Last Laugh

by Rahiem Brooks

  34

  CAMDEN, NEW JERSEY

  “Suspect is getting into a blue Dodge Caravan carrying a large duffle bag,” Yolanda said into her phone to her handler. “I need you to have local police stop him as soon as he crosses the Ben Franklin Bridge back into Philadelphia. That has to be his next move. Getting back to what he knows.”

  “Are you snapping trial exhibits? We need to get him with the duffle bag and any accomplices.”

  “I am. I am using my ear piece to talk to you. I snapped this asshole from the building’s door exit until he hopped into the car.”

  “Who is he with?”

  “The man has a hoodie on, but he is definitely with someone. I believe very strongly that he is walking with Mack. We need him, too.”

  “I am on it, Special Agent. You stay back and observe the scene until local PD gets there to lock it down. You got that?”

  “Roger that,” she said and hung up the phone.

  Glass smashed into Yolanda’s face, followed by a gun to her temple.

  “Give me the fucking, phone,” Mack said and then popped her in the bridge of her nose with his gun. “You over here snapping pics and shit. Give me ya fucking phone.”

  Yolanda handed over the phone and then said, Do not kill me, I am a federal agent.”

  “Even better,” Dre said, and shot her in the ear. Her brains spread across the car, and then Dre turned around and looked at some other onlookers. “Anyone else wanna take pics of me?” he asked and waved his gun in the air. “I didn’t think so.”

  Dre hopped into the passenger seat of the minivan and told Mack, “Get me the fuck out of here, and do not take the fucking Ben Franklin Bridge. Ride through Jersey and take the Walt Whitman.”

  35

  PHILADELPHIA, OLDE CITY

  McKenzey left the Amtrak station optimistic that he was going to get his way as usual. That was how he wanted it. He wanted things to go according to his plans, without flaws, so that he could mentally survive his present life.

  He sat at a sports bar in the Olde City section of downtown and smiled as the news shared his Amtrak poisoning. He sipped his cocktail, and chuckled as the other patrons gossiped about the crime. His devoted followers, though, would be proud when they found out that he had been dressed as a woman. His followers included general people that loved gossip, but the federal agents that were determined to capture him were also his fans. The latter could not get enough of him, especially the behavioral scientists, whom knew he had the type of brain that needed to be studied as soon as they captured him, if he was dead when captured. But McKenzey wasn’t having that at all.

  Many of the bar windows were closed and the bar was muggy. Maybe even claustrophobic. McKenzey looked up at a drunken couple as they passed him too closely. The stench of bourbon mixed with nuts was all over the couple. A juke box sat in the corner of the dimly lit bar and the air was thick with the smell of smoke. Sure the bar was smoke free, but McKenzey sat close to the door and all of the customers that smoked in the front of the place was killing him. He finished his drink and the bartender asked if he could get him another drink?

  “No, I am fine,” McKenzey said in a dainty female voice.

  “Yes, you are fine,” the man replied, and then added that he was going to get him a mixed fruit drink on the house. “That should be great.”

  McKenzey continued to check out the bar. He was always well aware of his surroundings just in case something happened and he had to get out of the place quickly. The bartender placed a drink on a napkin right in front of McKenzey, and told him, “Enjoy.”

  “I most certainly will,” McKenzey said as the man walked away. He seemed a tad drunk to be a responsible man. McKenzey poured his drink on the bar floor, wiped his finger prints off the glass and then stood. He pushed the chair up to the bar and then left the bar as his phone rang.

  “This is Daisy,” McKenzey said as sincerely as he could.

  “Hi, DEA Agent McKenzey.”

  “Who is this?”

  “Meet me at the Love Park by the visitor’s office in twenty minutes.”

  “I am not...”

  The caller silenced McKenzey with a gun shot. A bullet whizzed by McKenzey’s head, and slammed into the car window just an inch from his face.

  “I assure you that I missed on purpose. Please meet me at Love Park in twenty minutes, or I promise you death.”

  “Fine,” he replied with an attitude .

  “See you soon, friend.”

  “I am not your friend. How will I know it’s you?”

