by K. M. Hodge
Marianna startled and swung on her heels with her gun drawn.
“Geeze-oh-peas!” Ellie walked out of the shadows with her hands up. “Don’t shoot, it’s just me.”
Marianna sighed and holstered her weapon. “What happened last night? Where were you when he was binge drinking himself into a stupor all night?”
Her bold, baseless accusations taxed Ellie’s nervous system. “Excuse me?”
“You all should be ashamed of yourselves.” Marianna got Jason onto his side and placed the Aztec throw over him.
Ellie stared blankly back at her. “Are you kidding me? Where were you? Ben said he’s been like this for months. What are you doing to help him?”
Marianna’s eyebrows lowered to form one long line of barely controlled rage. “I don’t have time for this shit. Some of us have to go to work.” She stormed out of the house and slammed the door behind her.
“What the fuck just happened here?” Ellie rubbed her eyes and stared out the window at a blue jay, sitting on the ledge watching her.
“She verbally bitch-slapped you.” Jason groaned as he grabbed a pillow and hugged it to himself.
With nowhere else to funnel her rage, Ellie popped Jason hard on the back of the head, making him yelp and squint.
“Wha’ the fuck, Ellie!” His hand cupped his cheek and he shot her a hateful look.
“Don’t you ‘what the fuck’ me! What the hell got into you last night?”
He groaned. “I don’t know. What’d I do? I don’t ‘member anything.”
She squatted down beside him. “You need to get some help, Jason.”
He opened his eyes one at a time and startled a little at her closeness. “I know... I know.”
She stood and went to the bathroom, and turned on the shower. Then she returned and dragged him into it fully clothed.
Jason shuddered awake, coughing and choking on the water that beat down on him. “What the hell!”
Ellie walked out without even acknowledging him. The dipstick for her patience with him was nearly bone dry. She went into the kitchen to cool off and make them breakfast and coffee.
Twenty minutes later, Jason came into the kitchen wearing some clean boxers and a t-shirt, and sat down at the table.
She poured him some hot coffee and spooned some scrambled eggs onto his plate. She knew he was in no condition to argue; that would come later.
“Eat, drink your coffee, and then we’re going to talk about getting you well.”
He sat silently eating his food.
She knew him well enough to know that his silence in no way meant he was going to be on board with her planned intervention.
***
Richmond Police Department, First Precinct
Richmond, Virginia
June 17, 2025
10:30 AM
~~~
Marianna’s departmental Dropbox notification dinged. She set aside her research and pulled up the preliminary CSI report on the Mitchel murder.
The report stated the weapon found on scene was a Glock 42 handgun with a six-round magazine and an Osprey silencer. Five .380 bullets remained in the magazine. The gun had been discharged once, but due to the polygonal rifling, the lab was unable to measure the width of land and groove impressions. It was listed as 0.000. So even if the coroner came back with a .380 bullet, they had no way of proving it came from the gun on the scene.
Dammit!
To add insult to injury, the Richmond DMV records had found no match on the partial. She was going to have to contact the FBI to get permission to submit her partial thumbprint for a match in the Next Generation Identification (NGI) database. Even if they got a match, they still couldn’t tie the weapon to the dead body.
Marianna needed more information. She pulled up the access portal to Jason’s personal cloud and put in his password--one she saw him key in dozens of times.
He won’t mind.
It didn’t take long for her to find a point person at the FBI she could talk to about her theory of The Syndicate. Alex’s old paperwork and notes listed his superior and fellow arresting officer as Section Chief Emmanuel Richards.
She finger-swiped his name into the Richmond PD cloud system, pulled up his contact information, and noticed a recently closed file on him. The police had responded to an accident on the I-95—a four-car pileup. One of the cars had caught fire after slamming into a tree. A passerby stopped and pulled the driver out, but the woman, Cassandra Richards, was pronounced dead on the scene. The car was registered to her husband, former FBI agent Emmanuel Richards.
