A Father's Wrath

by Phil Nova

  Snow flurries and icy highways forced Joe to slow down and drive cautiously all the way to Manhattan. He thought he would be late, but was lucky to find a parking spot just around the corner from the precinct. He made it in with just enough time to put on his uniform and make roll-call and briefing.

  After a typical meeting, Joe was on his way out the front door for another night of walking the cold streets.

  Just as he got outside, he ran into Detectives McCoy and Perez.

  Both detectives nodded at Joe, but didn’t say anything.

  Joe stopped and said, “Detectives.”

  They stopped.

  McCoy said, “Officer?”

  Joe asked, “How’s the Carson family doing?”

  McCoy said, “Why don’t you just walk your beat and let us worry about the Carson family?”

  “Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You don’t outrank me, wise guy. I’ll tell you to go fuck yourself any time I feel like . . . now . . . go fuck yourself.”

  A few cops and civilians on the sidewalk stopped to watch the confrontation.

  Detective Perez stepped between them. “You men and your testosterone. Why don’t we all try to act like grownups?”

  Without a word, McCoy turned around and marched into the precinct.

  Joe turned around and trudged through the snow toward Madison Avenue to spend another night giving directions to tourists and telling bums to keep moving.

  CHAPTER 11

  Bradley had just finished a big dinner with his large, but wonderful wife at their favorite Japanese restaurant. He was happy to be home for a little rest and relaxation when David called and said he was back in the city and wanted to meet.

  It was a waste of a Sunday night, but at least there was no traffic, and it gave him the perfect opportunity to swing by and fuck Olga, his hot Russian mistress.

  Sitting in the back of his limo, he rolled up the dividing window then called Olga. She didn’t answer, so he called again. She still didn’t answer, so he texted.

  Before he knew it, he was in Manhattan. Bradley rolled down the divider and told his driver to double park in front of David’s East Side high-rise, which David lived in, and owned.

  Cars beeped their horns while passing in the street. The icy sidewalks still only had a few people hurrying around.

  David came out of the building with his bodyguard.

  Bradley put on his scarf and gloves before getting out of the car.

  David and Bradley strolled down the sidewalk while David’s bodyguard stayed twenty feet behind.

  Obviously annoyed, David asked, “So, what’s with this cloak and dagger shit?”

  Bradley replied, “I just want to be safe. Is that not what Wayne Norman always tells us? To be safe?”

  “Yes. Yes. So, what is it?”

  “Do you remember that little boy who left the fundraiser on a stretcher yesterday?”

  “Just get to the point, Bedford. It’s late.”

  “Ko Sin Lu, raped that little boy in the staircase during the fundraiser.”

  David stopped walking. “Damn it. He just couldn’t resist, that little bastard. His president offered him a whole harem of boys back home and assured us that this would not happen. Now we’re fucked.”

  “We’re fucked? Try telling that to the seven-year-old boy who had his asshole torn open and then stitched back up.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Monday morning, Richie still hadn’t gotten much sleep and he wasn’t feeling any better. He called in sick for that afternoon, but didn’t tell his wife.

  Gail took Taylor to her mother’s house before going to work.

  Richie stood with Chelsea on the sidewalk until the school bus picked her up. It was the first time she had to go to school without her big brother, but Richie told her that Taylor needed to rest for a few days before going back. He kissed his daughter before she got on the bus, then he waved until the bus was out of sight.

  No one told Chelsea exactly what had happened to Taylor. They just told her that he had been hurt and needed to recuperate. Richie was confident that she was too young to understand what had really happened.

  Back inside the house, Richie had a couple cups of coffee and a few cigarettes while continually checking his cell phone.

  Rocky, the family’s fat yellow Labrador, stepped around the mess of clothes and toys that were strewn about the floor. It then climbed up onto the couch and curled up against Richie. He stroked the dog’s head while staring at the wall.

  Finally, the phone rang. It was a 212 number that he didn’t recognize. He usually didn’t answer calls from numbers he didn’t know, but he had a feeling this was the detectives. He answered, “Hello?”

  “Mr. Carson. McCoy here.”

  “What’s up? Any news?”

  “The surgeon from last night volunteered his DNA sample. The results should be ready in a couple hours. Also, there were no other Asian men there, including employees and volunteers.”

  “And what about the ambassador?”

  “We’re still trying to locate him. But, keep in mind, Mr. Carson. It may not be either of those two men. We’re talking about the memory of a traumatized seven-year-old boy. It could have been someone who looked Asian, maybe Mexican or South American—or the man could have been white, or even another race and your son just didn’t get a good enough look at him.”

  “My son has a better memory than I do.” Richie had already researched the surgeon and the ambassador online, and after looking at the pictures of Ko Sin Lu, he had a feeling that he was the guilty man. “I think it was the ambassador, he looks like a sicko. You could see it in his eyes.”

  “I thought you didn’t remember him that well.”

  “I didn’t. I googled him this morning.”

  “Please, just leave the investigating to us. I’ll get back to you soon.”

  They ended the call.

  Richie tried to find something to occupy his mind, but all he could think about was what had happened to his son. He had a little weed in a coffee can in the garage that he saved for special occasions. It was dried out, but it still did the job. Richie smoked a half a joint and fell asleep on the sofa in front of the TV.