  “Cause I’ll come and put my gun to your fucking head,” the caller replied and disconnected the call.

  36

  PHILADELPHIA, CENTER CITY

  Darryl spent his entire day worrying about how he was going to have Kareem Bezel sent back to the feds. Upon making the call to the BOP, he was glad that they agreed to move the defendant back to federal custody. He finished up his day and then headed home. He watched a band of new releases that he had bought from Walmart, and ate some pizza. He logged into his email account and as agreed the BOP had sent him an email indicating that they scheduled the Bezel move for the next day.

  After that, he had went downtown and checked into the LeMeridien Hotel. He was given a room that faced Love Park and he had set up his surveillance. He watched his guest walk into the park, and grinned before he raced across the street to discuss want he wanted to do with the former DEA Agent Lucas McKenzey.

  * * *

  McKenzey sat on the edge of the wall and watched the water shoot out of the fountain that sat in the middle of the park. He held his handbag very tightly, because it held his gun, and fake ID. He planned to use both that night. After he killed the person that invited him to the park, he planned to board a plane back to Boston in the morning. A city where he was safe posing as a bum. He’d work on getting the Bezel Brothers at a later date. Give them a rain check.

  Tourists posed in front of the “LOVE” sign at the entrance of the park to take pictures. They made their trip to the City of Brotherly Love a great memory. McKenzey wished he had a machine gun, so that he could spray all of them in their happy faces. He adjusted in his seat and then felt a piece of cold steel touch his face.

  “Do not fucking move, McKenzey,” Darryl said to him. “Drop the purse onto the ground, and this will go a little more smoother than you anticipate.” McKenzey complied and Darryl kicked the bag. He then backed up, picked up the bag and tossed McKenzey a cell phone. “We will text each other. Not too safe to talk, and you may be recording me. I don’t trust you at all, and I respect your former military service.”

  “Oh, you’ve been reading about me?” McKenzey said as he looked the man deeply into his eyes.

  Darryl ignored him. He hadn’t read the file, but he was planning on prosecuting McKenzey, and had all of the details needed to cross examine him just case he foolishly took the witness stand. “Open the phone and your first text is already there. After we are done, you will set the phone down and walk out of the park’s east entrance towards City Hall. Capeesh?”

  “I got it,” McKenzey said and admired Darryl’s get up. He was dressed like a bum and blended in perfectly with the many homeless people that were constantly in the park. “Very clever disguise.” McKenzey said, and then opened the phone. He looked at the first text. It read: Kareem Bezel will be transferred to FDC in the morning. He will be escorted all alone by two United States marshals. If you want him you can nab him then, but I want you out of my life, or I will cause a scene to erupt and have you arrested right now. He looked at the screen and contemplated his reply. He wanted to spread Darryl’s brain in the fountain, and be done with him, but he knew that was going to be quite difficult at that time. He did reply, If I do this will we be done?

  Darryl texted: Yes. All done. We’ll forget all about this. I handled my business and got him back to the BOP and I told you when he was going to be moved. The rest is up to you.

  Okkkk kewl, McKenzey te
xted back.

  “Sit the phone next to you,” Darryl said and watched McKenzey set the phone down. Yes, I now have his finger prints to prove or disprove if this is actually McKenzey. “Nice doing business with you. As planned you leave through that exit,” Darry said pointing toward City Hall. He looked up at the Welcome Center and saw the cameras. He had all the evidence that he needed to blackmail McKenzey if he had to.

  “I need my gun and ID. You know that I need them to make moves,” McKenzey pleaded.

  “You obtained them once. I’m assuming you can acquire them again,” Darryl said and sat down next to the phone. He was waiting for McKenzey to get out of the park before he slipped on gloves and bagged up the phone.

  37

  PHILADELPHIA, RAVONNE’S OFFICE

  THE NEXT DAY

  Darryl skipped into Ravonne’s office, and Ravonne could tell almost instantly from Darryl’s body language that he was ready to argue about the Motion to Dismiss that he had filed. From the way that he walked upright proved that he was very stern in his position and prepared to square-off in the office about the matter before he responded for the judge.

