Raw Vengeance (The Rich Fordham Series)

by Josh Handrich

  “Back off!” Reggie said to the officers. “If you guys don’t back behind the corner, I’ll put a bullet in his spine.” They slowly back-shuffled, but never lost sight of him.

  The elevator beeped and its doors opened. Reggie turned his head to look inside to make sure there weren’t any SWAT laying in ambush. Satisfied, he pulled Rich in with him and made him push the button for the lobby. The doors closed painfully slow, but they finally descended the fifteen floors.

  The doors opened to a sea of SWAT hiding behind various columns and black shields. A quick jab to the back again sent Rich stumbling forward, causing him to lose his balance. Then, he felt how powerful Reggie was; his grip on his shoulder held him firmly in place.

  “Stop right there!” came instructions from a bullhorn. “You are surrounded.” Reggie stopped and sized up the opponent and his chances of escaping.

  Reggie’s weaknesses were his temper and his hatred of the cops. Combined, the two made for his last mistake.

  Rich felt the grip on his shoulder increase and the pain in his back go away. In his peripheral vision, he saw movement and instantly knew what was about to happen. He tensed his body and inhaled deeply as Reggie raised the gun along the outside of his arm and aimed. It was the break he was waiting for. In a sudden motion, he grabbed Reggie’s wrist with both of his hands. With all of his strength, Rich pushed his shoulder laterally and backward into the inside of the other man’s bicep until they hit the wall. The first round fired directly ahead. Rich’s head and shoulder hit with enough force to almost make him lose his sweaty grip on Reggie’s wrist. As they struggled for the gun, Rich felt like a little boy being overpowered by a gorilla. Reggie reached around Rich’s body with his left hand and grabbed the bottom of the gun’s butt to regain control. Then Rich felt him lift the gun in an arc toward the ceiling. The gun fired again, this time directly up. It continued back toward their heads until the muzzle was upside-down, pointing just to the right of his head.

  Then, he had a last second epiphany: Instead of fighting, he needed to let physics do the work for him. Timing was critical; if he was off by even a second, he’d be dead. Instead of pushing up, Rich pushed off with his left foot and shoved the man’s wrist with both hands to his right. Reggie fired the gun a third time. Death came suddenly—his lifeless body crumpled to the ground, then lay in a pool of blood.

  Rich’s quick thinking saved his life. The bullet meant for Rich’s skull had torn a hole in the top of Reggie’s frontal cortex, killing him instantly.

  As soon as Rich turned to look at the remains of his captor, he winced and looked away in disgust and shock. The gravity of the situation and how close he had come to dying finally sank in.

  *****

  Rich was mentally and physically exhausted, but he felt ready for more airtime. He stared at his tired face in the mirror in the men’s restroom, then ran cool water through his hair and splashed some on his face. The bloodshot eyes and bags underneath them screamed “addict.” Something bothered him, but he couldn’t put a finger on it. He dismissed the thought and went back to his original goal. This would be a defining moment in his life and career.

  He made the short trip back to Dan’s room, where a doctor had wheeled him in after being operated on. The doctor noticed his entrance and talked while she worked. “Good, you’re back. I’m just finishing up. Dan took a nasty hit to the chest, but he’ll live.”

  “Isn’t he dead?”

  “Almost. God was watching out for him.”

  “That’s incredible. I saw him an hour ago, and I thought he was dead,” Rich admitted.

  “No, but he’ll be in and out of consciousness with the drugs we’ve administered.”

  The doctor left him alone with Dan; it was the first calm moment he’d felt all day. Although they had just met, he felt like they already shared a special bond. He pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and made himself comfortable.

  Dan sensed his presence and flickered his eyes just wide enough to let Rich know he was awake. In a rare show of compassion, Rich stretched his hand out and squeezed Dan’s hand. It felt warm and dry, but also leathery and callused from years of playing football.

  “You almost got me killed,” Dan said sarcastically in a whisper. He squeezed his hand even harder.

  “It’s good to have you back,” Rich said as he leaned over the bed. “I thought you were a goner, but the surgeons fixed you up.”

