Last
Laugh
Table of Contents
Title Page
Last Laugh (Bezel Brothers, #4)
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Rahiem Brooks
Prodigy Publishing Group
Philadelphia, PA
ALSO BY RAHIEM BROOKS
Bezel Brother’s Series
Laugh Now
First Laugh (Ebook & Printed in Laugh Now)
Die Later
Last Laugh
Ravonne Lemmelle Mystery Series
Murder in Germantown
Murder in Love Park (Fall 2014)
Con Test: Double Life
Truth, Lies, & Confessions Trilogy (E-book Only)
Pretty Boy Thugs (Spring 2014)
CONTRIBUTOR
ARC BOOK CLUB Official Literary Cook Book
Published by Prodigy Publishing Group
Copyright © 2013 by Rahiem Brooks
This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, events, business, organizations, or locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Names, characters, place, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Cover and Author Photography by Gregory Goodwin Typesetting: Rahiem Brooks
Editing: Locksie Locks
ISBN 978-1939665041
LCCN on File
All Rights Reserved
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
[December 2013] First Edition
This book is dedicated to my siblings:
Rhonesia
Latasha
Dominique
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ______________________________________________________________
My publishing career would not be possible without Envy Red, Kristofer Clarke, English Ruler, Christopher Fuller, Gregory Goodwin (graphic designer), and Locksie Locks (editor).
Much love and respect,
Rahiem Brooks www.rahiembrooks.com
Last
Laugh
1
PHILADELPHIA, THE PRESENT
“Control, code blue. Code blue. Riot in progress,” Officer Sanchez yelled into his walkie-talkie. A baseball bat was slammed against the head of an inmate, as Sanchez grabbed his prison yard bullhorn, and yelled into it, “Get down on the ground. All inmates down. Now. Faces in the grass.”
“Roger, Sanchez,” the control officer said, and then grabbed the prison intercom. “All inmates report to their cells. Attention all officers, we are in lock down mode. Lock down all units.”
“Fuck. This shit cannot be happening,” CO Sanchez said and watched an inmate being hoisted into the air by two other inmates. They slammed him into the ground and blood immediately filled the man’s face. He was then kicked by the prison’s inmate law librarian. That baffled CO Sanchez. Inmate Kareem Bezel was undoubtedly one of the most mannerly and respectful inmates that he had ever encountered. But there he was kicking a man that seemed to be dead.
Other officers ran out into the yard dressed in riot gear and yelled repeatedly for inmates to get down. The inmates not involved had laid out on the ground with their faces and toes in the dirt. Lieutenant Brown looked on in horror. He had enough to do with the daily paperwork to record the prison’s status, and he did not want to report a riot. After a riot, in came the city officials, detectives and a bunch of other people that he didn’t want to brief on what had happened. Here was a situation that he didn’t have any heads up about. Normally, he was prepared for a prison war between the Philadelphia neighborhoods. He was always tipped off by a prison snitch. But this time it was different.
“LT Brown to Officer Sanchez,” the lieutenant said into his walkie-talkie.
“Sanchez. Go, Lieutenant Brown.”
“Give a warning to those actively engaged in this fight to stop or you will shoot.”
“Copy,” CO Sanchez said, and grabbed the bullhorn. “All inmates this is a warning that we will shoot any inmate not in compliance with our order to get down on the ground. I repeat. We will shoot any inmate not in compliance with our order to get down.” He put the bullhorn down and wiped his brow. “These mutha fucka’s better not stop,” he said and unlocked the gun locker. He smiled and raised the tower’s shot gun into the air. He loaded it with bean bag rounds, and prepared to shoot. He had waited long for the chance to gun down an inmate.
The shot gun was designed to be non-lethal and officers had been taught not to shoot the gun in the extremities. A shot to the head could crush an inmate’s nose or break their neck. Even worse, a strike in the chest could send a broken rib crashing into the heart and kill an inmate. That was not the point of the riot rifle. It was designed to gain control of a riot, but CO Sanchez’s day had been screwed up, and he planned to end this deadly if he had control of the outcome.
The prison yard officers managed to gain some control of the yard and most of the inmates from the D-E-F Units had been down on the ground. Kareem Bezel and Bryant Larson were now going blow for blow at the top of the yard.
“You two need to get down now,” Officer Carson said, and pulled her pepper spray from her waist band.
A band of officers dressed in riot gear had their guns trained on the inmates that complied and was on the ground. A team of nurses had been at the yard doorway awaiting full control so they could go in and assist wounded inmates.
Kareem threw another punch at his attacker and was then hit with a burning sensation to his face. He was sprayed by Officer Carson, but that did not stop him from fighting. He reached out for Larson and wrapped his arms around him and scooped him into the air. He slammed Larson to the ground, while Officer Carson continued to coat him with pepper spray. Both men continued to throw punches and had not been effected by the spray.
