A Tale of Two Legacies Read online

A Tale of Two Legacies

  By William Gardner

  Copyright 2012 William Gardner

  Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your

  friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial

  purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this

  you for your support.

  A TALE OF TWO LEGACIES

  A work of fiction written by:

  William A. Gardner

  4612 Miramar Drive NW

  Albuquerque, NM 87114

  [email protected]

  All of the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A TALE OF TWO LEGACIES

  Chapter 1

  Jeremiah Beeson had a business problem nagging at him as he sat in his oak-paneled study in his ranch-style home in Knoxville. Another burst of wind-driven rain pelting the windows that Saturday morning served only to exacerbate his mood. On the wall opposite his desk hung the several portraits of his family business predecessors. He felt he did his best thinking here among these pictures of his forebears; their rather sober expressions helped to coalesce his thoughts. His eyes fell on the portrait of his great-grandfather, Adrian Beeson. Looking for some kind of inspiration or revelation or guidance or he wasn’t sure what, he went to a bottom drawer of the credenza and pulled out some old albums and shoeboxes where he ran across several old letters to the family discussing the death of Adrian Beeson. Jeremiah gleaned the following information: Adrian Beeson passed away in 1960 at the ripe old age of 96. Having outlived all of his contemporaries, he had been recognized as the oldest man in eastern Tennessee. Many of the folks at the funeral mentioned how he seemed to have a smile frozen on his face. His had been a hard, but full life. He was one of those so-called hillbillies in his day. He was not a descendant of a Stuart or a Jackson or a Davis or a Beauregard. His was not of plantations and debutante balls, but he had succeeded in bringing all his offspring on their own through the years. A shirttail relationship to Davy Crockett was his biggest claim in life. Adrian knew what it was like to talk to a mule all day long and he frequently dined on squirrel or possum, but he knew how to survive just on hushpuppies if need be.

  Some folks felt that he was smiling because the Lord had let him through the pearly gates even though he had never acted like a God-fearing soul. If there was a family Bible, no one knew its whereabouts. He had nothing in common with the Hatfields or the McCoys. His essential belief was ‘live and let live’. Others, more close to him, felt that he was still celebrating his and his pappy’s success in escaping the ‘revenooers’ in those desperate days when making Tennessee’s famous white lightning was the only way to feed and clothe the young ’uns. Rumor had it that the ‘network’ from those days was still alive, but now moving different types of merchandise. The consensus of the more polite crowd was that he was unable to contain his joy in that he had come from such humble beginnings and now had progeny owning businesses in nine different states.

  Adrian Beeson preached that the way to success was to take advantage of such opportunities as might come your way, but never be piggish about it. Take it slow and easy, mind your P’s and Q’s, and never take anything for granted was his mantra. He had stated any number of times before he died how proud he was that his descendants appeared to have learned and practiced those same principles.

  Adrian’s obituary showed a rather lengthy list of survivors. Julian Beeson, Adrian’s oldest child and Jeremiah’s grandfather, however, appeared on the ‘preceded in death’ list. Julian had been killed as a soldier in France in World War I. Although Adrian’s kinfolk had spread to the four winds looking for a better life during the depression days of the 1930’s, it was true that he had expended great effort in keeping his clan in touch with one another. Curiously enough and seemingly by design, only his grandson Eustice and Eustice’s older boy were in attendance at the funeral. Jeremiah was Eustice’s older boy and he thought all of this was a fair representation of how that day had transpired. Jeremiah recalled how his own father’s facial expression had remained rather stark during the occasion, but he knew that Eustice had inwardly smiled at all of this gossip. Jeremiah was keenly aware that, with Adrian’s passing, the tightly held reins of the Beeson clandestine business then fell to Eustice with Jeremiah as the heir apparent.

  While no hard and fast succession rule had been promulgated for the family business ‘founded’ by old Adrian Beeson, Adrian, through his actions, had certainly indicated a desire that the reins be passed through the first-born of each succeeding generation. Such guidance had apparently passed muster in spite of the untimely demise of Julian Beeson when Julian’s only child, Eustice, was tabbed as heir apparent pending his growth to adulthood. Eustice died in 1994 having steadily increased the Beeson empire fortunes utilizing Adrian’s still viable philosophy. Now under Jeremiah’s guiding hand, the Beeson clan was still heavily involved with contraband.

