by Phil Nova
Lu adjusted his thick glasses, but didn’t answer.
Richie said, “You look great.” He held out his hand, hoping Lu would take the bait.
Ko Sin Lu shook Richie’s hand, “I am very sorry. I do not remember your name.”
“Tex. Tex Williams. We met at the United Nations.” Before Lu could answer, Richie looked at the two old women and asked, “And who are these beautiful young ladies?”
The two women giggled like schoolgirls.
The taller one said, “I’m Helen. Nice to meet you.” She gave him a half-curtsy and half-handshake.” The shorter woman kept giggling, so her friend answered for her, “She’s Anna . . . and she’s single.”
The shorter woman hit her friend in the arm.
Richie never imagined women of this age and wealth, acting like this. He continued the charade, “Well, Anna. If my wife catches me with you, she just might get jealous.”
Helen chuckled.
Anna seemed disappointed. “Wife?”
“Yes.” Richie turned and waved at a group of beautiful women in their thirties. The young women didn’t notice. Richie had to remember to use his southern accent. “When she gets to talking, there’s no stopping her. Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll be over any minute now.”
Anna said, “I’m sorry we can’t stay and meet her, but we have friends looking for us as well.”
“It was nice meeting you ladies then. Maybe we’ll catch up later.” Richie smiled and hoped no one could see the bulge of the small pistol in his jacket pocket or the bulge of the Bowie knife strapped to his ankle. Thank god he asked for a little extra room in the tuxedo.
The rich old women sashayed away, leaving Richie alone with Lu.
Richie put his arm around Lu’s small shoulder and looked at the painting of the cherubs. “Beautiful, aren’t they?” He could tell Lu was uncomfortable, so he decided to talk as much as possible and hopefully gain his trust before someone else came over.
“These naked boys remind me of my nephew. He just loves to dance around naked.”
“Really?” Lu seemed to be interested now.
Richie laughed, then said, “Yeah. And then his mother spanks his little white butt and the kid just laughs. It seems like he likes it.”
Lu adjusted his glasses. “Really?”
Richie wanted to take out his gun and shoot the little sicko right there in front of everyone, but that wasn’t the plan. He continued enticing Lu. “And then the kid loves water. He always wants to be naked and wet. Hey. You wanna see a picture?”
“Do you have one?”
“On my phone. But I can’t show you here.” Richie looked around at the crowd of people. “Imagine if someone saw us looking at pictures of a naked boy with a wet little white ass.” Richie laughed. “They might get the wrong idea. You know what I mean?” Richie elbowed Lu gently.
Lu smiled, but didn’t say anything.
Richie glanced back over his shoulder, then said, “Oh. I think my wife is calling me. I’ll have to catch up with you later, Lu. It was great seeing you again.”
Lu adjusted his glasses, then shook Richie’s hand.
There was a moment on his way to New York, when Richie thought he might be wrong about Lu, but after the way Lu had just reacted to Richie’s naked boy stories, Richie knew the man was a sicko.
Richie headed into the crowd. He wanted to turn around to see where Lu was, but he didn’t want to be obvious.
The wall behind the buffet table had a huge mirror on it, so Richie took an empty plate and adjusted his position so he could see Lu in the mirror.
Lu was moving toward the bathroom. Richie wasn’t mentally ready yet, he thought he’d have to follow Lu around for a while before getting him alone, but now that he had his chance to get a confession out of Lu, he knew he had to take it.
Richie put the plate down and headed back across the party, to the bathroom. He stood outside the door for a moment and took a deep breath. This was it. He fumbled through the apps on his phone, then finally turned on the voice recorder.
With the phone recording in his front jacket pocket, Richie opened the door slowly and slipped in as quietly as possible without looking like he was sneaking around. The bathroom was empty. There were two urinals and two stalls. One of the stall doors was closed, but Richie didn’t see any feet under the door. He knew Lu was in there.
