Not Forgiven: A Thriller and Suspense Novel: Ungoverned Series

by Shawn Raiford

  William spun the laptop around so Happy and his lawyer could see the laptop's monitor. He hit some keys with meaty fingers. "Mr. Morales, do you know an Antonio Nunez?"

  Happy rolled his eyes. "I am not sure, maybe."

  "He went by Tony."

  He smirked and hiked up his shoulders. "Doesn't ring a bell."

  Reid commented, "We haven't found his body but we are sure that Tony is dead, and you killed him."

  His lawyer, scoffing. "You need a body before you can claim murder."

  Reid smiled and waved a hand. "Tony placed a hit on Sarah Jennings with you. Your boys did the hit and much more, which you are responsible for."

  Glancing up at him, Happy adjusted his position in the chair. "What do you mean, puerco?" He sniffed, narrowing his eyes.

  William hit a key, a video began playing. "We have you on video, Mr. Morales."

  On the screen, he saw himself and his men at his shop. Tony's voice blared. He and his lawyer scrutinized the video.

  His lawyer grabbed his pen. "Okay, I have seen enough."

  The fat cop turned the laptop around and closed it.

  His head dropped, and his stomach tightened. Happy did not want to believe his eyes. He brought his head a few inches closer, looking the fat one in the eyes. "How did you get this?"

  Reid jabbed a finger in his face. "Calm down, Mr. Morales, or you may have an infarction!" The pig leaned back, grinning ear to ear. "That would be sad if you died before going to prison."

  The fat cop said, "Let's work backwards Mr. Morales. Felix and Tony were cops. They were dirty cops, obviously. A friend of Felix's, a Rogelio Marquez, owner of Aldo's Italian Restaurant, killed a woman. We are not sure why he did it but he did. Rogelio dumped the body and a Sarah Jennings witnessed him dump the body. Rogelio feared that Sarah would call the cops and he would be identified. So he tells Felix Fernandez, who worked Vice in the Houston Police Department. Felix tells him that Sarah needed to be killed because he, Tony, and Rogelio had a side narcotics business that could be in jeopardy, not to mention their freedom. Felix tells Tony what went down, and Tony goes to you, as the video indicates, to set up a hit for a wife, a mother of two. You know what happens after that."

  Happy's lawyer leaned over and said something, though Happy did not pay any attention to the words.

  Reid laughed. "Felix and Tony didn't trust you, you piece of shit! Felix told us that he made Tony wear spyglasses to your little meeting. Vice does this from time to time. Technology is awesome, isn't it?" he asked. "You are done, Juan. Rogelio confessed. Felix confessed. And we have this video."

  Happy fumed.

  Reid turned to his partner. "It is amazing how dumb criminals are sometimes."

  He could not believe it. The spyglasses were why Happy sat in this chair, cuffed. If these pigs only knew about the murders he had done in his lifetime, they wouldn't be making fun of him. They'd be the ones having an infarction.

  Those two men Reid just mentioned would not be able to hide for long. Prison guards would find those men hanging in their cells, or their throats cut. Their entire case against him was on that video, and it would be enough. Happy wasn't sure if the man, Tony in this case, that made the video, had to testify to the authenticity of the video, or not. Regardless, his lawyer will fight the authenticity of the video. Happy might end up in prison.

  If need be, Happy would plead out and receive a reduced sentence. The cops had him dead to rights if the video was allowed, so the DA might not negotiate. He might have to give someone up to get a dime, or a ten-year sentence.

  By the time he got out, he would still be under fifty years old and would be strong. Before he died Happy had to kill Rose. Images of gutting that bitch danced around in his head and put him at ease.

  "Hey, Juan, you still there?" Reid asked, snapping his fingers in front of Happy's face.

  Barely acknowledging the pig with a nod, Juan "Happy" Morales leaned back in his chair and smiled, and fantasized about violence.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  A Gift

  Three days later...

  His parents came.