Kareem was pulled off his feet by a member of the officer’s goon squad. He kicked Larson as he came up. Kareem was hand cuffed behind his back, and then marched through the yard by two goons.
* * *
The jail’s main area was empty because all inmates had been locked down. The House of Corrections had opened in 1874, and was one of six county prisons that housed un-sentenced misdemeanants. It was the only one with a “wheel-and-spoke” design, first seen with the construction of Eastern State Penitentiary in 1829. A Center Control served as a central rotunda in the middle, which served as access to six two-tiered cellblocks.
While being chaperoned swiftly through the jail, Kareem was on his tiptoes being pulled with brute force. He was practically floating on the air beneath his feet.
“Open up A-block,” one of the officers that dragged Kareem said.
The unit was opened and two officers took Kareem to the
back of the wing to the shower. A third officer took out a pair of scissors and cut the inmate’s light blue prison pullover off. His tank top was cut off next. Kareem was then pushed under the water.
“What the fuck, man?” he said, as the water hit his skin. “Take off these cuffs. You got me under water in cuffs.” Kareem’s voice was grave and deep. He was angry and prepared to do whatever it took to protect himself from further harm. That meant protecting his self from inmates and prison authorities. But he could do nothing in handcuffs and the burning sensation to his skin thoroughly made him aware of that.
“It’s to rinse off the pepper spray,” an officer said as Kareem began to shake.
“The water is freezing and the spray is now running into my eyes, you jackasses. Un-cuff me. My eyes,” he screamed. “What the fuck?” He jumped in the air a few times. “Oh my God, please un-cuff me.”
Kareem became afraid. The spray had seeped into his pores, ran into his eyes, and he was cuffed behind his back. His pants were soaked along with his sneakers. He was terrified at that point. He could not see and thought that he was going to be blind.
“My eyes,” Kareem said. He yelled, as he felt two officers grab him by both arms and pulled him out of the shower. “Where are you taking me?” he asked. He panicked. “My arm is burning. Please don’t grip it so tightly.” He was helpless, and for the first time, he truly regretted the feds sticking him in a county jail to control the overcrowded Federal Detention Center (FDC) in downtown Philadelphia. He hated the system and everything that it represented. Sure, he had committed several crimes, and maybe even, he belonged in jail, but he hated it.
He was ushered to the front of the lieutenant’s office and placed inside an isolation cell. It wasn’t a cell at all. It mirrored a pay phone booth, about 2x2 feet of metal. Kareem heard the door shut and again asked to have the cuffs removed. His request was ignored.
Every move that Kareem made forced him to brush against the metal gates. He remained cuffed behind his back and each time his skin touched the metal it burned. He began to sniff but held his head high to prevent the tears from falling. He was even more afraid. He still had no idea what was going to happen next. The fact that he could not open his eyes and not knowing what was going to happen next caused him to have a panic attack. His back slammed against the cell, and he stood as still as possible. For the first time, in a very long time, Kareem Bezel said a prayer.
2
PHILADELPHIA, AN HOUR LATER
The prison librarian, Judy Butler, walked into the lieutenant’s office and was accosted by three correctional officers and Lt. Brown. She was Kareem Bezel’s boss and information seemed to suggest that she could shed some light on what had transpired on the prison yard. Kareem had a thing for working in the education departments at the two jails that he had been in. He was a bright man, and the educational staff appreciated an inmate that could help lower their work load. While at FDC, he was celled up with Calvin Bradshaw who had given him a lot of insight into the law and legal proceedings. Calvin had even helped Kareem get a job in the FDC library. Kareem used that knowledge to get a job in the HOC library shortly upon him being transferred there.
“Good morning, Mrs. Butler. So sorry to disturb your day with this. However, I have to ask you a few questions about Kareem Bezel’s involvement in this morning’s riot,” Lieutenant Brown said and frowned. He was a huge man that was built like a professional NBA power forward with neat dreadlocks, and a thick Russian accent. Women found it sexy to hear a man as black as coal sound like a Russian. He was adopted by a white family from Russia whom moved him to Moscow, Russia, then Burbank, California and later to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania to be on the opposite coast.
“That’s no problem. I am here to help solve this, and perhaps shed some light on what happened this morning,” Mrs. Butler replied. She folded her arms over her chest and exposed red nail polish that matched her even brighter red lip stick. She was homely, but had a bit of spunk for an older white woman.
“Ok, great,” the lieutenant said. “Apparently this fight is all about a deal gone bad. A drug deal.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Mrs. Butler said. She then added, “Now, I did intercept a letter, which has been turned into the Security Lieutenant. It seemed to outline a payment schedule with the units, where the drugs went and who should have the money.”
“And your inmate Bezel delivered the letter?”
“No. Well, not exactly. I was escorting Bezel around the D-E-F side to deliver inmate’s paid for print outs of legal cases. When we entered E unit an inmate called Bezel over and I watched him slip a kite into Bezel’s trousers pocket. I did not search him on the block, but when we were next to Center Control, I had a male officer search him. The letter was confiscated and Bezel was taken to security.”
