A Trace of Revenge

by Lyle Howard

  “It’s critical that we speak with Mrs. Farmer.”

  “I told the boy that Mrs. Farmer is very busy.” Trujillo insisted.

  Ward held up his hand to muzzle Trujillo. “Page Iris Porter to come down here.”

  Matt smiled in appreciation. “Thank you, Mr. Ward.”

  Ward leaned his imposing frame onto the counter. “It’s not every day my two favorite students pay our office a visit.” Simone peeked over Matt’s shoulder and saw something she had never witnessed before. Clarence Ward was smiling. A happy, make-you-feel-at-home kind of smile. Maybe all of the horror stories she had heard about him were really unfounded? “Mrs. Farmer has a hectic schedule today. Why don’t we go into my office and talk?”

  Ward lifted the hinged section of the countertop and ushered Matt and Simone into his office. Inside the crowded room was an entire wall filled with diplomas and certificates of merit that would have impressed even the most cynical parent of Ward’s experience.

  The three of them sat quietly until Iris Porter arrived. “Why wasn’t either of you in homeroom?” she signed to both of them angrily.

  “We needed to see Mrs. Farmer,” Matt replied, thankful that he didn’t have to speak anymore.

  “They say they need to see the Principal,” Porter reiterated to Ward.

  “What is so earthshaking that you couldn’t see her in your free time?” Ward demanded to know.

  Matt looked over at Simone who urged him on. “I think I know who is breaking into the lockers.”

  Iris Porter paused in mid-interpretation.

  “What did he say?”

  She did not quite believe what her eyes were seeing. “Matt says, he thinks he knows who’s been stealing from the lockers.”

  Ward leaned forward in his chair. “Who?”

  Matt was signing fast and furious. “I don’t know his name, but he’s one of the custodians. He’s kind of young with dark hair. I would know him if I saw him!”

  The Assistant Principal combed his fingers through his beard. “How does he know all this?”

  Porter waited expectantly for Matt’s answer.

  “I can’t tell you.”

  Ward leaned back, the disappointment was evident on his face. “You can’t tell me?”

  Matt looked over at Simone who wouldn’t return his gaze. “I’m very sorry. I would really like to tell you how I know, but I just can’t.”

  The Assistant Principal rocked gently in his chair, his meaty fingers flexed into a steeple under his chin. “If you can’t tell me how you know, then how am I supposed to believe you?” He waited for Iris Porter to finish interpreting before he continued. “Do you want me to accuse someone of stealing just because Matthew Walker says so?”

  Matt stared down at his feet.

  “Don’t look away from me!”

  Iris Porter waved to get Matt’s attention.

  “Just what kind of proof do you have, that one of the janitors is steal…?” As if he had lost his train of thought, Ward abruptly stopped his diatribe. Something was bothering him about what the boy had just suggested. Why was a photograph he thought he’d seen months earlier, suddenly sticking out in his mind?

  There was a picture he needed to find, but where had he seen it? Last year’s class yearbook? No, they don’t include the maintenance staff in the school annual. Was it one of the pictures from the faculty Christmas party? No, that wasn’t it... What was nagging at Ward the most was the fact that none of the lockers had shown any signs of forced entry. The custodial crew had always been at the top of his list of suspects, but because they were hired directly by the County, and not by the individual schools, delving into each worker’s background was a nearly impossible chore because of all of the bureaucratic red tape that was involved. Besides, if it had been one of the janitors, as the boy claimed, the custodian would have needed the combinations ahead of time, and that information was only available to a restricted few on the office staff.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Ward?” Iris Porter asked.

  The Assistant Principal was staring into thin air, drumming his fingers on the desk to a tune only he could hear. Where had he seen the damned thing? It couldn’t have been outside the school grounds ... it must have been ... Yes! That was it!