  Dan remained silent. They sat for a few minutes, and then something unexpected happened—a single tear rolled down his cheek.

  “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  The way he said it made Rich’s ears perk up. “Hmm? What—you getting shot up?” he asked to see if they were thinking about the same thing.

  “Yeah, but... he said... I promised...” Dan’s voice trailed off, and he let out a deep sigh. “Tyler, he...” Just as he tried to finish the sentence, Tyler, his bodyguards, and Dan’s parents walked in.

  “We’ll talk later. Tyler’s mom will be here in fifteen minutes,” Rich said as he pulled away, but Dan held on, not letting him go. Rich stood and leaned forward so Dan could whisper in his ear.

  “I can’t lie anymore,” Dan said. Then he closed his eyes and wept.

  CHAPTER 19

  Wayne Vale smiled inwardly as the WSNO helicopter transporting his news crew and Shantell Cogan’s staff began a shallow descent for the Mitchell Trauma Center. Since there was no quicker way to get her to the hospital, Wayne—who had control over network assets—–agreed to let her use the helicopter to see her son. In exchange for the free helicopter ride, Wayne gained exclusive rights to interview and discuss her reaction to her son’s plight.

  An hour before, Shantell had received the news about the school shooting. Initially she was shocked, but shock immediately gave way to frustration and anger. Drama with her son was the last thing she needed. The press was already scouring her every move; negative publicity had a tradition of ruining campaigns of potential candidates.

  Thinking about her son made Shantell unconsciously grimace. That, along with her fear of flying, made her vomit into her mouth.

  Sitting directly across from her, Wayne picked up on her discomfort. He enjoyed the ride and debated how best to handle a mother in distress. If he interviewed her during the ride, he might come across as an insensitive jerk. If he played sympathetic and let her ride in peace, he’d be passing up a major opportunity. He also knew that Shantell had something to gain. If she appeared on camera as the grief-stricken mother, her constituents would eat up the drama and vote with their emotions. He decided it was time to test the waters.

  Wayne leaned forward and asked in his rehearsed, pillow-talk voice, “How’re you holding up?”

  “Fine,” Shantell answered over the whir of the rotors and wind noise.

  Wayne caught the lie through her strained expression. The lights of downtown Chicago were in view. “Let’s start filming in thirty seconds.”

  Shantell shrugged and forced a smile in agreement. She elbowed her long-time assistant, Simone, to help and then adjusted her blouse and coat. Simone took out her small makeup kit and applied light foundation and powder to her boss’s face.

  A vibration in Wayne’s pocket alerted him to a message on his phone. He quickly took it out and saw the call was coming from Sarah Kinney, his network producer. “What do you got?” he asked her.

  “Hey, Wayne, Rich is already on the scene talking with Shantell’s son, Tyler.” Wayne cursed at hearing Rich’s name, but continued listening. “When you get on scene, you’re both going to be taping. You know the drill.”

  “What the hell is he doing there? This is my story. I don’t want some neophyte fuck who thinks he’s God’s gift to be reporting there. He has nothing to offer. Get rid of him.”

  Sarah was used to his power trips and decided what was best for the network. “Play nice with Rich, that’s all I’m saying,” she said sternly and hung up.

  It took all of Wayne’s self
-control not to throw his phone at the floor. “God damn it!” he said loud enough for everyone to hear.

  A minute later, Wayne sat next to Shantell with a microphone in his hand. His camera-woman counted down and began filming live:

  “We have breaking news to detail to you tonight over the city of Chicago. I’m Wayne Vale, coming to you in an exclusive interview with Mayor Shantell Cogan, which you’ll only hear at WSNO News. Reports are unclear at the moment, but her son, Tyler Cogan, apparently has been involved in a school shooting that left several teenagers wounded. We have yet to hear of any confirmed deaths, but we’ll bring that to you live if it happens, God forbid. Mayor Cogan, tell us your thoughts.”

  “First, I want to say that my heart goes out to all the children and families involved. This is a tragic event, but one that I’m sure we’ll overcome,” said Shantell.

