A Father's Wrath

by Phil Nova

  After getting out of the elevator on the 29th floor, Bradley tried calling and texting Lu again, but there was still no response. He’d been in Lu’s room earlier that evening to help him tie his bow tie, otherwise he’d have to spend who knows how long trying to hunt down the info.

  Bradley headed down the wallpapered hallway, then knocked on Lu’s door. Nothing.

  He knocked again, louder. He heard movement inside the room, so he called out, “Lu! It’s Bradley! Are you okay?” He heard movement again, then silence. “Lu?”

  Finally, the door opened a little and Lu peeked out into the hall.

  Bradley thought Lu was high on coke.

  Lu opened the door. Bradley entered. Lu closed and bolted the door.

  “I am sorry, Mr. Bradley Bedford, but I have family emergency. I must go home.”

  “Home?” Bradley looked into the man’s eyes and realized he wasn’t high, just scared. “What happened?”

  “It is personal. I must go.”

  Bradley noticed all of Lu’s things packed and ready to go. The furniture shined as if it had just been polished and the thick carpet looked as if it had never been walked on.

  “I am waiting for confirmation for my flight now, then I must go, Mr. Bradley Bedford.”

  “What about Monday?” Asked Bradley.

  “One of my assistants must fill in.”

  “This is the first meeting between your country’s new government and my company. I cannot stress how important your presence is.”

  “So sorry, Mr. Bradley Bedford.” Lu’s phone beeped. He read a text, then said, “My tickets are ready and my taxi is on the way. I must go.” He grabbed his luggage.

  Bradley grabbed Lu by the arm. “If you’re going to ruin both of our careers, at least tell me why you have to go.”

  Lu’s thick glasses fogged up as tears ran down his face. “I don’t know what is wrong with me. I just can’t help myself. Those sweet little boys are just so beautiful.”

  It took Bradley a moment to understand what he was hearing—Ko Sin Lu was a pedophile? This could really fuck things up for everyone.

  Lu used the same handkerchief to wipe his eyes and his glasses.

  Bradley said, “Tell me why you have to go.”

  After blowing his nose and putting his glasses back on, Lu said, “Do you remember the little boy that go to hospital?”

  “Oh my God.” Bradley held his hand against his head. “That’s why you left the table?”

  Lu nodded.

  He wondered what exactly Lu had done to the boy. Did he rape him? He must have. If he only touched or fondled the boy, he wouldn’t have needed a stretcher and an ambulance.

  Bradley’s sons were teenagers now, but it wasn’t long ago that they were as young and vulnerable as that boy that the paramedics had taken out of the fundraiser tonight.

  Part of Bradley wanted to strangle the deranged little man standing in front of him, but he knew there was still a chance of salvaging things. “Okay. Maybe it is better you go home for a while. I’ll speak with David about our next move.”

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Bradley Bedford. Thank you.” Lu bowed.

  Bradley didn’t bow, and he certainly didn’t want to shake the man’s hand. “Just go.”

  CHAPTER 7

  After leaving the hotel, Bradley had sent David a text, but David didn’t respond, so Bradley headed home for some sleep.

  He knew his wife would already be in bed, so he keyed in his alarm code, then tiptoed into the house trying not to wake her. His Luxurious Long Island home was always spotless.

  In the bedroom, Bradley stripped out of his clothes and wearing jut his boxer shorts and undershirt, he slipped into the bed next to his wife. She rolled over, but didn’t wake up.

  He spent about an hour thinking about what Lu had done, but thanks to the alcohol, he was able to fall asleep at a decent hour.

  At 6:30 AM, his phone vibrated on the nightstand waking himself and his wife. He grabbed it and silenced it. “Sorry, baby.” He jumped out of the bed while putting on his glasses, then glanced at the screen. It was David calling.

  Bradley entered the bathroom, shut the door, and answered the phone. “David. I need to speak with you.”

  “So speak.”

  “I need to meet with you.”

  David sighed. “I’m on my way to DC already. I’ll be back tonight.”