Richie stood silently against the wall for a moment. He heard something, movement inside the stall.
Hoping that no one would come in, Richie peeked over the side of the stall.
Ko Sin Lu had his feet on the toilet seat and he was squatting down with his pants around his ankles, masturbating. His other hand held his cell phone, scrolling through pictures of naked boys.
After getting a recorded confession, Richie’s plan was to beat the hell out of that little sicko and hope for the best in court, but now, Richie’s hate and anger blinded him and he went into caveman mode.
After slipping his Bowie knife from the sheath strapped to his leg, Richie smashed the stall door open with his shoulder.
Lu fell off the seat, his phone fell in the bowl as his feet hit the ground.
Richie punched Lu in the face, knocking him out with one powerful shot.
He grabbed Lu’s small cock and balls with one hand and used the other hand to chop them off as if he was carving a Thanksgiving turkey. Blood sprayed everywhere.
Richie heard something behind him. He turned, still holding the bloody cock and balls in his hand.
An old man in a tuxedo stood frozen, then began to vomit.
Richie stuffed the cock and balls into his front jacket pocket along with the phone from the toilet and then raced out of the bathroom with his hunting knife in his hand and blood splattered all over his tuxedo.
Only a few people saw Richie as he sprinted from the bathrooms to the front door. The security guard yelled. Everything felt like a dream.
Richie bolted down the street to the garage where his car was parked. He didn’t even stop to breathe. His rib cage throbbed and saliva dripped from his mouth, but he kept running—straight up the five floors to where his car was parked. Richie knew he fucked up. He should have stuck to the plan and not let his anger take over, but his temper was always his problem, and this time he knew he went too far.
He took a quick look around before getting into the car. It didn’t seem like anyone had followed him, so he got in and drove down the ramps. He knew that a lot of people in his situation would kill themselves at this point, but Richie refused to do that. He was hoping for a miracle. Maybe the judge would be lenient because of what had happened to his son.
Things were still cool when he got to the first floor. He paid his ticket, then the oblivious man in the booth pressed a button that lifted the gate. Richie thought about driving home, but he knew he’d be going to jail very soon and didn’t want his kids and his neighbors seeing him taken away in handcuffs.
Richie drove to the precinct where McCoy worked and double-parked outside. Nothing mattered now. At least he avenged his son.
When he marched into the precinct with his bloody tuxedo, a few cops put their hands on their guns and kept their eyes on Richie while creeping toward him.
Richie approached the desk cop, pulled the bloody cock and balls and wet cell phone from his pocket and slammed them on the counter. “You tell those motherfuckers upstairs their DNA sample is here!”
CHAPTER 21
After an early Sunday dinner at his mother’s house, Joe headed to the city for another night of patrolling the cold streets.
At the precinct, he changed into his uniform, but as he approached the roll-call room, the sergeant on duty told him to go to the captain’s office.
Joe knocked on the captain’s door.
Detective McCoy opened the door.
Joe stepped into the office and noticed two other men along with his captain.
The captain said, “Sit.”
Joe looked around at everyone’s seri
ous faces, then sat in the only vacant chair.
The captain asked, “You haven’t read the papers today?”
Joe replied, “I woke up late and had a busy day. Why? What did I miss?”
One of the two men in suits asked, “When was the last time you spoke with Mr. Carson?”
“I don’t know. Last week maybe. I saw him on his way out of the precinct.” Joe knew something must have happened. He just hoped Richie didn’t kill anyone.
The second man in a suit asked, “Did you have drinks with him that night?”
Joe glared at McCoy. He knew that pub was a regular after work spot for McCoy, and it was probably him that had seen them there that night after work. Joe turned to the two men in suits and said, “Yeah. I had a couple beers with a fellow former marine. Who the hell are you, anyway?”
The captain said, “Relax, Martello.”
The first suit said, “We’re Internal Affairs.”
