Chapter 1

Damned if I can figure it out! There was never any love lost between us, my uncle and me. Why would the old fart who never missed a chance to point out that he thought I was bound for hell in a hand basket if I didn’t mend my ways, name me as sole heir in his will ... Unless all he left behind was a pile of debts.

His attorney sat on the other side of the thick glass in the visitor’s area of the county jail. I was the one on the prisoner’s side. On the phone we used to speak to each other, he assured me it was all true, that when I was released in three days, I’d be picked up outside and driven to his office to sign all the necessary documents to take possession of my uncle’s property. There were, of course, certain conditions he’d explain later. No surprise there; anything my uncle ever did or said had conditions attached to it, one way or another.

I asked again if he was absolutely sure he had the right guy, if it wasn’t one of my cousins he should be talking to.

“Look, Mr. Davies,” he said for about the third time, “Your uncle, Samuel Ansel Davies, was very insistent that you, and only you, were his chosen heir. There isn’t another Jesse in your family tree; not living, anyway. I know that because I checked.”

Again he held that page of the will up to the glass so I could read it for myself, and continued, “I know it’s you because when he made that change in his will just before he died, he advised me that you were currently serving a six-month stretch in the county lockup for aggravated assault, so, yes, I’m absolutely positive you’re the one. What time are you being released?”

Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt anything to at least see what was on the table. “I think they kick us out about five in the morning so they don’t have to feed us another meal.”

“Hmm, well that’s a little early to for me, but I suppose I can manage it. Okay, I’ll be waiting outside the gate to take you to breakfast and then to my office.”

He hung the phone on the hook and walked out, leaving me sitting there shaking my head in disbelief. What the hell was Uncle Sam up to? I’ll bet he came up with a way to bust my balls from the grave. It’d be just like him to take a parting shot, make sure he got in one last dig.

True to his word, three days later, Johnny Spencer, my late uncle’s attorney was standing outside the gate in the pre-dawn darkness waiting for me when I walked through. We climbed into his Mercedes S-Class sedan and headed toward town to an all-night cafe for breakfast, then to his office downtown. I’d never sat in a hundred-thousand-dollar car before, and probably never would again.

On the way to the restaurant and all through our sausage, eggs and hash browns, I kept bugging him with questions about my uncle, but I didn’t learn any more than I already knew. He said we couldn’t discuss any details until we got to his office where he could record the conversation. I didn’t like the sound of that. The standard police warning, “Anything you say can and will be used against you.” popped into my head.

We got to his office about seven, and it was everything you’d expect of a successful attorney; not like the work-a-day cubicle my moron of a public defender holed up in. But then, you get what your pay for, and I never paid the idiot a dime. In return, he gave me exactly nothing in the way of a credible defense at my trial. Like an moron, I took his advice to not testify in my own behalf. Well, nobody else did, either. When the deputy led me out of the courtroom in cuffs, I’d come to the conclusion my attorney had to be in the DA’s pocket. But it was all water under the bridge now, so there was no sense whining about it.

I was surprised to see a secretary already hard at work so early in the morning. Spencer grabbed a handful of messages as we passed by her desk and proceeded through a massive oak door into his inner sanctum. The place reeked of money.

As he occupied his throne behind a desk big enough to roller skate on, he waved his hand at a leather wingback chair and said, “Have a seat, Jesse. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Uh, sure. Thanks.”

He pushed a button on his phone console and said, “Jeannie, two coffees, black, please.” Then he placed a small recording device between us, pushed the ‘record’ button, leaned back and began, “I take it you never spent much time with your uncle. How much do you know about him?”

I shrugged, “Not a lot, I guess; just that he lived in that old farmhouse after Grandpa died, and I think he leased out the fields to his neighbors. I remember he and Dad argued like hell over the property until Uncle Sam paid him a few thousand for his share. I think he dabbled in the stock market some, but I don’t know if he ever made any money doing it. As far as I know, he kept to himself and lived off his social security and whatever he got from the leases.”

The secretary came in and set a big mug of coffee in front of each of us. I took a sip of the best coffee I’d tasted since taking up residence in our county facility. I mumbled my thanks to her shapely backside as she turned to go back to her office.

Spencer slurped his coffee and asked, “What kind of relationship did you have with your uncle, Jesse?”

“None.”

“Could you be more specific?”

“Well, when Dad died, Uncle Sam came to the house and said he was gonna take me under his wing and see that I was brought up right. I said ‘Like hell, you are!’, and that’s as good as it ever got between us.”

“And how did your mother feel about that?”

“Mom hadn’t drawn a sober breath in years, so I doubt she felt much of anything. She was already pretty much toast by that time, but I wasn’t gonna just walk out on her to go live with Uncle Sam. Anyhow, she didn’t last another year. I was eighteen when she died, so Uncle Sam couldn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to.”

“Did he ever approach the subject again?”

“Couple of times. Last time, maybe two years ago, he tracked me down and asked me to move in with him, to help him work the farm, raise beans and onions. I told him I had better things to do.”

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Did you have better things to do? Did you already have a job?”

“Um, just some part-time construction jobs, hustling pool, that kind of stuff. I just couldn’t get very excited about being a farmer.”

“Yes, that all pretty much matches the story Sam gave me. Tell me about how you wound up in County.”