  Ward jumped out of his seat and ran over to a bookshelf where he kept a stack of old school newspapers. Matt slid his chair out of his way as the Assistant Principal continued rifling through the pile of papers. A third of the way through the stack, Ward grabbed one of the papers and held it above his head victoriously.

  “What is it, Mr. Ward?” Porter asked. “What do you have there?”

  The Southside Source was a monthly student-produced newspaper covering a variety of topics such as school happenings, varsity sports, PTA socials, special fund-raising events, and other school matters of interest. Occasionally, when one of these special fund-raising events—such as a faculty basketball game—included local celebrities, the Jacksonville Daily News would send out a photographer to cover the event for their local section. With their kind permission, sometimes a few of these pictures were reproduced in the monthly student paper. Ward took the newspaper and folded one of the pages into thirds. What he left showing was only part of a surprisingly sharp photograph of a man sitting in the stands at one of these charity fund-raisers. He held out the picture for Matt to look at.

  Matt’s eyes opened wide. He sprang out of his chair and began shouting and signing excitedly. “That’s him! I’m positive!” He poked his finger at the paper over and over.

  “How do you know it was him?” Ward asked, seriously.

  Matt shook his head without answering.

  The Assistant Principal pulled back the newsletter so only Iris Porter could see the rest of the photograph. It was definitely a picture of one of the custodial staff, a young dark-haired man named Enrique Sandoval. In the photo, Sandoval appeared to have the friendliest smile on his face, Ward thought. Perhaps it was just because he was enjoying watching all the celebrities make fools of themselves on the basketball court ... or could it have been the fact that Sandoval had his arm wrapped around his new fiancé... Carmen Trujillo?

  Later that afternoon, the Broward County Sheriff’s Department arrested Enrique Sandoval on twelve counts of robbery after a cache of the stolen goods was recovered from a hidden compartment in a bedroom closet of the couple’s new home. Carmen Trujillo was charged as an accessory in the thefts for disclosing the confidential locker combinations. Upon further investigation, it was discovered that Sandoval’s brother owned a pawn shop where the couple, who were living far beyond their means, was fencing the stolen property. Trujillo and Sandoval plea-bargained their sentences down to two years, and each ended up serving less than nine months. The Sandovals never ended up getting married, and both promptly left the State of Florida. Matt was repeatedly questioned about how he knew that the janitor and registrar were the culprits. He never divulged his secret to anyone except Simone—and, of course, his grandmother.

  4

  Time had passed quickly since the locker incident, and Barbara Walker had grown more concerned about her grandson. There weren’t any physical changes for her to worry about, but she had an insight into his psyche that no one else had. She knew that he doubted himself. This wasn’t the standard coming-of-age sort of reservations—more of the “edge of sanity” type. This was why she wanted him tested: for his peace of mind…and hers.

  “I think that is enough for now,” Dr. Albright said, as she gathered up the objects from Matt’s side of the desk and placed them in a plastic tub with all the rest of the household menagerie.

  Matt pushed himself away from the table and arched his back, trying to work out the kinks he’d gotten from sitting for over two hours of testing without ever shifting positions. “So, what did all of this tell you, Doc?” He voiced gutturally.

  Albright
put her hand on Matt’s cheek and smiled compassionately. “This test is only one step on a long journey of examination, my dear boy. Surely you can’t expect me to be able to tell you anything from just a few tests?”

  Matt winced. “So how long is this journey supposed to take, Doc? If it takes much longer, I’m going to make you pull over and let me out to throw up!”

  Albright lowered her hand to Matt’s shoulder and laughed. “Aw, come on now! It hasn’t been that bad, has it?”

  Matt was polite enough not to answer.

  The doctor pointed at her own lips. “Matt, have you noticed that your speech has improved since the frequency of these events has increased?”

  In turn, Matt touched his index finger to his ear and then to his mouth, the sign language gesture for ‘deaf.’

  Albright shook her head. “It just seems to me that your spoken language has greatly improved since the first time we met. I would imagine that the speech of a person who has lost their hearing would usually deteriorate over time ...but yours appears to be doing quite the opposite.”