The second suit said, “And we have transcripts of all your recent text messages.”
McCoy said, “You told him where to find Lu. You used the precinct computers to find out where he’d be.”
Joe wanted to know what Richie had done, but first he needed to try and get the spotlight off of himself and onto McCoy. “What about you? You said you were gonna file for a federal warrant, but you never did. And what a coincidence that the DNA sample was contaminated, just after someone offered Richie Carson fifteen million dollars to keep his mouth shut.”
The captain asked, “Did you just say fifteen million dollars?”
The second suit asked, “Are you insinuating that Detective McCoy accepted a bribe?”
Joe stood and raised his voice. “That’s exactly what the fuck I’m insinuating, genius.”
McCoy shot to his feet. “Fuck you, Martello.” He put two hands on Joe’s chest and pushed.
Joe’s body was a concrete wall. McCoy couldn’t budge him. Without considering the repercussions, Joe slugged McCoy in the face.
McCoy fell backward, into the captain’s desk, knocking over picture frames and office supplies. Joe grabbed McCoy by the throat.
Both men in suits grabbed Joe, but Joe was too powerful. He picked up McCoy and slammed him against the wall, smashing him into the plaster and knocking over framed documents and pictures.
The captain, lying on the ground among the mess, yelled, “That’s enough!”
Joe could have destroyed all four of those men with ease, and because of the drugs and adrenaline in his blood, he wanted to—but he didn’t. He let his body go limp as the men from internal affairs handcuffed him.
CHAPTER 22
Bradley sat in the back of his limo as his driver made his way around Columbus Circle, passing Central Park. They headed up the west side and then pulled over in front of a big Gothic style stone church.
Another limo pulled up in front of Bradley’s limo and stopped. David and another man got out of that limo and got into the back of Bradley’s limo. David’s bodyguard sat up front with Bradley’s driver.
Bradley knew the man with David, and he didn’t like him. Wayne Norman, director of security for the American division of Yates Pharmaceuticals. Wayne was short, but wide, like a Pitbull. He was an ex-marine, but looked more like an SS officer with his blue eyes, blond hair, and blond mustache.
Wayne shook Bradley’s hand. “Hello, Bedford.”
Bradley even hated the fact that Wayne called him by his last name. He nodded and said, “Hello, Wayne.”
David rolled down the divider and told the driver to drive. When the car started moving, David rolled the divider back up.
The bruises and cuts on Bradley’s face were almost healed, but there was still a trace.
Wayne said, “Hey, Bedford, I heard that guy fucked up your face with a glass of diet soda.” He laughed. “Not even regular soda.”
“We can’t all be tough guys like you.”
David said, “Don’t even think about getting started. We have important business to discuss.”
Bradley poured himself a scotch on the rocks.
Wayne took a bottle of water from the mini-refrigerator.
David said, “I have to fly to Asia for a couple days to try and smooth things over with the president of Tam Guk Van. If we lose those contracts, we’re all fucked.”
Wayne said, “As far as I can see, there is only one solution.”
Bradley said, “Let me guess. You want to kill everybody.”
“Not everybody. Only Mr. Carson and officer Martello.”
Bradley chuckled. “Only two? Are you becoming a pacifist in your old age? A little bit of a bitch, maybe?”
“Anytime you wanna dance, nigger boy.”
David yelled, “Damn you two! Can’t you stop acting like children for one fucking day?”
Bradley wanted to smash his glass against Wayne’s face the same way Richie had done to him, but he didn’t. Not because he knew Wayne could easily kill him, but because the man wasn’t worth Bradley throwing away his whole career for.
CHAPTER 23
It had been three nights since Richie’s arrest. He’d been in jail twice as a young man, once for a week in New York, and a second time for sixty days in New Jersey. He knew how to act around criminals, and his size kept most people away, but he still couldn’t remove the pain of missing his family.
