.
Yes, son, it doesn't make sense.
So… wait… what are you saying…
He never wore gold chains and certainly didn't in Cuba.
So… the body that was Todd's body—
Isn't.
Well, where the fuck is he? Who's in the urn?
Let's not jump the gun, kid.
Bo told Jed he was pretty certain Manning was in that urn but that the Cuban government was playing games. Something else was amiss. Couldn't really guess at any of it. He shared the politics with Jed, that Manning was scrubbed as the potential bomber, that a notice went out saying he died from a drug overdose, a real American rock star death, because he was too close to Cubans and the government refused to acknowledge a bombing by one of their own, adopted or otherwise. It also marred the romantic claiming of Esperanza as a Cuban citizen. She had fans as one of the first babies born to a visiting American in Cuba's new Age of Enlightenment.
Again, Cuba wanted distance from Todd as a home-grown-of-a-sort terrorist even if he did take out twelve or thirteen pedophiles in the biggest child trafficking bust in decades or maybe ever.
The urn caught Jed's eye ever since. He opened it once. Looked at the ashes. He didn't know what he thought he'd find. Gold teeth which he didn't have? Barbecue ashes? Téa lost her shit when she caught him sitting on her bed with the box open. He swore he wouldn't touch it again. Had a lot of soothing to do. But he thought about it a lot.
He knew it was stupid. Rolon identified Todd's black leather boots that were found at the bombing site. They were the only shoes he wore those last weeks at Sylvia's. Jed remembered seeing them on him. He'd abandoned the more dressy stuff and the sneakers at the beach house after he split from Pedro, preferring to huddle with Rico, with his crazy in full fuckin' bloom. A man takes off his shoes when he's in a place to stay. He took those boots off. More crazy. Jed had a hard time picturing it. Walking around that house… shoeless. Bootless.
He didn't leave barefoot. He blew himself up… to Kingdom Come.
"Don't cry, baby," he heard Téa say, wrapping her arms around him. "It's okay, it's okay."
Jed couldn't stop himself, he was near sobbing it hurt so bad. He hated thinking of it, that day in the hospital, the day that police chief handed him Todd's wedding ring. He was in the kitchen doorway, holding the wall, and sniveling like he was eight years old all over again and his grandparents were telling him that Mimi had died. He had cried then, and lots of times after, but there was something far more devastating about this. Maybe it was his own investment. He had searched out Todd and found him and raised him up to be his dad. Yeah, yeah, that was it. In a way, Todd was like his very own child and he had to see all that work, all that love, tossed in the fucking trash.
Goddamn.
He stopped short of cursing out his dad because he could not do that to him. Téa was the big winner in that horse race. "Sorry, sorry…," he said, taking a breath, trying to stop, wishing he could stop on a dime like Téa did.
"You okay?"
He nodded, sniffing, her arms still around him.
God, he missed his Pops. For all the shit he and Jed went through with each other, there was nothing like being loved by him. It was fucked-up love, off the rails, and way too much information, but when his dad looked at him and said "I love you," Jed knew it was true. There was no lie in it, no bullshit, no judgment. It wasn't that Téa or Aunt Viki lied, or bullshitted, but he always had the sense that they had to say that. They could say that. His dad didn't drop those words as easily as Téa or Aunti Viki. He only said them to people… he really fucking loved. Jed could still feel the strength in his hug, hear the laugh, and smell those filterless cigarettes. He could hear him saying fuck in every other sentence in all its grammatical shapes and sizes. Most important, Jed had known for a very long time that his dad would do whatever he needed to do to protect Jed, to get him on his feet, to keep him there.
He went to Statesville for him.
So you can't testify, so nothing you say can ever be used against me, so you never have yourself to blame. This is all on me, Jed. Don't you forget that.
Jed had all his letters from prison and those words followed him everywhere.
"It's okay, mijo, it's okay."
Jed pulled himself together, straightening up, pulling out of her warm hug. She may be bitchy these days, but she didn't deny any of them her love. It was just a little harder to see in her new career of taking down Los Reyes Del Mambo.
"I'll make us some coffee," she said, her eyes on his. "Yes?"
