Lessons || MJ

Lessons || Chapter 32

Author's Note: Once again, italics characterize a flashback. What do you think of Leslie's father now?

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CALVIN SMITH

"Put the gun down. I can explain everything, mama. Just please..." I cautioned with a trembling voice for once. Yvonne remained completely still as she watched Leslie point the firearm right in front of me again. My hands lifted to the ceiling, complying with the demands of a woman I loved the fear and angry in her eyes crushed my soul.

"No!" Leslie barked with a shaking hand while tears clouded her ebony eyes. "You're dying today, Calvin! I can't take this bloodshed no more."

A gunshot rang through the house.

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Winter, 1970 - Minneapolis, MN

VERNON EDWARDS

Bundled, I lurked the iced streets just after sundown. A Newport found its path between my lips as I glanced around, cautiously searched for a juke joint among the extravagant and, mind you, White-owned shops or restaurants. John Prince Rogers desired my arrival after quite a few secret phone calls. My beautiful wife Joyce and teenaged daughter Leslie remained clueless thanks to my excuse of a business trip.

As I paced further down the iced sidewalk, a lone streetlamp blazed overhead. I'd found the place at last. After spitting out my cigarette and stomping it carelessly on the white frost beneath my steps, I pulled the door open. Blue and purple lighting of the "Billy Jack" club blinded me just before I closed that vintage door.

After shaking off the frost on my trench coat, I looked around to find most brothers and sisters dazed by the sensation of cigarettes or cigars between their lips. Afros topped as I passed by in search of coatrack. My heart slowly began pounding until I locked eyes with a familiar face.

Twelve-year-old Nelson.

John's son.

He'd been standing up against the wall, but from this blank stare on his face, I knew this boy loathed coming here of all places. Such a talented young man wasted time by visiting a gang-bang father. At the same time, I knew so much better than to judge. Otherwise, I wouldn't even think about flying here. As we inched toward a destination, I patted his back and for the first time in a while, this young man grinned.

Nelson addressed me with the most wonderful manners. "It's so good to see you again, Mr. Edwards. I'm sorry about the circumstances."

"It's no trouble, my boy." I said. "And again, what your father and I planned is personal. No one here know about it, right?"

Nelson nodded almost feverishly. "I haven't told anyone, sir."

"Good." I'd stopped in front of the "office door" with him and looked up. Music blared from inside, but I couldn't even identify the record.

"Nelson? What song is that?"

"Voodoo Child by Jimi Hendrix, a Black man, sir." As that music played, I looked back to find that we'd escaped the crowd.

Before long, I smelled cigarettes all over again. In response, my hand reached for another Newport deep within coat pockets. Sadly, Nelson saw and pulled out a lighter, almost on cue. The blue and orange flame greeted my waiting eyes. Nelson pounded against the "office door" to somehow greet anyone behind the wooden frame. Music here simply overpowered basic conversation if we didn't move close enough.

Within seconds, a fedora sporting man opened the door and mumbled greeting to me first. He soon removed his hat after seeing Nelson and offered a yellow smile. His thinning hair left me believe that he was kin to John. Probably not, though. Our thinning hair man excused himself to return for the noise.

After making a right, I finally stepped onto mobster ground. John propped his feet onto the desk just before noticing us and readjusted himself to greet me. In a tailored suit, John smiled at his son before shaking my hands as if were old friends. In a way, I felt much closer after all the personal conversations.

John soon looked over to horseplay with his son for a bit. I smiled while sitting down in front of the desk. Family photos lined the walls of his "office" For once, I began to question why he killed randomly on a regular basis. Given the smiles in these pictures, I slowly questioned everything this man stood for.

"I love you, son." John told Nelson quietly.

"I love you, Dad." they hugged for a moment and Nelson ran off before I could say goodbye. I understood given the late-night hour. School tomorrow possibly.

John sighed out loud while taking off his suit jacket. It now rested on the back of the desk chair. "He's keeps growing and I couldn't be prouder of that boy."

I quickly poured Burbon in my glass despite the weather outside. "I understand. My angel is a junior in high school and she wants to learn French, John. Blows my mind every day."

John immediately opened the can of worms I traveled for. "Is that why you're nervous about Calvin?"

I sighed again before taking a long drink of the burning whiskey. "Nervous don't even explain how I feel right now, John. She'll lose focus if she's with that boy. Only God knows what he could make her do and I'm not having my baby girl turn out be some harlot. He's already 16 and smokes like the White people at Woodstock."

John reached into a drawer and slammed his revolver onto the desk. Again, what do you want me to do?" I shook my head, but still focused on his eyes. There was only silence before I spoke up. My words turned low.

"I already told you, John. Kill him."