Dinner was over and Richie was in the TV room with everyone else. He watched the screen, but had no idea what was going on. He was looking forward to Gail coming to see him. He checked the clock and hoped she wasn’t late, they didn’t give much visiting time after dinner.
It was only about a half hour, but it felt like longer to Richie. A guard called him and told him to go to the visitor’s area.
It was a Tuesday night, so the place wasn’t packed.
As soon as Richie sat down and looked at his wife, she let the phone drop from her ear and began to sob.
He wanted to do the same, but there was no way he could do that, especially not now in jail. He picked up his phone, waited for her to pick up hers, then asked, “Where’s the kids?”
Gail wiped her nose with a tissue. “With my mother. I couldn’t let them see this place.”
Richie wanted to see his kids, but he knew Gail was right.
On his way to get Lu, Richie knew he was doing the right thing, but now, sitting here in jail, looking at his wife through a sheet of bulletproof glass, he was beginning to doubt himself.
CHAPTER 24
Joe had spent Monday and Tuesday in a solitary confinement cell. It felt like a punishment, but he knew that he’d get shanked or worse if they put him into population and someone found out he was a cop.
He’d already heard what Richie did to Ko Sin Lu. Because Lu had bled to death on the bathroom floor, Richie was being charged with murder, and Joe was being charged with conspiracy to commit murder.
On Wednesday morning, a corrections officer took Joe out of his cell, shackled his feet, and cuffed his hands in front of him. “Time to go to court.”
Joe waited with one guard as another guard shackled and cuffed another inmate from solitary—a scarred, tattooed, big, ugly Neanderthal with a beard and a mess of hair.
As soon as he saw Joe, the man asked, “What the fuck you lookin’ at, faggot?”
He was already going up for conspiracy to commit murder, so he didn’t see any harm in adding an assault charge. Without a word, Joe head-butted the big ugly man.
The man stepped back, holding his face as blood dripped onto the hard tile floor.
The first guard smacked Joe in the lower back with his baton.
Joe gasped, almost losing his balance.
“You wanna miss your court appearance?”
The pain was so bad Joe couldn’t speak.
The second guard moved the ugly man away from Joe. “We better keep these two animals separated.”
After going through a series of locked doors and long hallways, they ended up in the building that housed the courts. J
oe knew this place well from when he was a cop and also from when he was a lawyer working for the district attorney.
After about fifteen minutes of waiting in a cage, Joe noticed everyone stand.
A morbidly obese woman with red dyed hair and caked-on make-up approached the bench and sat down. This was only an arraignment, but Joe had a bad feeling already.
The judge typed on her phone for about fifteen minutes while the people from the district attorney’s office shuffled through files and whispered back and forth to each other. It was this type of nonsense that had made Joe believe he could do more good as a cop than as a prosecutor.
Finally, after checking her manicure, the judge called the first case.
Joe was happy to be going first. He knew what it was like to spend all day in court. He wondered if this was a one-time miracle or if his luck was changing for the better.
Joe approached the bench alone. He couldn’t afford a high-powered genius attorney, and he knew he could do a better job than some public defender, so he decided to represent himself.
The judge had a high-pitched, nasally, annoying voice. “Joseph Martello.” She looked away from the file and read something on her phone.
Joe waited as she texted.
She placed her phone down on the bench, looked at the file, and said, “Joseph Martello. Charges are: conspiracy to commit murder. How do you plead?” She glanced at her phone again.
Joe chuckled, “You can’t be serious.”
The woman adjusted herself in her seat. “Excuse me?”
“Nothing. Not guilty . . . your honor.”
“No, no, wait a minute. You have something else to say, officer . . . counselor . . . or should I say, inmate?”
“Yeah. I have something to say. You and your corrupt system are a disgrace to this country and our constitution. You sit up there on your pedestal with your hair, your make-up, and your expensive jewelry. You’re nothing but a fat fucking slob and this judicial system is a farce. A disgrace!”