  Brendan gave them his bed. Ethan had slept with them. Ricky slept in Ethan's bed and Brendan passed out in Timmy's. He woke up feeling like shit. Brendan was not a big drinker, but he did drink a lot last night. Ricky, a friend, came over last night with a bottle of vodka. They drank almost the entire bottle in the garage, listening to music, talking about Sarah and Timmy. The temporary distraction did not help him though.

  His mother told him not to worry. She and his father would stay there for the foreseeable future.

  There was a time he would have complained and maybe even urged them to leave, but he was glad they were here with him and Ethan. Their presence did his son some good.

  He got out of Timmy's bed and noted that Ricky was gone. On the way to the bathroom, to piss, he smelled something wonderful. Smelling the coffee began working on his hangover. After taking his morning piss, he walked into the kitchen. His dad sat at the counter, drinking a cup.

  He smiled, and it hurt his head.

  "You found the coffee?"

  The sixty-five-year-old turned. "Yup, easy to find."

  Brendan enjoyed the prospect of having coffee, more so with his dad.

  "The way you and your buddy were going at the drink last night I bet you could use a gallon of this, right?"

  His dad drank when Brendan was a young man. One night his dad came home very drunk, and Brendan's mom woke very upset, she never liked him drinking. Brendan was around seven or eight. His parents got into an argument, a bad one, and his dad slapped her. His dad was so embarrassed, he vowed never to drink again. His dad had become the best husband and father afterwards. To Brendan's knowledge, his father had not touched a drop since then.

  "Did you see Ricky?"

  "Yeah, he left, didn't look too good, but said he needed to get home to his wife."

  Brendan nodded. "Mom still asleep?"

  "Yeah, her and Ethan stayed up kinda late. She read about ten books to him."

  His mother had always been an advocate of reading. It didn't matter how bad things got. Books helped a person escape.

  Brendan sat down, and his dad stood up and grabbed a coffee mug. Filling it, he sat the mug down in front of Brendan. The cream and sugar sat on the counter. His dad handed him a spoon. "Here you go."

  "Thanks Dad." His dad used the mug that Sarah typically used to have her coffee. He pointed to the coffee mug. "Dad, that's Sarah's cup." It seemed right for his dad to use it.

  "Oh, I am sorry, I'll get another one."

  "No! Please, I want you to use it. She might be looking down on us, glad to see you using it."

  His dad smiled at him. "Okay, then."

  As he put a spoonful of sugar into his coffee, stirring, Brendan saw a package on the counter.

  "When did this come?"

  His dad shrugged. "When I got up, as I was walking out of the hallway there was a knock at the door. I checked the peephole, but saw no one. I opened the door, and the package was there."

  On top, a piece of paper was taped to the box. It read: To Brendan and Ethan, with love.

  "Open it up son," his dad urged, handing him a knife.

  He cut the tape that sealed the package, reached in, and slid out a note that was on top of a notebook.

  The note read: This was for Sarah and Timmy!

  He didn't understand and placed the note in his dad's hand.

  Brendan picked up the notebook and observed that there were more than just pages. He held the notebook at an angle so his father was able to read too. The first page had a picture of a Hispanic man. The caption read: This is Rogelio Marquez, owner of Aldo's Italian Restaurant. He killed a woman, Candice Zelman. Sarah witnessed him dumping Candice's body. Turn page.

  His eyes watering, he turned the page to a picture of two other Hispanic men. The caption read:

  This is Felix Fernandez and Tony Nunez, both are Vice cops with HPD. Fe
lix and Tony are Rogelio's friends. They hired the next guy to kill Sarah, because they had to get rid of the witness, Sarah. Tony is believed to be dead, killed a few days ago. Turn the page.

  Brendan could not believe this.

  His dad placed a hand on his shoulder. "Keep going, son."

  He turned the page. A picture of a muscular, bald Hispanic.

  He kept reading.

  This is Juan "Happy" Morales, the leader of the street gang Triple H. Tony placed a hit on Sarah with this man. Happy did not kill Sarah, but some of his men did. Happy will be going to prison for many years for his part in Sarah and Timmy's murders. He is believed to be the one who killed Tony Nunez, but Tony's body has not been found. Turn the page.