Marianna jumped up from her seat, snatched her keys and tablet, and bolted to the garage.
She tossed her things into her vehicle and was getting ready to pull out when her phone alerted her to a new text.
Jason: I’m sorry.
Biting her lip, she debated about whether to return his text. She decided to let him stew. She had more important things to deal with now.
***
Bruckman Assisted Living
Alexandria, Virginia
June 17, 2025
12:00 PM
~~~
Betty Williams was a good-natured person who tried to find the good in every person. All of this changed the day her husband passed away. They were responsible, and she was sure they were watching her.
The shifty orderly with the cold black eyes, Leyman, brought her a tray with lunch. “I thought you might like to eat in here today, Ms. Williams.”
Betty trembled under the weight of his chilling gaze. His actions seemed so innocuous that she often questioned if her thoughts about him were all nonsense.
She straightened up in her bed as he brought the bed table up to her. It was truly hideous food, but she ate it anyway while reading a new eBook she had picked out that morning.
In her distracted state, the prick she felt at the base of her foot took her by surprise. She cried out and dropped her reader, then looked up to see Leyman placing a bottle and syringe in his pocket.
He turned her TV up loud and closed the door behind him.
She screamed, but no one came as her chest tightened and her heart began to race. The last thought she had as the darkness closed in was an ironic, smug satisfaction—she hadn’t been crazy about Leyman, after all.
***
Manny Richards’s Brownstone
Alexandria, Virginia
June 17, 2025
1:00 PM
~~~
Manny had sat all night on the stoop.
His daughters, straight from the airport in an automated Alphabet car, freaked out when they found him passed out on the stone steps. Once they realized he wasn’t dead, they lit into him about scaring them half-to-death. It didn’t take them long to jump right into making the arrangements.
Last month, he and his wife Cassie had met with a lawyer and finalized their wills—finally crossing it off their to-do list. When the will had been finalized, he joked with her about how they were going to die any day now. He thought back on the joke now—not so funny anymore.
He watched as the girls whirled around him in a tornado of controlled chaos, bouncing from one thing to the next.
Is everything moving at a faster pace or am I losing it?
The doorbell rang its too cheery song—his wife’s idea. Both girls bounded off to answer the door, a pair of energetic, grieving bunnies.
“Dad, there’s a detective who wants to talk to you.” His eldest, Julia, stood in the doorframe.
Manny strained to rise from the couch and walked through the foyer to the open door, where a beautiful young detective, the one he’d seen on TV, stood.
“Hello, sir, my name is Detective Espinosa.” She held up the badge that hung around her neck. “I’m so sorry to bother you in your home, sir, and please accept my condolences for the recent death of your wife. I just need a moment of your time. I have a few questions involving your wife’s death and how it may be connected to an old case you might remember.”
/> Manny’s youngest daughter, Morgan, chimed in. “I think you might be mistaken. My mother died in a car accident. I don’t see how it could possibly have anything to do with some case my father might have worked on.”
The detective met his gaze and held it.
The Syndicate... It has to be about The Syndicate.
“May I speak with you for a moment, sir? Privately?”
Manny nodded, then turned to face his girls. “I’ll just be a minute, girls. Go on back inside.”
They turned in almost unison to go back inside, but not before giving Marianna the stink eye.
When the door closed behind him, Manny motioned for her to sit down on the stoop beside him.
The neighborhood children were out riding their bikes and playing catch.
Some things don’t change. Thank God.
The scene playing out before them could have been cut and pasted from his own childhood.
Manny cleared his throat and gave the detective a sideways glance. “The Syndicate... You’re here because of the Syndicate, aren’t you?”
For the first time in sixteen years, he found himself craving a cigarette. Instead, he twisted his hands and swallowed hard.
Not going to cry... I’m not going to cry.
“You think The Syndicate had something to do with her death?”
“Yes, sir, I do, but that’s just the beginning.”
~~~
---End of Special Sneak Preview of Black and White Truth by K.M. Hodge---
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