***
Sgt. Wu stayed at the crime scene to see to it that things went accordingly. The remaining NYPD snatched up the laptop and opened it. It was a showing of the local channel-9 news. They looked at the 20-inch screen in disbelief.
“This is a special news bulletin, live on WXRP channel-9 news,” the news announcer said over the breaking news music.
Christina Marx peered into camera “A,” her gold locks and red-orange lipstick, complimented her orange business suit jacket. She read the breaking news from the TelePrompter.
“Sorry to interrupt your programming, but we have breaking news. A police chase ended this morning after new fashion designer, Bjorne Prodigy, born Kareem Bezel, craftily escaped arrest at a local hospital.” She paused as the screen flashed to the news helicopter that hovered over the Queens parking lot, where Sgt. Wu and his team watched themselves on the lap top.
Christina Marx continued, “The chase began when Agent Lucas McKenzey from the Philadelphia DEA’s office and his task force enlisted the New York office to assist with taking down the future mogul for a laundry list of crimes. Here is Daniel Moore from our Philadelphia affiliate with more.”
“That’s right, Christina. Kareem Bezel, noted for his upscale new fashion line has been implicated as the king pin of a drug ring, rumored to have supplied Philadelphia and the suburbs with kilos of cocaine over the last four years. However, I have right here”—he paused and theatrically waved a tape in the air—“evidence proving that a decorated DEA agent supplied him with the drugs and money, and forced him and his brother to sell for him against their will. If they did not comply, McKenzey threatened to make them disappear, as he did their father who has been in federal jail and presently pending appeal. To run this ring, McKenzey has spiked the cocaine of a drug abusing councilman, who demanded more money in exchange for information regarding local authorities’ efforts to bring down McKenzey’s number one supplier, Brent Gower, a local thug who died a terrible death at the hands of McKenzey. McKenzey gunned down another drug dealer, Avery Snobli. This tape shows McKenzey tampering with the dead body to make it appear like a robbery, which he later attempted to blame on Andre Bezel. Agent Turner, whose home was blown up with his wife and children inside, were killed by McKenzey, after he found that the brother’s had black mailed Turner to hand over all of the investigative notes that he had as he posed undercover as a potential boy toy of Kareem’s fiancé.
Agent Turner also recorded a tape indicating that McKenzey had doctored investigative material to implicate the brothers. Lastly, Agent Belton of Internal Affairs was murdered at his New Jersey home, when McKenzey learned that he had found all the evidence on this tape to take McKenzey off the streets. Note that the Bezel’s grandmother, Jean-Mary Bezel, age 73 has disappeared and McKenzey is a prime suspect in her disappearance. Stay tuned for my complete exposé.”
The feed switched back to Christina Marx taking a signal for going off the air. She signed off.
***
With the broadcast over, Christina went into her dressing room and dialed her cell phone. She spoke into it, “We’re off
the air and agents are scampering from the UPS truck now. Our helicopters are on them, so I’ll give you a play-by-play account of their moves.”
“Ok, good. We’re crossing the George Washington Bridge into Jersey now,” Marquis told her.
CHAPTER 75
There was panic in the airport. Men and women in suits raced around, searching for the Bezel party. They checked everyone who fit their characteristics. The Patriot Act allowed them to violate everyone’s privacy at the airport without question.
McKenzey screamed at a travel agent. “Check your manifest for any passengers with the last name, Bezel.”
The frightened agent blew her hair from her forehead and typed fast on her keyboard. “There’s four here, sir,” she said. “But that flight left twenty minutes ago.”
The flight was ordered back to JFK and was secured at the terminal. The FBI agents, headed by McKenzey, clogged the jet-way connected to the plane. The plane door opened and McKenzey sped past the flight attendant. Guns drawn, he and his colleagues searched every passenger. Row-by-row, they checked, double-checked, and triple-checked for the Bezel clan. There was no sign of them.