  More specifically, they moved stolen and counterfeit goods effectively and efficiently by breaking shipments into much smaller portions and distributing the smaller portions to legitimate clan businesses in a number of states where the merchandise was sold at a significant profit as discounted or discontinued lines. It was an illegitimate rendition of a Tuesday Morning approach. Their suppliers were crime families in New Jersey and Illinois who had become truly professional and proficient at hijacking big semi-trailers, raiding warehouses, and engineering heists for high-priced jewelry and other such items, but the Beesons worked generally through middlemen who provided them with phony, but convincing bills of sale. Timely, but not necessarily quick, distribution of their acquired goods was key to the success of the operation. ‘Never be piggish’ was the unstated motto. Through family around Santa Fe and Taos, the Beeson syndicate had even dabbled in helping to fence fine art. Because of numerous marriages and childbirths, the roster of the clan was now significant. A favorite ploy of a number of the family retail outlets was to market their ‘marked down’ merchandise shipments simply as alleged ‘loss leaders’. Money talked.

  Over the decades, the ‘nature’ of the merchandise changed, but only as dictated by the market. With the import of ‘knock-offs’, illegitimate copies of merchandise from the far East, and the dramatic increase in prices for silver and gold over the past several years, the syndicate was generating more profits for more folks than ever before. Jeremiah Beeson was generally pleased with his operation of the business.

  It was succession planning, however, that occupied and troubled Jeremiah’s mind this day as his first-born, daughter Rose, had fallen victim to cancer some years ago. Her first-born, a son, was the heir apparent, but just now approaching adulthood. Rose’s husband, while having proved himself quite adept in all other matters of the family business, had reported difficulties in training his and Rose’s young son to assume a more responsible role. Jeremiah was reluctant to step in. Perhaps ‘watch and see’ would be the proper course for the moment. Nonetheless, including the lad in a very recently developing opportunity for the family to handle some ‘hot’ artwork was indeed raising Jeremiah’s anxiety level.

  Chapter 2

  Harrell Wade Harrison was trying his luck at one of the bars in the Opryland Hotel. Having squeaked through his third year in his General Business major, he had kissed the University of Alabama goodbye for the summer. It looked like his grades were good enough to let him finish his senior year, but he wondered why he had picked such a tough school in the first place. When Vanderbilt rejected his application outright, he was determined to show his pa that he could get into a respect
ed university. In his heart, though, he knew he wasn’t much of a student. His high school record was proof of that. He should have set his sights more in line with his talents and there were plenty of party schools in Tennessee. What he truly wanted was not to have to live at home. Part of the problem, Wade thought, was the death of his ma, Rose Beeson Harrison, just when he entered high school. He had not adjusted well to his new situation. He yearned to see more of the world before joining his daddy in the family business and he had no interest in joining the military. His choices according to his pa were college or the army. With scholarship help out of the question, he was indeed fortunate that his pa decided to spring for ’Bama.

  The summer would be spent doing grunt work for Harrison & McComb, Metal Purveyors. On the bright side, however, his pa was indeed serious about sending him out to New Mexico on a special assignment, a treasure hunt as it were, that had been first mentioned well over a month ago. The deal was even more recently sweetened by the promise of better wheels – a low mileage new car that he was to deliver to someone in New Mexico and swap for a ‘muscle’ car that he was to drive back. He was to pick up the outgoing car first thing the following morning. Not that the trip was in need of a carrot, but Wade had felt for some time that his old Chevy Citation was stifling his social life.

  Quaffing what was left of a bottle of St. Pauli Girl, he put in a call to his dormmate from New Mexico. The dormmate was still in Tuscaloosa, but packing up his gear and wrapping up his affairs so that he could return home to commence his post-graduate life.

  “Keith, this is Wade. Assumin’ you’re still at school, I just thought I’d call to let you know I’m headin’ west tomorrow, but I’ll be takin’ it slow and easy. How’s it goin’ with you?”