  His heart skipped a beat. Brendan turned the page and looked at four small pictures of men who looked really bad. They were all dead. One of them didn't have a face. Brendan did not turn away.

  He kept reading.

  The following men accepted the contract to kill Sarah from Juan Morales. Turn the page.

  Holding the anger back, he felt tears running down his face. He turned the page, and he stared at over a dozen pictures of dead Hispanic men.

  He kept reading.

  These guys all worked for Juan Morales. I killed them all. Rogelio, Felix, Tony(?), and Happy still remain alive. The police have them except Tony. I can have them killed. All you have to do is place a picture of Sarah and Timmy in the front window of your house for the next seven nights.

  Take care Brendan.

  Brendan sat there stunned.

  His dad left him for a few seconds. Brendan finished his coffee. He came back with two photos: one of Sarah and the other of Timmy.

  Brendan took a sip of his coffee. "What are you doing?"

  His father regarded him. "I'm taking these pictures out of the frames, so I can put them in the front window."

  Brendan, no pacifist by no means, had been a lifelong member of the NRA, however he did not want any more killing. "No, Dad. Everyone involved is either dead or in prison. I'm good with that."

  He stopped and Brendan saw the tears in his father's eyes. Brendan hugged his father, and he too started crying.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Behind A Locked Door

  It was late, past midnight.

  The man sat behind his desk, working. I held up a pair of nocs, night-vision goggles. As I sat in my car, I thought about having pizza when I finished.

  His office was in the front of the house, the curtains were half-open. A light shone dimly through the blinds. With my binoculars, his crow's feet and laugh lines stood out.

  He was a bald, almost-fifty, white man. When I met him, I was a little girl—he didn't have the wrinkles and had a full head of hair. That was twenty years ago.

  He had done well for himself. A minister, married with kids. God and pedophilia.

  "You should've been a Catholic priest." That way he wouldn't have to fake being interested in his wife, a grown woman.

  Finally, I decided the time to go in was now. The wife and kids should be asleep. It was late.

  Manicured lawns lined both sides of the street. Attractive houses, expensive. The temperature had warmed up to fifty degree in the last several days and the clouds stayed away. The stars shone bright in the night sky, a good night to kill a monster.

  Since he was still awake, I figured the house alarm had not been set yet. Good for me; not so much for him.

  I got out of my car and walked around to the back of his house and stepped up to the back door. To pick the lock, it took me a little longer than I wanted. I entered the house through the backdoor. Standing alone in the mudroom, I listened. Heard nothing. I walked into the house. Passed the washroom and entered the kitchen. Top of the line appliances, an island, and expensive tile on the floor and backsplash.

  His lies paid for his kitchen, and for his house. His? Not for long.

  The computer hacker, I used, found more than enough information on the monster. He gave me a folder, half an inch thick, on Jonathan and his wife. He had a secret life, and she was oblivious to it, like most women in her position. My species—women—tended to be too wishful thinking, giving, and sometimes didn't want to see the bad things in our mates, especially the father of our children.

  A basket full of fruit sat on the counter. I grabbed an apple and put it in my jacket pocket.

  Next was the living room: big with nice furniture and a big screen TV mounted to the wall. Off to the side was a small patio with furniture and a barbecue pit.

  I imagined him cooking burgers and hotdogs—cooking for his family and friends. No more of that, ever.

  Went down a hallway.

  The first room was a bathroom. Peeked in, regular bathroom: sink, toilet, and a tub. The next room was the master bedroom. Peeked in, I spotted the wife and one kid on each side of her. There would be no room for Jonathan on the bed.

  Hmmm.

  I walked down the hallway. His office was closed. I gently twisted the doorknob, but the door was locked.

  A minister working at midnight in his office behind a locked door. Why?

  Didn't matter what he was doing behind the door. It was all about to stop.

  I knocked on the door. It took almost a minute before the door opened.

  Staring at me, he frowned. Jonathan looked past me. "Who are you?"