  “What are you feeling right now?”

  “I’ve only heard sketchy details, but I feel a tremendous amount of loss and empathy for those affected. All I can do is pray for the best outcome.”

  “What about your son?”

  “Tyler is such a brave young man. I love him so much and am so proud of him. I’ll do whatever it takes to help him out.”

  With less than a minute until they touched down, Wayne came up with a strategy to sabotage Rich’s presence. All he needed was time and patience.

  *****

  With the help of her assistant, Shantell Cogan stepped carefully down the rungs of the WSNO helicopter. The propeller downwash turned her designer hairstyle into a gnarled mess. Her attire looked barely adequate for the late fall evening; she had returned from a campaign fundraiser wearing a white blouse with a charcoal-colored skirt and a light tan jacket. She pulled the jacket’s collar up in a lame attempt to block out the wind and cold. “I hate flying,” she said into her assistant’s ear. Her four bodyguards marched them away from the landing pad on the hospital roof toward the exit, two in front and two in back, while Simone took her usual spot to her right. If it weren’t for the stiffs, Shantell could have passed as any Washington lawyer. Wayne and his camerawoman stayed two strides ahead of the group as they filmed her entrance live.

  An hour earlier, the hospital had been searched and given the “all clear” by law enforcement. The group headed to the elevator and descended to the fifteenth floor. One long hallway later, her entourage entered Dan’s room. Dan was alert, with Tyler sitting at his bedside while his two bodyguards read magazines in the corner. Gabe fiddled with his camera while waiting for their arrival.

  The bodyguard in front knocked on the door and surveyed the room before he entered. Happy with what he saw, he led the group in and the four bodyguards each took positions around the perimeter of the room.

  Tyler perked up and narrowed his eyes as he watched Wayne Vale strut through the door, followed by his mother. He walked toward his mother and stopped just short. The smile and concern on her face looked as plastic and fake as a Hollywood porn star. He expected this, but felt her presence was unjustified and self-serving.

  Rich and Gabe walked over and met them with a microphone and video camera rolling live. Sarah Kinney had notified them that they’d be covering the story in tandem with Wayne. Viewers at home would see Wayne’s coverage in the background, with Rich’s feed in a smaller window in the foreground.

  Tyler glanced over at his own bodyguard, Peter Raines, who looked up from his magazine and returned the stare and nodded. “You came,” Tyler said scornfully to his mother.

  The comment made her blood boil, but she continued her forced expression in front of the camera. “Of course I came, honey,” she said as she pulled him in for a hug. “Is my baby all right? You didn’t get hit, did you?” The smell of cheap perfume, stale hairspray, and body odor stung his nostrils. Tyler pulled away as soon as he had a chance.

  “I’m fine, but my friend Dan got hurt,” he motioned to Dan’s bed. “He was almost killed.”

  “Oh, that’s horrible, honey.” Shantell walked over to the side of Dan’s bed and waited for the lights and cameras to follow her every move.

  Rich noted how every action Shantell made was deliberate and contrived. He noticed Tyler had changed from his hospital scrubs to a pair of jeans, a white graphic t-shirt, and a light yellow windbreaker. When had he found time to change?

  “This is your fault,” Tyler accused his mom. “If you hadn’t sent me to that school, none of this would have ever happened.”

  Shantell entered damage mode and quickly recovered. “But you know I care about you. That’s why you went.”

  “No, you don’t. You only care about yourself, your agenda, and your hypocritical morals,” he said with heightened emotion. “You’re only here because you want the sympathy vote from your constituents. It’s what all this drama is about. You don’t give a fuck about me, you don’t give a fuck about Dan!” he raged. The rant ended when Tyler saw Shantell’s expression turn to shock and disgust.

  “Why I ought to—” She stopped herself and regained her composure. “Honey,” she said in a soothing voice, “let’s go and talk about this at home. You’re embarrassing me in front of all these people.”

  “Embarrassing you? Are you for real?” He dropped his voice an octave and looked into her bloodshot eyes. “Tell me this. If you care about me so much, when is the last time you told me you loved me?”