“Is there some reason you need to know, or are you just getting a read on my criminal character?”

He chuckled, “Well, since you asked, Mr. Attitude, I would like to know what kind of person I’m going to be dealing with over the next few years; that is, if you accept the terms of the will. Besides,” he added, nodding at the recorder, “I need your version for the record.”

“Fair enough. It’s pretty simple, really. I was shootin’ some pool in a bar, and this asshole was giving the waitress a bunch of shit. Every time she walked by him, he’d reach out and grab her ass. She told him about a dozen times to knock it off, but he wouldn’t. Then the next time he did it, she turned around and smacked him up side his head with a bar tray. Knocked him clean out of his chair! So, we’re all standing around laughing at him, kinda glad he got what he deserved, when he came up off the floor with murder in his eyes and made a run at her. I reached out and snatched him by his collar and slammed his face against the wall. When he took a swing at me, I broke my cue stick over the top of his head. That settled him down for good and he wound up spending some time in the hospital with a skull fracture. The cops called it excessive force and ran me in. That’s about it.”

Spencer looked confused, “And the judge gave you six months for that? Did you have a prior record of assaults?”

“Hell no! That’s the first and only time I was ever arrested.”

“Where in hell was your attorney? If you’re telling me the truth, your actions were justified, and you shouldn’t have gotten any more than a hundred-dollar fine for disturbing the peace!”

“Where was my lawyer? The jerk was sitting right beside me, picking his nose and scratching his fat ass. He was useless.”

“Jeez, I guess! I can’t imagine why the judge was suck a prick!”

“Maybe because I’m black?”

The truth is I’m really only about a quarter black, kind of a light brown. Dad was white and Mom was mixed. Only reason folks don’t see me as a white man is my curly black hair. That and maybe a little bit of ‘tude, as well.

Spencer shook his head and sighed, “I hope that wasn’t it, but you may be right. If you are, I apologize on behalf of honkies everywhere.”

I got back to the subject at hand. “So, why’s he doing this? Uncle Sam, I mean. There must be four or five cousins out there somewhere who are - or were - a lot closer to him than I was.”

Spencer reached over and picked up a sealed envelope, tossing it to me across his desk. “Read it later. It might have some answers. Or not. I have no idea what’s in it. He just said to give it to you, so I have.”

I stuck it in my jacket pocket. “At County, you mentioned conditions?”

“Well, it’s all very complicated, and it’ll take us some time to work through the details, but here’s the gist of it: First of all, your uncle did a lot more than dabble in the stock market. He made millions.”

That set me back on my heels. I was inheriting millions!?

Spencer read my mind. Or my shock. Or my greed. He laughed and added, “Now, before you go out shopping for that Lamborghini, let me advise you that you have zero access to those millions, at least, until you’ve fulfilled the conditions of the will. Until then, I control the purse strings.”

He leaned forward on his elbows, folded his hands together and started laying it out, “The basic conditions are these: For the next five years, you’ll be living off an allowance of fifty grand a year. You’ll live in your uncle’s house. You will complete your GED. You will not marry. During that time, you can opt to work the farm or you can learn another trade. You can even go to college, if you want.”

“Yeah? Last I heard, a college education is gonna run about thirty grand a year, easy. That doesn’t leave a lot of money for gasoline and groceries.”

“Any educational expenses would be paid for over and above your allowance.”

“Yeah? Well in that case, I guess I’ll have to give it some thought. I still don’t get it, though, why he did this.”

“Frankly, Jesse, I don’t either, but getting it isn’t my job. I’m being paid to see that the conditions of your uncle’s will are carried out to the letter. If they’re not, if you violate even a single clause of the contract, then the whole deal is forfeit and everything goes to the next in line. He was very specific about that.”

“And who’s that? Next in line, I mean.”

“That’s none of your business. Shall we proceed with the details, or do you want to bail now and save me the trouble of having to babysit you through the next five years? And you can take my word for it, Jesse, if you agree to this thing, you’re going to be on a tight leash.”

I laughed, “Mr. Spencer, I get the impression you like me about as much as Uncle Sam did.”

He shrugged and said, “Given that you’re heir to all his wealth, I’d suggest he liked you a lot more than you seem to think. Anyway, my personal feelings toward you are entirely irrelevant.”

“Ya think? Seems to me, if you’re gonna be looking over my shoulder for five years, your personal feelings are entirely relevant.”

He chuckled, “I’ll try to control myself. So, are you in or out?”

I didn’t have to think about it too hard because it wasn’t like I was looking at a rosy future, otherwise. The best I could hope for was some kind of a shit job and cops being way too interested in my personal affairs, now that I had a felony record. Getting out of the city was way up there on my agenda anyway, so sure, why not? It’s not like Uncle Sam was gonna be there in person to make my life miserable.

“You’re a helluva salesman, Mr. Spencer. I’m in.”

“Then let’s get to it, shall we?”

We spent the next hour going over the details of my uncle’s will and the terms of the contract. By the time we got through it all, I was thinking my life would be less regulated if I were a raw recruit in the Army, but the thought of those rewards at the end of five years put a damper on my need for independence. After I finished signing and initialing all the paperwork, Spencer handed me a set of keys to my uncle’s Tundra, parked in a garage down the street.