  Not bothering with an answer, I entered the office, pushing past him. Like the rest of the house, the office was nice. The furniture appeared to be expensive. The desk was big, maybe made of mahogany. A green lamp, with a bent neck to focus the light onto various papers, stood at attention on a large desk calendar.

  He walked behind his desk and sat in a comfy chair. "Excuse me? Who are you?"

  I scanned the rest of the office. "You have a very nice house. A nice office. A nice family."

  "How did you get inside my house?" the monster asked, perplexed.

  "Through the back door. I picked the lock. Easy."

  His left eyebrow shot upward. "Why are you here?"

  "That is a great question! I am here to kill you, Jonathan Hyde."

  He pointed at the door, walked over, and closed it. Perhaps he did not see me as a threat because Jonathan was big. Six two, two-fifty. He was thinner back then. About forty, maybe fifty pounds lighter.

  "Why would you say something like that?" The monster took a couple steps toward me.

  I said nothing.

  "I guess you don't remember me."

  He shrugged nonchalantly, not worried about me, which was curious. His wife and children slept like logs down the hallway and he was talking to a stranger in his house.

  Johnny was thinking one of two possible things. The best way to remove me from his house without waking his family. Or he wanted to hurt me.

  "Do you remember a man named Uncle?"

  He shook his head.

  "That's what us kids called him, twenty years ago."

  He moved to his desk and sat on the edge, not far from me. "No, I don't know who you're talking about."

  "His name is Norman White."

  Jonathan exhaled, glancing at the door, then back at me. He swallowed. "I have not heard that name in a very long time."

  I put my hands behind my back. "How about Kenneth Parnell?"

  Jonathan closed his eyes, nodding. Bringing up his hand, resting the elbow in the other hand, he grabbed his face. "Yes, I know him also."

  Reached inside my jacket and came out with a Smith and Wesson 9mm handgun with a suppressor screwed into the end.

  His eyes bulged. "You're going to kill me?"

  "Yes."

  He swallowed.

  My memory of him was two dimensional, a little foggy, but I remembered Jonathan Hyde. I remembered how this monster defiled me. Now, being this close to him, smelling a mixture of his sweat and aftershave, my memory was able to fetch a more complete three-dimensional memory of this man.

  Then, it was twenty years ago: It was dark and Jonathan was heavy o
n top of me.

  He stunk with sweat and had Cheeseburger breath.

  Inside me, hurting me.

  Taking a step back, I shook my head and a tear ran down my cheek. My trigger finger itched. "Do you remember me, Jonathan?"

  Eyes narrowed. "No, I don't."

  I pulled a copy of the original Polaroid of him and me from my jacket.

  I handed the picture to him.

  His hand moved.

  I raised my gun hand. "Slowly."

  The monster studied the faces and glanced up at me. "Yes, I remember now. You were such a beautiful girl, back then."

  I was eleven, back then. "And now? What do I look like?"

  His eyes narrowed as they veered off to the side. "You are too old."

  Johnny seemed not to be worried about the pistol I aimed at him anymore. "Does your wife know the real you?"

  He said, "No, that was the old me."

  "Do your kids understand what you are?"

  The edges of his mouth twitched. "No, I have never touched them!"

  The hacker's file on Jonathan Hyde, told me everything. "But you still rape little girls, right?"

  "No, I am not like that anymore. I found Jesus a long time ago."

  "There are a lot of Hey-Suses in Texas. Which one did you find?"

  Confused for a couple of seconds then he understood. "I am serious. Jesus saved me, saved my soul."

  "Will he save your life?"

  Walking over, Jonathan placed the picture down on the desk.

  "Leave your hands flat on the desk," I told him.

  He did as ordered.

  "What I did to you was wrong. I did not have God in my life at that time, and did things I am not proud of, drank too much..."

  "Raped little girls."

  "I am sorry."

  "If you are sorry, why haven't you told your wife? Kids? The police?"

  He chin dropped. "Yes, I have failed in that regard, but I put all my energy at being a better person, creating a church that serves people."

  My left eye twitched. "Seems your church has served you quite well."

  "My wife's idea. The better looking house and car I have, the more successful I appear, the better my message is, the better I can serve humanity."