Panic, fear, hatred, defeat all consumed McKenzey. That was not happening. They had to be there. Frustrated, McKenzey ran back to the airline check-in counter.
Agent Dilliard told him, “It’s over, McKenzey. Give it up. Let’s end this quietly.”
McKenzey looked at them with a puzzled expression, as he swiftly grabbed an agent by the neck. He snuggled his bicep around her throat, restricting her air passage.
“You are in an airport, in New York City, home of Ground Zero. One false move and every civilian in here will attack you. You can’t leave, and you’re out gunned.”
McKenzey used his free hand to grab his gun from his waist. He stuffed the barrel of the Calico into the temple of his hostage. She began to sob and shake, and he tightened his grip. He stared at Dilliard and every agent felt his hate. They feared his next move would leave a few dead men in the airport.
“That’s a beautiful toy, you have there. I doubt that is bureau issued?” Dilliard asked.
“Did you think that my arrest would be easy? Whoever gave you this order undoubtedly briefed you on my skill. I bet they swore to you that they had me all figured out, didn’t they? Now look, I have a hostage to get out of here. Doesn’t that make you ponder their ability to lead? You stick to protocol, and let me out of here. Remember the rules of a hostage situation?” McKenzey asked tauntingly.
Dilliard knew the rules, but he also knew that the hostage would be dead if he did not save her from McKenzey’s grip. “Let the girl go, McKenzey,” Dilliard said frankly. “You’ll never get away. You’re no longer an agent. As of this moment you’re suspended of your duties. Hand over your badge and gun. That’s a direct order from the White House.”
“Does that mean that I am a civilian, again? You or those chumps in Washington, you know, the people that are playing your tunes, can’t stop me.”
“It’s true, McKenzey. I’m a piano. George Bush is playing the keys, and if you listen closely, you can hear the fat lady singing.”
“Sir, permission to shoot, sir?” Agent Tyler yelled, with a direct shot of McKenzey.
“Go ahead, Agent Tyler, kill me. They’ll just go on to exploit you and the rest of you fools'.” McKenzey said, and let out a sinister laugh. McKenzey’s head throbbed badly. His face was molten with hatred. He wanted to smash his victim’s face. He envisioned cracking her neck, and after that Dilliard’s too.
An agent lost control. A shot was fired.
EPILOGUE
(SIX DAYS LATER)
CHAPTER 76
While McKenzey’s hand had been severely damaged it remained attached to his wrist in a hard cast. Probably, he would never gain a feeling in it, or use it too pull the trigger needed to gain revenge on the Bezel brother’s. He looked forward to learning to masturbate with his left hand, though. He remained hopeful that Belton would get him out of his quandary.
One of his own men, the cocky Agent Small had shot him in the hand. What a shooter she was. And expertly, as she did not harm the hostage.
“McKenzey yard?” a correctional officer at the Federal Detention Center-Philadelphia asked through the locked cell door.
McKenzey was being held pending a bail hearing, and was in the Special Housing Unit on the 8th floor for his own protection. The way he saw it, the other inmates were being sheltered from his years in combat. He wanted to kick some ass.
“Fuck you, asshole! I’m not going into that cage like an animal. Take your mother to the yard.” He barked angrily at the CO. “Yeah, your mother!”
“You’re such an animal, you may as well go out and get some sun,” the CO replied. “You’re never going home, so hey, why not get use to this before you’re off to Big Sandy, because I assure you that you will be serving t
his entire bid in PC.” The
CO was very calm, and strolled away from the cell, leaving McKenzey kicking violently on the door.
CHAPTER 77
A short week had passed almost to the day of his grand escape, and Kareem was at the bargaining table. He sat in an office at the United States District Attorney’s Office, between 6th and 7th Streets on Chestnut in downtown Philadelphia. He wanted to toss Barnswell from that 6th floor window, and really show him who was in charge. He sat at the round table with Ravonne Lemmelle by his side. A lone FBI Agent was in the room presumably as a spectator, as he hadn’t opened his mouth through the entire deposition. The questions were clear and direct. And the outcome was simple.