  “Okay. Text me when you get back.”

  “You know I don’t like that texting shit.” David coughed. “I’ll call you.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Sunday morning, Joe wanted to sleep a little later than usual, but he woke up when the sun came out, just as he always did. He lay for a moment with his eyes open, staring at the dark beige walls and white trim, thinking about that little boy he’d found in the staircase.

  He tried to think of something else, so he thought about the same walls he was staring at. He’d painted when he bought the house five years ago, but now the paint was getting faded. Recently, he’d been thinking of painting again, but never seemed to have the time.

  Joe rolled over and spooned against his girlfriend, Michelle, who was sleeping on her side. He moved her long dirty-blonde hair to the side and kissed her neck. She moaned. He kissed her again, lightly, close to her ear. She moaned again. Joe knew Michelle loved it in the morning, even when she was tired.

  Michelle rubbed her round juicy ass on his hard dick and whispered, “Put it in.”

  Joe didn’t need to be told twice. Without changing positions, he pulled her thong to the side and slipped it into her from behind.

  She moaned louder and louder as Joe pumped her harder and harder. Within less than ten minutes, he blew his whole load inside of her. She was on the pill, so neither of them ever worried about it. Joe spanked her ass, then jumped out of the bed.

  The bathroom was just down the hall and was spotless.

  He had to wait a few minutes for his hard-on to subside before he could urinate.

  After brushing his teeth and taking a quick shower, Joe went back into the bedroom where he found Michelle asleep, still in the same position she was when he left.

  He slipped on a pair of briefs, then approached the bed.

  After covering Michelle with the blanket and giving her a kiss on the head, Joe put on a T-shirt, a pair of cotton shorts, and a pair of slippers. He crept out of the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

  Downstairs, in Joe’s living room, a 42” TV sat on a stand against the wall. A brown sofa and loveseat occupied the opposite wall. Everything was five years old, but in perfect shape.

  Joe passed through the living room and entered the kitchen, where he brewed a pot of coffee while copying the files from the flash drive that Amy had given him to his laptop.

  He heard noises, and he knew what it was.

  Joe opened the vertical blinds that covered a big glass sliding door leading to the backyard. He looked down at his two brown dachshunds jumping, scratching the glass, and licking their lips. “Greedy fucks.” He had named them Yin and Yang because when they were younger, they had opposite personalities.

  From the broom closet, Joe retrieved a pair of old sneakers and slipped them on.

  While sliding the big glass door open, Joe had to be sure the dogs didn’t get in the house. He went outside, closed the door behind him, and squatted down to pet them. “Yous two better not bark now. Michelle is in there trying to sleep.”

  The dogs just kept jumping up and down and licking their lips while Joe pet them.

  After a few minutes, he stood and said, “Okay, okay, I know what you want.” He removed the lid from a big blue plastic tub and used a small plastic bowl to scoop dry dog food out of the container and into their big bowl.

  While they ate, Joe slipped his hand into the elaborate doghouse that he’d built, to make sure they still had water in their bowl from yesterday. They did. A vent tube from the basement brought heat up to the doghouse, but still, with these ten-degree days they’ve
been having, Joe was worried it was too cold for the dogs, but it wasn’t. It was very comfortable in there.

  “Okay, guys, I got things to do now.”

  The dogs just kept eating while Joe went back into the house, closing the glass sliding door behind him. He slipped out of the old sneakers and back into his slippers, making sure not to drop any dirt onto the polished fake wood floor.

  After putting away the sneakers, Joe washed his hands, then checked his computer. The files were done copying. He unplugged the flash drive and opened the folder on the desktop. There were hundreds of documents, so he started with the original detective’s report.

  Tears began to fill Joe’s eyes as he read his father’s name and cause of death: Tony Martello. Multiple gunshot wounds to the head and chest. Dead on arrival.

  Joe heard the pipes in the bathroom upstairs and he knew Michelle was awake. After closing the files and folders, he powered down his laptop and wiped his eyes with a paper towel.