Lt. Brown sat there and jotted some notes. He then looked up from his pad, and asked, “Did Bezel have a chance to read the letter?”
“I am not sure. When we left E block, we did go to F and I did keep an eye on Bezel, but you know inmates are slicker than oil. However, I did not see him pull out the letter and read it.”
“Yes, even the suave, respectful ones like Kareem Bezel need to be watched. I’ve long suspected he was not as straight up as he appeared. I lost sight of the fact that he is here for committing a federal crime. No matter how loyal he may have seemed to us, he is still an inmate.”
“Especially him,” a CO said. “Have you seen the trickery that he used to avoid a federal indictment in the past, and how he had the decorated DEA agent arrested? He put everything on the agent by saying he worked for the agent against his will. He may try to say that in this situation too.”
The lieutenant went on. “It seems that the dealers that had the money on two of the blocks were robbed that night and they blame Bezel. They believe that he was in on the heist.”
“Oh, really. That’s interesting,” Mrs. Butler said and threw them a curt grin. “I am not certain if he looked at the contents of the letter, but that seems like a tall order for a law library worker that seemingly has no involvement with the riff raff.”
“The operative word is seemingly,” the lieutenant replied. “If he has been responsible for passing the notes from dealer to dealer in the jail, he is very culpable for the movement of drugs here in the jail.”
“Yes,” Senior CO Vanessa Bell said. She opened a file. “We’ve taken the liberty of getting his file from the United States Attorney’s office, which outlines his federal case. It appears that he was the catalyst to his brothers thriving drug ring by supplying cash and guidance, making him one of the biggest drug dealers in the city. He is not a dealer, but perhaps he has helped the drugs to get around and orchestrated the drug trade here as he did while on the streets.”
“Oh, my,” Butler said as she crossed her legs and blew a strain of hair out of her face. “I had no idea he was that type of guy. He’s so kind and respectful.”
“Yes. And conniving and sneaky. He’s a bona fide thief,” said CO Bell.
“Excuse me a minute.” The lieutenant, stepped out of the room, walked over to the cage that Kareem was in and grinned. To Kareem, he whispered, “Why the tears, chum? Scared? Can’t see? Getting out of there is easy. Just tell me what you know, and where’s the money and drugs? Who is involved here as far as my correctional officers?”
Kareem was pressed against the gate, and could not stop shaking. His trembling was dramatic and very noticeable. The burning pain was horrific, but what could he do besides man up, deal with it, and look forward to when it would stop. He was not paying the lieutenant any attention. He was not a rat, and never going to convert into one. They had nothing on him, and could not force him to talk about anything that he didn’t want to.
“I don’t have anything to tell you, and what money are you talking about. I know nothing about money,” Kareem answered.
“Sure you do. If not, I will be sure to bury you under the jail,” the lieutenant replie
d and smiled.
“Well get ya fucking shovel, asshole.”
3
PHILADELPHIA, FIFTY MINUTES LATER
About fifty minutes of Kareem being locked in the cage passed before, he was ushered to an administrative segregation cell and tossed inside. The door slammed behind him and he turned around and backed up against the bars. He expected the guards to take his cuffs off through the bars. They didn’t. He heard their keys fading down the cell block and got the hint. He was being punished for not talking to prison staff and he understood that. And he didn’t plan to be pressed about it, so he did not yell or rant about not being un-cuffed. He had an uncanny adroitness that he felt was not matched by prison officials. No one in position that have control of him was a worthy opponent in his eyes. This was precisely why he did not fear DEA Agent Lucas McKenzey when he was a central problem. No, he could not open the cell and he could not remove the cuffs. Despite that he was in control. This was a moment that mental toughness prevailed and he was always a winner.
He opened his eyes slightly and peeked at the cell. It was empty. Bare.
No sheets.
No blankets.
Not even a pillow.
Bastards, he thought and chuckled.
It was rare to get a pillow in the HOC anyway. No doubt, as the prison law librarian he did. He had everything, though. He was the man. The go to guy to write a letter to a judge for a fellow inmate, or even a love letter to a lonely spouse. That’s one skill that garnered him a lot of respect.
Kareem was able to weave words to women like no other. He knew women and most things that surrounded making them happy. He was surrounded by men that had very little education, and they made his life there easy, as he made their lives just as easy. He had a prestigious Columbia University degree, like the United States President, Barack Obama.
He sat on the bottom bunk bed. He told his muscles to grab his face, but his arms were jerked back by the cuffs. He was brought back to the sad reality that he was in prison, in a cell, and remained in cuffs. “Don’t trip, Reem,” he said out loud, and then shook his head.
He laid down on his side.
Disgust.
Rage.
Fright.
Last Laugh Page 1