“So,” Barnswell said. “I read your statement and I must say that it reeks of fiction, but your hard evidence is hard to contradict. It’s going to be a task to convince my superiors to go for you being an un-indicted co-conspirator without you getting on the witness stand.”
“I don’t do boxes.”
“Kareem!” Lemmelle chided. “You listen, and I speak. Go on Barnswell.”
“Sounds fair,” Barnswell said with a sneer on his ugly face. “I’m going to run this by them, but I want Andre Bezel at that marshal’s office by three p.m. today, or this whole chicanery is off.”
“Off as it relates to Andre?” Lemmelle asked. He wanted to be clear. “That is not my client, and his decisions do not affect mine.”
“Technically, they don’t, but surely that deal plays a part in this one. I can’t believe I have softened to this.”
“Of course you do. He, Agent McKenzey, that is, forced these young men to sell his drugs and he molested them when they were younger, while he sold drugs with their father. And because his father attempted to kill him for it, he had the man locked away. You’re doing the right thing here, Barnswell.” Lemmelle couldn’t believe that he let that bullshit come out of his Harvard mouth. He was a sworn officer of the court, but he was equally a member of the National Attorney’s Lying Society. The members met regularly in courtrooms across America.
“And you say Jean-Mary is where?” Barnswell asked.
“Safe, but traumatized by the whole being bound to the bed thing. Speaking of which, is Belton being punished for her kidnapping?” said Lemmelle.
“He has been charged, but remember that we cut a deal for him to disclose her location. I think we’re done here. Remember Kareem, do not leave the city of Philadelphia.”
“About that,” Kareem said, calmly. “You know that I live in New York City.”
“No...You live in Philadelphia. I’ve left enough of your money unfrozen for you to get a place. I don’t care if you sleep at 30th Street Station, I seriously advise you not to leave. That will breach your contract with my office, and I assure you that you’ll get 30-years easily, and Lemmelle won’t be able to stop it!” He paused at shot Lemmelle a look that dared him to defy his words. “Is there anything else?”
“No,” That was Lemmelle.
“Yes,” Kareem said, quickly. “My father, what’s being done to have him released?”
“Nothing!”
“Pardon me. You know that he is innocent.”
“Come on, Lemmelle. Didn’t you teach him that there are many innocent men in prison? A victim of their circumstance. Likewise, there are men guilty as all hell walking around the streets ready for their next lick, because they were released for some technical legal precedent. You’re father know his remedies, but, uh, no, I won’t be assisting with his release.” How could I, Barnswell thought. After all, I helped McKenzey put him there, and I am going to get you too, buddy. “Tell your dad, I wish him the best. Have a nice day, Mr. Bezel.”
FOR MORE BEZEL BROTHERS READ
LAST LAUGH, and DIE LATER
About the Author
Rahiem Jerome Brooks is the breakout novelist with an overwhelming reservoir of criminal tales that motivate American denizen to be overprotective with their personal data, i.e. social security number, pin number, and account number. His debut street thriller, LAUGH NOW won 2010 African- Americans on the Move Book Club's Book of the Year, and Rahiem won 2011 AAMBC Author of the Year. Laugh Now also won Most Creative Plot of 2010 at the DMV Expo's Creative Excellence Awards. Rahiem released his second title CON TEST on April 11, 2011, and was nominated for an African American Literary Award. Rahiem is a member of the NY Mystery Writer’s of America.
Some of Rahiem's other soon-to-be published books include: TRUTH, LIES, AND CONFESSIONS (Prodigy Publishing Group), MR. 357 (Prodigy Publishing Group), and a tween series.
Rahiem Brooks plans to continue his Film/TV certificate program at University of California, Los Angeles, and currently lives in Philadelphia building his Prodigy Publishing Group brand.
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