"Yeah, sure." Ambling to the island in their gourmet kitchen, Jed sat on one of the stools and leaned forward on his elbows.
"Night crew all at their posts, jefa?"
"Yes," she said, ignoring the slight edge in his voice, his mild disapproval of everything Téa did these days. She looked at him as she poured coffee in the coffee maker, filled up the carafe, and set the whole thing to brew. Jed had long lost his teenager look. He was a man, strong, muscled, a handsome defined face always needing a shave. So much like Todd without the hate. He was a good father and brother to all the younger Manning children, especially Esperanza who tormented Téa on a daily basis.
Jed had said why in that first week.
She's more like my dad than any of us.
It was true. Just like Todd, she screamed for Téa, screamed like she was dying. Only Jed could slow it down, could get her to take a breath. To just wait for Téa. But not unlike Todd, she had no patience and yet demanded it from everyone around her. Her temper was well formed in utero and it was a monster temper. Téa worried. Espy was going to be a very difficult child, a teenager who'd challenge everyone, and maybe… an adult doomed to a miserable life.
Or she'd be a judge, a hanging judge if they still existed.
Sometimes Téa would be rocking her and Espy would be looking up at her and Téa would swear the girl meant serious harm if Téa even thought about putting her back in the crib. Téa would just hold her harder, and promise love forever, and that it was okay to be mad but not okay to lose herself in all that mad. It was the only time Téa cried and that was for Espy.
Not Todd, never Todd.
Jed took the coffee mug gratefully. Poured milk and sugar and smiled to himself just a little. Cafe con leche was a family favorite.
They drank in a peaceful quiet. For a while. Téa had a bad feeling.
"What is it?" she said. "What's going on?"
Jed huffed and looked at her over the edge of his mug. "You… uh… still cussing dad out?"
"A little."
"Why?"
Téa eyed Jed, then didn't. She tapped the counter. The curses running in her head like always. Fuck you, you fucking bastard…, etcetera, etcetera. She straightened in her seat and breathed deeply, a meditative breath, the kind to ease aching bones and settle fiery nerves.
"He left us, Jed. He walked out of that hospital and blew himself up with intentionality. Aforethought. He is and will always be a fucking bastard for doing that." She told him like rote. It was a line she used constantly with herself and whoever else might ask.
Jed nodded. Drank his coffee. And once again, as he'd done a hundred times over since they got back home, he told her a reality that she refused to hear.
"He thought you were dead," he spat. "The doctor told us you were dead. And I saw the last bit of life go out in his eyes, Moms. I saw it." Tears welled, tears running easily down his cheeks once again. "Whatever bit of sanity he had before that day… absolutely vanished. Right in front of me. Do you get that? There was nothing left of him."
That was more than she had ever allowed him to say. She usually cut him off at "the doctor."
Téa closed her eyes. She could not… do… this. The black wavered. The truth weakened her. No, no, no, no... The truth would destroy whatever bit of standing-on-two-feet was left in her. Yes, I get that. Dear GOD, I get that. Jed did not know this. She could not put words to it. She couldn't even NOD in an agreement because then… she would die from the grief. And all these kids would be left alone. Jed was right, of course, that she was being like Todd but she could NOT be HIM to THIS extent.
She would not let the life go out in her eyes. Hating was better than grieving. Her hate was the only thing that was keeping her alive.
"So what?" she said.
"Come on…"
"What? He had CHILDREN, Jed. He had FIVE-"
"He thought Espy was dead too."
"Okay…." Her voice was cold and tight with frustration. "Let's go with that. He had FOUR children that needed him. He had no RIGHT to do what he did. I fucking hate him." Her last words were spoken through gritted teeth. She looked at Jed like he was the stupidest opposing counsel she'd faced in ages, like he went to a piece of shit law school and she didn't.
Jed sighed, leaned back, giving her his own cold eyes, his own judgment of HER legal education. "For someone who hates him so much, you sure are putting a lot of energy in being like him."