  Michelle came in the kitchen wearing just her thong and asked, “Where’d you go?”

  “Couldn’t sleep with that sun shining through the window. You want breakfast?” He took a dozen eggs out of the refrigerator and showed it to her before placing it on the counter.

  “What I want is to take a shower and then for you to fuck me, and fuck me proper this time.” She slipped out of her panties and threw them at Joe.

  He caught them and smelled them.

  Michelle giggled, then turned around.

  Joe followed her juicy ass as it led him up the stairs and into the bathroom.

  After getting into the shower and adjusting the water, Joe began to lather Michelle up with some moisturizing body wash. He started with her small breasts. Instantly, her nipples grew hard. He rubbed them and pinched them lightly.

  Michelle returned the favor by lathering up his chiseled hairless chest and abdominals, then working her way down.

  CHAPTER 9

  Richie hadn’t slept all night, and because he didn’t have to work, he’d spent all morning pacing the house and checking his cell phone. His wife had picked up some pastrami sandwiches for Lunch, but Richie had only eaten a few bites.

  That afternoon, it was time to pick up Taylor from the hospital. Richie still couldn’t believe this was really happening. How could it happen to his kid? He turned to Gail who was helping Chelsea put on her coat. “When we get to the city, drop me off at the precinct and you go for Taylor, then come back for me.”

  “Come back for you? They’ll probably arrest you.”

  He put his jacket on. “No one’s arresting me.”

  “With that attitude? I know your temper.”

  “I’ll be fine.” He opened the door. “Let’s go.”

  Richie, Gail, and Chelsea walked the skinny path from their front door past the snow covered front lawn, and into their ten-year-old Chrysler minivan.

  Traffic on the tree-lined New Jersey highway moved smoothly all the way up to the Staten Island crossings. It took another thirty minutes from there just to get into Manhattan. Richie had hoped there wouldn’t be much traffic since it was Sunday, but he should have known, there was always traffic in New York.

  He double-parked in front of the precinct on the Upper East Side, a fifteen-story metal and glass building surrounded by even taller skyscrapers.

  Richie got out of the minivan and leaned into the back, giving Chelsea a kiss on the cheek while she was strapped into her car seat.

  Gail circled the car and jumped in the driver’s seat. “Don’t get loud in there. They all have guns.”

  Richie chuckled, kissed his wife, then moved away while she took off down the avenue.

  Just as he stepped onto the sidewalk, he slipped on a thin sheet of ice and almost lost his balance. He caught himself before falling, but his heart was pounding. “Fuck.” He could hear his wife in his head telling him to keep calm. He exhaled, then looked around at the few bundled-up people passing on the sidewalk to make sure no one saw what had just happened.

  Inside the precinct, things were relatively quiet. He figured the criminals must have stayed in this week with this blistering cold. The gray paint on the walls was faded and scuffed. The floor was clean, but the vinyl tiles were worn down and full of scratches.

  The cop at the desk was turned around in his chair, chatting with another cop who was standing with a folder in his hand.

  Richie stood at the counter and waited as patiently as he knew how.

  Finally, the cop swiveled around in his chair and asked, “How can I help you?”

  “I’m here to see Detective McCoy.”

  “Is he expecting you?”

  “He’s working on my son’s case.”

  “That’s not what I asked you. Is he expecting you?”

  Richie felt like sending this cop bastard straight to the moon, but instead, he smiled and said, “No. He is not expecting me.”

  The cop picked up his desk phone and asked Richie, “What’s your name?”

  “Richie Carson.”

  He dialed a number, then said, “A Richie Carson here to see McCoy?”

  Richie kept his fake smile on while waiting.

  After about a minute, the cop spoke into the phone, “Okay. I’ll send him up.” He hung up, then turned to Richie and said, “Second floor.”

  “Thank you.” Richie headed up the stairs and entered the area where all the detectives’ desks were.