  His cell phone woke him up. He felt disorientated when he reached for it and answered, “Hello?”

  “McCoy here. We got the results. The surgeon is not our man.”

  Richie cleared his throat. “And the ambassador?”

  “Still waiting for his embassy to get back to me. They’re giving me the run around. I have another call. I’ll call you later.”

  Richie rubbed his eyes and looked at the time. He had slept for three hours, the longest at once since the fundraiser. He got the other half a joint out of the house, then nuked a few frozen burritos.

  While eating in front of the TV, he decided to crack open a cold beer.

  Before he knew it, Richie was halfway through his second six-pack. He wasn’t drunk, but buzzed enough to make him want to look for a fight. McCoy hadn’t called him back yet, so he decided to take things into his own hands.

  While putting on his boots and coat, Richie said, “The run-around? See if they give me the run-around, mother fuckers.”

  He headed out the door, above the level of legally drunk, and drove north on Route 9 with his second car—a fifteen year old Volvo that he shouldn’t have been taking on trips like this.

  There was much more traffic than the day before, but somehow he made it all the way to Manhattan without being arrested or getting into an accident.

  He double-parked in front of the embassy of The Republic of Tan Guk Van, which was on the first and second floors of a ten-story beige-brick building. Cars honked at Richie as they passed. He gave them the middle finger, then called McCoy.

  “McCoy here.”

  “I’m here at the embassy. I’m going in.”

  “Do not do that. Wait for me. I’ll be right there.”

  �
�You better hurry before I find this sicko.” Richie ended the call before McCoy could respond, then he slammed another beer and stuffed the empty can under his seat.

  He got out of his car and stormed passed the pedestrians on the sidewalk and into the embassy.

  Inside, the polished marble floors reminded Richie of the fancy hotel lobby from the other night. There was a staircase in the back, then next to that, a hallway.

  Everyone in the building was from The Republic of Tan Guk Van. Two soldiers at the door armed with AK-47’s, two women and one man behind the counter, and a few civilians talking to the workers behind the counter.

  Richie went straight to the front of the line and in his loudest booming voice, he hollered, “I need to see Ko Sin Lu! Now!”

  The soldiers at the door moved toward Richie with their guns pointed at him.

  The civilians scattered.

  Richie yelled, “Put down those fucking guns and get Ko Sin Lu out here right now!”

  Four other soldiers with AK-47’s came down the back stairs and surrounded Richie.

  Detectives McCoy and Perez barreled in through the front door.

  Perez said, “Shit.”

  McCoy showed his empty hands and said, “Everyone calm down.” He motioned in Richie’s direction. “This man is unarmed.”

  The soldiers didn’t lower their guns.

  Richie looked down at the soldiers that were all half his size. “You shrimps better do what he says. You’re in America now, fuckers!”

  Perez said, “You’re not helping things.”

  McCoy spoke slowly to one of the soldiers, “I already spoke with your commanding officer and told him I was coming. He said this man would be released into my custody.”

  A man in a suit came down the back stairs and said, “Their commanding officer does not possess the authority to authorize such a thing and this embassy is part of the sovereign nation of The Republic of Tan Guk Van. This man is our prisoner and subject to our laws. He will be tried and imprisoned.”

  “No. He will not.” McCoy pulled his gun and pointed it at the man in the suit.

  Half of the soldiers turned their guns on McCoy.

  Perez pulled her gun and aimed back and forth between the soldiers.

  Richie wished he had a gun.

  CHAPTER 13

  Bradley was in the back of his limo, just about to go for a late lunch when he got the call. He was only a few blocks away from the embassy, but traffic was heavy. The first thing he did was call David, then he called Lu.

  By the time he finished his conversation with Lu, he was there.

  The driver helped Bradley out of the limo and over a patch of ice in the gutter.

  Bradley entered the embassy to find two NYPD detectives with pistols drawn, six Tan Guk Van soldiers with assault rifles ready to fire, and a tall fat white man in the middle of it all.

  He turned to the man in the suit and said, “Mr. Shan. Please tell your men to lower their weapons. This has been a misunderstanding.”

  “I am sorry Mr. Bradley Bedford, but these people are under arrest and will be tried according to the laws of—” his phone rang.

  Bradley said, “That is Ko Sin Lu. Pick it up.”

  Mr. Shan answered his phone and listened for a minute before hanging up. He said something in his language to the soldiers and they lowered their weapons.

  The detectives lowered their weapons.

  Bradley said, “I need to speak with these people in private.”

  Mr. Shan led four soldiers up the back stairs and the other two soldiers returned to their posts by the door.

  Bradley led Richie and the detectives down the hallway to a room furnished with a meeting table and a dozen chairs. He closed the door, then motioned for them to sit.

  No one sat, so Bradley didn’t sit either. “Ko Sin Lu is out of the country on official business. I can answer any questions you may have for him.”

  McCoy asked, “And you are?”

  “Mr. Bradley Bedford, attorney.”

  “I see.” Replied McCoy.

  Richie asked, “Why does he need his lawyer to answer for him?”