  Matt waved his grandmother into the room through the one-way mirror. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  Albright looked surprised. She hadn’t realized the young man was so sensitive about his voice. “I’m absolutely serious!”

  Barbara Walker strolled into the room and gave her grandson a peck on the top of his head. Matt wrinkled his face and rubbed his hair.

  “I was just complimenting your grandson on his improved speech,” Albright remarked. “Have you noticed it too, or is it just because I don’t see him as often?”

  Barbara Walker put her hand on her grandson’s shoulder. “Of course I know about it. It doesn’t surprise me.”

  Albright was taken aback. “It doesn’t?”

  “No, why should it?”

  The doctor sat on the edge of the desk and began rifling through the set of more than fifty photos. “I don’t purport to be an expert in the field of deafness, but it’s only logical to assume that someone who can no longer hear the spoken word would lose their tonal fluency in the spoken language.”

  Barbara Walker looked at Wanda Albright quizzically. “Who ever said that Matt couldn’t hear?”

  Caught totally off guard, the deck of photos dropped out of the doctor’s hands as if she was starting a game of fifty-two pick up. “Excuse me?”

  Matt stood up to collect the pictures off the floor.

  “I never told you that Matt couldn’t hear,” Barbara Walker said.

  “I’m confused,” Albright admitted. “Matt is reading my lips when I speak to him, am I correct?”

  Matt’s grandmother laughed. “Of course he is! I didn’t mean that he could hear you or me.”

  The doctor closed one eye skeptically. “I’m at a loss. Then who can he hear?”

  “He hears the voice in his head!”

  “The voice in his head?” Albright couldn’t help but repeat skeptically.

  “Sure! He hears a voice as plain as you’re hearing me now.”

  Albright nodded. “Ah…”

  Barbara Walker put her fists defiantly on her hips. “How else would you explain it?”

  Matt was down on his knees trying to get the last card that had slipped under the desk when the doctor tapped him on the shoulder. He grabbed the card to complete the deck and handed them back to Albright. She made sure they had eye contact. “Your grandmother tells me you hear voices in your head!”

  Matt turned to his grandmother with a menacing glare. They were visions, not voices. Why couldn’t she grasp that basic concept? “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

  Albright glanced over at Barbara Walker and then back at Matt. There was apparently some underlying tension there. It was clear that this line of questioning would have to wait until Matt was ready to confide in her. She rubbed her hand over her heart signing one of the few words she knew. “I’m sorry, Matthew. Sometimes I feel like I need an interpreter myself,” she said, as apologetically as possible. “I must have misunderstood her.”

  Matt no longer wanted to be here. He walked over to the door and waited.

  “I’ve really hit a nerve, haven’t I?” Albright sighed.

  Barbara Walker put a compassionate hand on the doctor’s wrist. “I’m the one who’s let him down.”

  The doctor shook her head. “No need to feel guilty about what you’ve told me, Barbara. It’s going to take a while for Matt to trust me enough to open up to me. Don’t worry. Just let it happen naturally.”

  Matt’s grandmother looked over at him standing agitatedly by the door. “Oh, this isn’t going to be a pleasant drive home!”

  Albright chuckled, and set the deck of cards down on the desk. “I’m sure everything will be fine. Just keep strong, and listen to what your grandson has to say. I like to consider myself a pretty good judge of people, and I think Matt is hiding an extraordinary ability that none of us can even begin to fully comprehend yet!”

  Barbara Walker joined Matt by the door and ruffled his hair. “He is an extraordinary young man, isn’t he?”

  The doctor smiled. “Absolutely!”

  Barbara Walker opened the door to leave. “Well, have a good day, doctor. We’ll see you again.”

  Wanda Albright waved to get Matt’s attention. “I’ll see you soon, right Matt?”

  But the teenager never answered her. Little did Matt know that that would be the last time he would be seeing the doctor.