  “I leave in a couple days. I want to say my goodbyes to the Computer Honors Program staff and I’m taking several of them out for lunch before I go,” replied Keith. “Then I’ll drive home in one ridiculously long day.”

  “You takin’ them to Nick’s In The Sticks? That was a hell of a party we all had there the other night. It’s tough to bid adieu to the gang that won’t be back.”

  “No, I think we’ll go to the Cypress Inn. I really enjoy their view of the Black Warrior River and my grandma asked me to get the recipe for their delicious miniature muffins. Well, I’ve still got some packing to do. I’d better get after it. I’ll see you when I see you; take care,” said Keith obviously terminating the conversation.

  Keith sighed as he closed his cell phone. The warmth of a summer evening had Tuscaloosa well in hand. At the moment, Keith was locking the computer lab for the final time having just finished boxing up his personal items from his lab desk. The desk had essentially been his home for four years and he admitted to himself that he was suffering equivocal emotions. He was alone as so often was the case at this time of night. The familiar peal from Denny Chimes, announcing the time as 11:00 PM, penetrated the night from the nearby quad. These bells in the University of Alabama Campanile had become his close friends over his years on campus. They had indeed become unassuming and unquestioning confidants as he labored through his various assignments. Keith faced the campanile and, with a heavy heart, whispered into the night, “Goodbye, old friends”.

  Back in Nashville, Wade looked around the bar and, seeing no possibilities for the evening, paid his tab and left. On the way home, he mentally went over his planned route west. His daddy had enlarged the scope of the journey over and above the ‘treasure hunt’ by giving him a specific list of contacts, in addition to the car swap, where he was to drop off or pick up special delivery business packages. Wade saw this, finally, as a chance to get out of his father’s doghouse.

  Two years ago, his pa had him drive to Pittsburgh to deliver a special package of unknown contents specifically to the owner of Sparkle Plenty Jewelers, a Mr. Harry Collier, at his home address. Finding no one at home, Wade left the package with the lady next door. The news beat Wade home and his first assignment was apparently his last. He had never seen his pa quite so incensed. Wade’s travels ceased before they had really begun. He had not been sent on such an errand since. Instead, he was incessantly bombarded by ‘lectures’ on old Adrian’s business philosophy.

  Apparently, Wade’s suspension had now expired and he was to be given a second chance. He dared not make any miscues. His instructions had been designed with almost clockwork precision as if it were some kind of military maneuver. Obviously, this was a very serious test as far as his pa was concerned. Wade was still completely in the dark as to the contents of any of the packages as his pa said that Wade had no need to know and would, in fact, be better off not knowing. His father had mapped out the precise route he was to follow and had obliged Wade to memorize a number of passwords if he were indeed challenged at any juncture. He was also told to conduct his business like a pro and not to call home or anywhere else until his business had been completed. Wade recollected the end of the conversation:

  “I hope you understand that I expect you to do exactly what you have been told. You are not to embellish any of these instructions. You are to remain anonymous as much as possible. Stay in the shadows so to speak so as not to draw any attention to yourself. Is there any part of this you don’t comprehend?” queried his pa.

  “You can count on me, pa. I can take care of it,” replied Wade with Pittsburgh weighing heavily on his mind.

  “I want you to know that I am relyin’ on you, boy. Here’s sufficient cash to get you through Albuquerque. I presume that you have had enough business courses that you can successfully budget your expenditures. Lastly, here is a Visa credit card, but the Visa is to be used only at an ATM for an extreme emergency. It is not to be used without my specific okay.”

  Now having pondered his ‘sailing orders’ for the nth time, Wade thought to himself, ‘Seems downright peculiar to me, but if that’s what my pa wants, that’s what my pa gets.’ Nonetheless, this was his big opportunity to see some of the western states and he was hoping to make the most of it. The plan was for him to cross the Mississippi at Greenville, mosey up to Mena, Arkansas, drift across southern Oklahoma on his way to Lubbock, and move on up to Albuquerque from the south. After Albuquerque, he was apparently on his own.