  Detective Perez was at the front door. She shook his hand. “Hello Mr. Carson.” She led him to the back of the room where McCoy was typing on a computer.

  McCoy stood and shook his hand. “Mr. Carson.”

  Richie said, “Hello detective.”

  Perez said, “We weren’t expecting you.”

  “I know.”

  McCoy said, “Should have called me. I could have saved you a trip.”

  “We had to come into the city anyway. My wife is at the hospital picking up Taylor.”

  There was silence for a moment.

  Perez said, “I bet he’ll be happy to get back home to his Xbox.”

  Richie chuckled.

  McCoy said, “Well, Mr. Carson. I wish I had something for you, but we still don’t have any solid leads yet.”

  “But he told you who did it. He described an Asian man. I only remember seeing two Asian men, so he shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

  “I assure you Mr. Carson we are doing our best here.”

  Perez added, “Haven’t you noticed we’re still in the same clothes as last night? We haven’t been home yet. I took a two hour nap this morning on the cot, and I need a shower.”

  “What my partner is trying to say is that we are doing everything humanly possible to catch the man who did this.”

  “If you were doing everything humanly possible, then you would have rounded up both of those Chinks and demanded a DNA sample.”

  McCoy shook his head, “We’re not the Gastapo. This is America, and we have a constitution to follow. Besides, one of the men you’re talking about is a surgeon and the other is an ambassador.”

  “I don’t care if he’s the Chinese fucking Jesus! I want this animal caught!”

  A few detectives stood and began getting closer to where Richie and McCoy were standing. He remembered his wife telling him not to get arrested.

  McCoy motioned for the detectives to stand back. “It’s okay fellas. I got this.” He turned to Richie and said, “I’ve got the same Irish temper as you, so I won’t hold that against you, but you better cool down. Go home and wait for my call.”

  Richie stood there for a moment, looking down at McCoy, then he nodded, turned around, and walked away.

  CHAPTER 10

  Joe had on a pair of jeans and boots and his heavy coat when he drove his five-year-old yellow Mustang to his mother’s house, which was only a few blocks away from his house.

  He rang the bell twice, then used his key to let himself in. A few pieces of black furniture sat against olive green walls with
white trim. Everything was as spotless as it was at Joe’s house.

  Joe’s mother zipped out of the kitchen in her electric wheelchair. “I couldn’t get to the door. I had a meatloaf in my hands.”

  “Don’t worry, Ma.” He sniffed the air. “Smells good. What is that?”

  “Scalloped potatoes.”

  “I told you not to go crazy with all this heavy cooking.”

  “And what am I supposed to do? Shrivel up and die?” She spun her wheelchair around and zipped back into the kitchen.

  Joe followed her.

  Mrs. Martello had thick red hair and freckles with pale blue eyes. Joe inherited his brown hair and brown eyes from his father’s side of the family, which were dark haired and dark skinned Sicilians. Joe’s complexion, however, was much lighter than his father’s family, due to his mother’s Irish genes.

  A former district attorney, Joe’s mother was paralyzed from the waist down after a car accident in 1984 that also killed the fetus in her womb and made it impossible for her to have any more children.

  Mrs. Martello took a bottle of Sam Adams out of the refrigerator. “You want one?”

  “I’m working tonight.”

  She opened the beer and took a big gulp, then said, “Everything is done. Just have to let the meatloaf settle for five minutes before I can cut it.”

  Joe opened a can of soda. The only time he had soda, or beer, was Sunday dinner at his mother’s house.

  “So, how’s things going with that new girl?”

  “Michelle.”

  “Yes, Michelle.”

  Joe knew what his mother wanted to hear, so he humored her. “Things are going good. She seems like a nice girl.” He then tried to change the subject. “Did that lazy nurse do anything today, or was she on Facebook again all morning?”

  “So I guess the conversation about Michelle is over. I’ll cut the meatloaf now.”

  After dinner, Joe kissed his mother goodbye and left the flash drive in her china cabinet next to the extra set of keys for his house.