In any other place, in lots of other cultures, that would have warranted a slap across his face. She certainly looked fit to do it. He sipped his coffee, eyes on her. God, she was pissed. He knew he was right. He just couldn't… quite… understand it. MK business, this gutting of MK with her legal marijuana business manned mainly by MK soldiers, was going to get her killed and she had to know it what with all the guards and bullet-proof glass and shit. She never really explained what she was doing other than a loose idea of getting back at Pedro Moreno which he got… but…
She didn't answer him. She just sipped and sipped. Yeah, pointless conversation, no shifting things, so… here goes nothing.
He put the mug down, thinking he might not finish that delicious coffee.
"I'm going to Havana," he said.
"Why?" Téa was very cool in her delivery of that inquiry, her fury boiling. She sipped. Brown eyes on his. Lips pursing when she swallowed the coffee.
"Um… a project?"
"What sort of project could possibly have you going to fucking Havana?"
The cool was warming over. Bubbles about to spill over the edges. She put her coffee down. Fingers still hanging on.
"Black market shit?" He felt his face stretch into a smile but he knew that wasn't exactly the outcome of the stretch. He really hadn't thought this through. So he stuck with black market, clarifying the story. "It's for RJ, it's for the Posse, I swear to god, nothing to do with MK, it's about the Black Cuban population—"
He had to duck. She took her coffee cup half full of coffee and milk and threw it so hard against the wall it exploded into a million pieces.
"Moms!"
"What is WRONG with you?!"
She took the saucer and threw it at him but he dodged it.
"They killed your father! Those bastards!"
She reached across the island and took his mug and also threw it, the thing sprinkling all over the place. He had once again dodged it.
"Fuck! Come on! He killed himself! He THOUGHT you were dead! Cuba had nothing to do with it!"
"You are a backstabbing lying traitor, Jedediah Chant! You're doing this for MK and you know it! POSSE DOESN'T DO BLACK MARKET!"
"And you know this, how?! Because you're all of a sudden some gangbanging guru?!"
"Goddamnit, Jed!"
He laughed, an explosive uncontrollable laugh from nerves, nothing funny at all in her Espy-like tantrum. There was no denying that Téa Delgado had left the station of sanity, too, parent number three or was it five if he included his grandparents doing the same loco shit-dance. He knew she had her own deal, he knew—
"Mommy?"
Téa and Jed both turned to Lucía at the entrance, the girl's eyes big and fearful, her flowery pajamas hanging loose because they were just a little big for her.
Jedediah stepped over the mess and grabbed up Lucía, overstating the excitement, "Hey beautiful! Whatcha you doin' up? Too noisy or something?"
He glared at Téa before turning back to his half-sister.
"Yeah," Lucía said, tears now coming, her small features crumpling.
Téa was frozen, ashamed, and still fuming at Jed for even considering such a trip even if it was for goddamn sightseeing. Cuba killed Todd, MK did too, and yes, he died at his own goddamn hand.
"Well your mama was testing out those cups and it turns out they are not break-proof!"
"Oh Jed that's a dumb story," she sniffed, snuggling, still crying a little. "Mommy is not that dumb."
"I'd never tell a dumb story."
"You kind of do. Sometimes."
He kissed her hard on the cheek, getting her to smile at last through her worried tears. He then swept her away back upstairs, not giving Téa a chance to assure her. As he bobbed and weaved down the hall to her room, she was totally giggling.
Downstairs, Téa was sick at herself. Tonight, Jed, that one-time truant, weed-smoking rebel, was a far better mother than she was. He was right in everything and she knew he understood none of it. She wished she could explain but she literally could not, physically unable to speak to any of it. She went to the utility closet and pulled a broom out, a pan. Proceeded to pick up the pieces. She was useless in so many ways.
When he returned from getting Lucia back in bed, Jed walked right up to her and said, "I'm going and there's not a fuckin' thing you can do about it. I got my reasons so suck it up, cupcake."
He kissed her forehead. Left her standing with a broom in her hand not unlike a witch and a storm of hate in her eyes. Yeah, his Moms had lost her mind and he didn't blame her.
He blamed Blanco.
And he wasn't going to just sit by and do nothing. His dad had died and this government was fucking around with it and if the best thing that could come out of his project with Ian Correa was getting his dad's body back or the right ashes then a few broken cups were worth it.
To be continued...
