Yesterday’s Gone

I got to the big city, took a city bus to college and settled in. I got a room in a dorm. I started classes. I very quickly found that the high school classes that I had taken were totally inadequate. As a result, my world consisted pretty much of get up in the morning, get breakfast at the training table, go to class, get lunch at the training table, study in the library, workout with the wrestling team, get supper in the cafeteria, study in the library, go back and sleep in the dorm. (I was a member of the wrestling team, which let me save on meals, because of the training table, and even paid a bit of my college costs. Between my scholarship and my wrestling benefits, I was nearly self supporting. I did need a bit of money from my father, but not a lot.) There were no classes on Saturdays or Sundays, so it was just study, except that I had to do my washing at the Student Center Saturdays, or Sundays, if we had a wrestling match on Saturday.
I finally began to catch up with my studies and I had a bit of free time. I used the computers in the library to track down the mysterious address in the note that my father gave me. I recalled that Don Jose had mentioned something about Tijuana, the Mexican border town. I found that there was indeed an address in Tijuana that matched the address in the note. I also found that the address was that of a Mexican Bank. If the address and the mysterious number were related, the number was probably an account number for the Mexican bank.
I was finishing up my freshman year in college, when I got a largish check from my father and a note saying, “This is probably the last one. Don't call me, hide the money. An address in the note is for Don Jose.”
I was shocked. I suspected that the old man was in really big trouble. I finished my last final and took a bus down to the border and then a Mexican bus into Tijuana. I got to the bank at the address in the note. I walked in and asked to speak with Don Jose. The lady that I first talked with was very cool to me.
The lady then walked somewhere in the back of the bank. She then returned, all smiles and 'Right this way, for Don Jose!”
I find myself in a fancy sort of office with the Don Jose that I once toured Hidden Bay with.
Don Jose says, “Bienvenidos, welcome, what can I do for you?”
I tell Don Jose, “I received a very mysterious note from my father. He had earlier given me an address, the address of this bank. The last note contained a check and said that it was probably the last one. He told me not to call him and that the earlier address was your address. I suspect that my father is in some sort of trouble. I tried to contact him and the phone doesn't work.”
Don Jose gets very serious, “Your father was involved in some very dangerous things. He was performing some money laundering services for people who were importing certain products from Mexico into the United States. He was also involved in investments for some of the same people. Your father was making a lot of money, but he was risking his life. Your FBI found him. Unfortunately, some of the Mexican people found him first. Your father is dead.”
I'm stunned. “You mean that they just killed him, over money?”
Don Jose says, “I don't know exactly why they killed him. He was involved in so many dangerous things. Eventually the dangerous things caught up with him. I just got word of the murder yesterday. The Mexicans are also looking for his son, Kenneth Smith.”
(My mother's name was Smith. She married my father, John Lee. My full legal name is Jed Palmer Lee. My parents divorced when I was just a baby. My mother had custody of me and she always called me Kenneth Smith, maybe because she, by then, hated John Lee. All of my early records are under the name Kenneth Smith, however, that's not my legal name. Maybe the name thing is why I'm still alive.)