  The question pierced like a dagger through her politician’s ego. Everything for which she had sacrificed and worked so hard had been put on the line in front of an audience. The silence in the room hung like a wet towel as she struggled with an answer. If she hesitated and stumbled, her constituents would see her as an unloving mother and just another vain politician.

  “Well, the morning I left for the campaign trail I said ‘I love you’ before I left,” she bluffed.

  “Ha!” he laughed and put his hands on his hips in disgust. “The last time you said ‘I love you’ was right before you sent me to gay boot-camp. Since then, you act as if you don’t even know me.”

  “Oh, Tyler honey, but I do love you. You’re just difficult to love sometimes,” she said as she reached out and tried to hug him again.

  Tyler stepped back and threw his hands in the air. “I’m done with you. You’re not my mother.”

  Shantell needed immediate damage control. The cameras were still filming live, and the sole reason for her presence had backfired. Then an idea hit her. “Honey, come home with me tonight. You’re obviously upset, and I’m sorry about that.” She gestured at the people surrounding them and said, “I’ll take a few days off, and we’ll talk this all out, but not here in front of the cameras. Please.” Last chance, and the ball was in Tyler’s court.

  Tyler shook his head in disagreement. “You say you’re all about family, but Dan is the only one who has accepted me for who I am. He’s my new family,” he said as he walked over to the side of Dan’s bed. The look of disgust and loathing in his mother’s eyes said everything.

  “We’re leaving,” Shantell said to her group as she turned and walked toward the door. Her mind was in recovery mode, but pangs of nausea began to distract her. “Quit filming, and tell your pilots we’ll be ready to go in five minutes,” she said to Wayne.

  “You got it,” Wayne said as his camerawoman began packing their electronics gear for the short helicopter ride back.

  Wayne had one thing left to do. He stepped over to where Rich stood and glared. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

  Arrogant bastard. “I’m not sure we’ve met,” Rich said, playing dumb.

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about. This isn’t your beat. I got the mayor; you stay the hell out,” he said, less than a foot from Rich’s face.

  It was time for a different tactic. To Rich, men like Wayne argue by raising their voice, adjusting the inflection in their tone, and using aggressive body language. However, Rich knew instinctively that approach wouldn’t hack it. Rich put his hands on hips. “You’re absolutely right, Wa
yne. I shouldn’t be here. For that, I apologize,” he said with his hand over his chest. “If I offended you, I’m sorry.”

  The soft-spoken concession caught Wayne off guard. He was gearing up for a shouting match. To be out-witted made him seethe, but he couldn’t find the words for a rebuttal, nor could he match Rich’s calm demeanor. Frustrated, he turned and headed for the helicopter.

  CHAPTER 20

  Peter Raines had three minutes to pull off the crime of a lifetime. The plan wasn’t perfect, but the opportunity arose when Mayor Shantell Cogan went to the bathroom to relieve her sudden nausea. He figured it would take her and the pilots at least five minutes to reach the helicopter pad. The original plan was to place an explosive device in her car and make it look like an accident. Sabotaging the helicopter would eliminate the evidence and make it more difficult to trace the crime back to him. The device he chose was small enough to be concealed in his blazer, but had enough punch to destroy a compact car.

  With three minutes to go, Peter pushed the button on the elevator for the helicopter pad. Twenty seconds later, the doors slid open, and he was relieved to see the area around the helicopter devoid of people. The red perimeter lights and the white, green, and red rotating beacon and full moon gave him enough ambient light to find his way around in the dark. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the winds were light and variable. The helicopter’s tail was pointing to his left, the nose to his right.

  As fast as he could, Peter ducked below the tail rotor and stood so he was facing the empennage on the helicopter’s left side, just aft of the rotor. He removed the book-sized bomb made of eight pounds of C-4, removed the adhesive backing, and stuck it into position on the aluminum skin next to the output shaft of the tail rotor assembly. On the outside, the bomb looked benign. It had a white plastic cover with an external antenna. Internally, the antenna connected to a computer that activated a trigger used to detonate the C-4. One minute to go.