  Take chances, make mistakes. That’s how you grow. Pain nourishes your courage. You have to fail in order to practice being brave.

  - Mary Tyler Moore

  5

  Suite 1807, Jax Tower

  Jacksonville, Florida

  After regular business hours…

  A number cruncher. A bean counter. The company doormat. Those were the most merciful epithets she had berated him with during today’s latest bombing run. That’s all he would ever amount to, she had shrieked at him before hanging up on him. Unless he finally found the balls to demand the recognition that someone with over twenty years in the family business deserved!

  She was an alcoholic shrew who couldn’t see beyond her six martinis at the Meadhaven Country Club to realize that ninety-nine percent of the middle-aged women on the planet would kill for the lifestyle that she seemed to loathe so much.

  When had it all gone sour? He wondered as he stared out the window at the busy thoroughfare below. Maybe the clock on his desk held all the answers. It was nearly six thirty. The office staff had cleared out well over an hour ago, and he was still in his office. He sat in the same chair that he always sat in, behind in his paperwork, sifting through the same folders he always sifted through, oblivious to the same people he had always been oblivious to.

  How could she be so selfish? Didn’t she understand that he was doing it all for them? What was so terrible about their life? They lived in the lap of luxury. He knew the move north wasn’t an easy decision, but it had to be done. So what if he spent a little extra time at the office, what did he have to come home to? Couldn’t she realize that no one was indispensable, and there was an entire swarm of summa cum laude, know-it-all college graduates ready and willing to do his job for a tenth of his salary? Where did she think the money came from to pay for all of that booze?

  Of course, he never discussed this anxiety with her; it was his predicament, and he would deal with it as he knew best...with hard work and long hours! That was his way! He had to make himself indispensable to the company!

  Through his panoramic window, the setting sun was igniting the concrete skyline in a blaze of orange and pink hues. In the distance, across the shimmering waters of the Saint John’s River, the nocturnal colors of the city of Jacksonville were coming to life. But it wasn’t that far away kaleidoscope of neon luminescence that was capturing his attention. T
here was a closer temptation. Bright lights down on the street that had teased him for years; and for just as long, he had denied his curiosity. Perhaps, after twenty years, tonight would be the night that he would finally escape the bonds of monotony, and venture across the street to the flashing colors and energetic music that pulsed through the doors of the One Eleven Club. Why not? It was exactly what he deserved.

  He switched off his computer, closed the files on his desk, and carried them over to the wall safe where he stored most of the company’s significant financial documents. Giving a cavalier glance into the mirror that hung behind his door, he ran his fingertips over his graying hair like a brush, trying desperately to accentuate the dwindling number of dark hairs that had managed to outlast his tumultuous marriage. For a long moment, he fidgeted with the knot in his tie, contemplating whether or not to leave it perfect like it was or to loosen it and go for the casual, less anal-retentive look. He modeled it for himself both ways, turning from side to side and casting out flirtatious pick-up lines into empty waters. Wearing it loose made him feel awkward and vulnerable, so he decided to leave it knotted. Now he was ready! Now he was dressed to kill!

  6

  The One-Eleven Club—or the Three Aces, as it was known in organized crime circles, was like a vine-ripened tomato: an enticing outside concealing an incredibly seedy interior. At the core of this corruption was Nicholas Coltello—or, since Coltello was the Italian word for “Knife,” Nicky the Knife. Although no one who was still breathing ever dared call him Nicky the Knife to his face.

  Coltello was a fourth generation Messinian, but somewhere along the line his family tree had branched off toward Havana, and for this reason—and the fact that he was fluent in all three languages—he was given absolute reign of the family’s interests in Florida.

  Gambling, drugs, prostitution, gun-running...if it was done anywhere in the Sunshine State, Nicky the Knife either had a hand in it, or knew about it...and if he knew about it, and didn’t have a hand in it...it didn’t prosper for long.