  Bradley looked at Richie’s red face and he knew he’d been drinking. He didn’t even respond to his question. He turned back to McCoy and said, “What would you like to know, detective?”

  McCoy said, “I’d like to know the exact whereabouts of your client during every minute of the cancer research fundraiser on Saturday night—but that’s impossible—so the next best thing would be a DNA sample.”

  Bradley replied, “I am sorry, but that is also impossible.”

  Perez said, “Of course.”

  Bradley felt for that little boy and his belligerent father, but at the same time, he had a job to do. “Let me be frank, detectives. Ko Sin Lu has diplomatic immunity and therefore is not obligated to answer any questions, and furthermore . . . he is not liable for any laws broken in foreign countries.”

  “You motherfucker.” Richie moved toward Bradley.

  McCoy stopped Richie and stood between him and Bradley.

  Perez said, “We can get a federal warrant.”

  Bradley replied, “You can try.”

  Richie opened the door and stormed out of the room.

  McCoy said, “We will be back.”

  The two detectives left the room.

  Bradley sat down and exhaled. He hated having to defend Lu. At least he was able to stop a bloodbath today. Talk about bad publicity.

  CHAPTER 14

  The realization of the situation, and the icy cold air outside, took away the last of Richie’s beer buzz as he stood on the sidewalk and glanced at the parking ticket on his car. “Figures.”

  Perez took the ticket and said, “We’ll take care of that.”

  McCoy said, “I’m gonna get that federal warrant for a DNA sample and then we’re gonna get that pedophile bastard.”

  Richie didn’t feel very hopeful. He knew that Ko Sin Lu could just stay in his country and he would never have to answer for what he did to Taylor. He thought about the painful memories that his son would have to live with for the rest of his life. A tear ran down his face.

  Perez placed her hand on his shoulder. “It’s not over yet.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Joe and Michelle had spent most of the afternoon in bed having sex and sleeping. They ordered Chinese food for dinner, then Michelle stuck her head out the window for a cigarette. Joe felt bad about making her do that, but she smoked too much, and he didn’t want it stinking up his clean house.

  She took a couple puffs from a joint after her cigarette, then headed toward the bathroom. “I gotta get ready to go, baby. Work tonight.”

  Joe said, “The first time I have Monday night off and you have to work.”

  “I know, baby, but they got that big basketball game tonight.”

  Joe wasn’t sure which game she was referring to, he hadn’t kept up on professional sports since puberty. “That’s alright. I’ll just hit the gym for a little cardio.” He slipped on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top.

  She peeked back into the bedroom and asked, “Wasn’t I enough of a workout?”

  Joe chuckled.

  Michelle went into the shower.

  Joe headed downstairs and then into the backyard where he petted his dogs and filled their water bowl.

  Inside, he washed his hands in the kitchen sink, then took a bottle of pills from the cabinet and swallowed one. He placed the bottle on the counter and went back upstairs and into the bedroom.

  When Michelle came out of the shower naked and dripping wet, Joe moved toward her and squeezed her nipple while kissing her.

  She pushed him away. “I thought you were going to the gym.”

  Joe watched her put on her bra and then pull her panties up.

  She squeezed his hard dick through his sweatpants and said, “Save that for later. And you better not be walking around the gym like that.”

  Joe kissed her, then went into the bathr
oom and closed the door. He opened the window, turned on the fan, and lit a candle for the smell, but he couldn’t hide it, and he couldn’t hold it.

  After taking care of his business in the bathroom, Joe found Michelle downstairs in the kitchen making coffee. She pointed at the bottle on the countertop and asked, “What are those pills?”

  “For the gym.” Joe took the milk out of the refrigerator and put it on the table.

  “They don’t look like they came from GNC. Oxandrolone?”

  Joe forgot his small towel and weightlifting gloves, so ran upstairs to get them, then ran back downstairs and into the kitchen to get his coffee.

  Michelle read something on her phone. Joe figured it was a text message. He poured two cups of coffee, then added a little milk to his. “I’ll let you make yours.”

  Michelle said, “These are steroids, baby.”

  Joe chuckled. “You looked it up?”

  “Yeah. That bottle doesn’t look legit. And look here, these are steroids. Everybody knows steroids make your dick shrink.”

  Joe laughed. “That is so stupid. Steroids shrink the balls, not the dick.” Joe squeezed his own dick and asked, “Does this feel small to you?”

  “But, what about roid rage? What if we get in an argument and you kill me?”

  Joe laughed again. “Come on, baby. It’s just a very light steroid.”

  “Oh. Like light beer?”

  Joe tried not to laugh too hard. “Why you breakin’ my chops, anyway? What about all that weed you smoke?”

  “But, I’m a bartender . . . not a cop.”

  Joe put the bottle back in the cabinet and said, “Come on, give me a break.”

  CHAPTER 16

  On Tuesday afternoon, Bradley sat in the back of his limo while a company bodyguard sat up front next to the driver.

  It took over thirty minutes to get out of the city, but the highways in New Jersey were moving well. They arrived in Newark an hour early and continued to an area of two and three story houses and apartment buildings, about two miles away from the downtown area.