  “So, glad that you had me over with such short notice,” Darryl said, taking a seat across from Ravonne. He wasn’t even invited to have a seat, but he had great news and had no vision of being kicked out.

  It 8 a.m., Ravonne thought. Way too early to be dealing with this asshole. He had better hope that this shot of coffee kicks in quickly, or he will have hell to pay.

  “No problem,” Ravonne said with his eyes glued to him suspiciously.

  “I am going to get right to it. I am withdrawing prosecution against your client, Kareem Bezel.” Darryl could not believe that he had said that. In all of his years of prosecuting cases, he had never withdrew a prosecution.

  Before Ravonne opened his big fat mouth to ruin it, he considered this great news, but he knew that there had to be a catch. He was sure of that.

  “And what has brought this about?” Ravonne asked cautiously. He had no idea what the hell was going on, but he was being careful.

  “In the spirit of being honest. I know that McKenzey is alive and that Kareem was not responsible for kidnapping him from federal custody.” There, I said it, Darryl thought. What the hell am I doing? My career is over, so I should just ask him for a reference to get a job with this firm.

  “And how do you know that all of a sudden? You bear great news, but I am a little confused.”

  “Do you have a DVD player in here?”

  “Sure do,” Ravonne said and walked over to the wall. He tapped a button and the wall began to rise revealing a TV, VCR, and DVD player.

  “Would you like a drink?” Ravonne asked and walked to his bar. “I am certain you could use one.”

  “Yes, please,” Darryl said and walked the DVD over to Ravonne. He looked at the bar’s selection and said, “I’ll take a brandy, make it a double.”

  Ravonne laughed and said, “You’re too much. Let’s watch this beautiful bean footage.”

  Ravonne popped the DVD in the player and watched the same woman on the news accused of being with the dead woman at Amtrak inside of a home. He was confused as to what point the prosecutor made until he saw him on the screen.

  “I am assuming that’s your home?” Ravonne asked, as his desk phone rang. Saved by the bell, he thought, because he had no idea how the conversation was about to go.

  “Yes.”

  “Excuse me,” Ravonne said and then answered the phone. “Lemmelle here,” he said and then listened to the caller. He nodded a few times and then hung up the phone. He told Darryl, “I have to go. A client of mine is at the FBI’s office for an article that he wrote for the Inquirer.”

  “Ah, yes. Your best friend, Aramis. I have a memo about his conspiracy theory on my desk. My assistant is looking into his allegations.”

  “Here’s something for you,” Ravonne said and smiled. “The woman that was killed at Amtrak gave him that article. He just edited it and had it published in the paper.”

  “So we all have been puppets of DEA Agent Lucas McKenzey?”

  “No, just you all. He hasn’t bothered me. I can’t be bought.”

  “Okay, cute, smart ass. I am having Kareem transferred back to FDC this morning. And I have requested an emergency hearing before the judge to get the ball rolling to have him released.”

  “I know that will take time, so I will request that he’s released on his own recognizance while you all get this case expunged.”

  “And I won’t oppose,” Darryl said and walked towards the door.

  “Hey, Darryl,” Ravonne called out. “Thanks, man. I told you that he didn’t do it.”

  38

  STREET ROAD, NORTHEAST PHILADELPHIA

  “Pardon me, sir, but you cannot just sit here,” a scrawny Italian man told Dre. He was parked in a deli parking lot on Street Road. He watched the entrance to the prisons so that he could see when his brother was moved.

  Dre went into his pocket and pulled out a $100 and handed it to the man. “I am waiting for my brother to be released from the jail across the street. Can I just sit here and wait for him? I hope that money has persuaded you.” ‘Cause I’d hate to have to kill you about this.

  “It has,” the man said and walked away.

  “Good move, sir,” Mack said. “Because I was ‘bout to blow that man’s head off. I am tired, hungry and ready to pop a fool.”

  “I wish these mutha fuckas hurry up,” Dre said, and turned the music up. He needed to get some rest, but it was hard for him to sleep. He sat and wondered about his son. He wanted to make a call to his son, and thought that it wasn’t a good time.

  “So why are we following these marshals, again? I mean the prosecutor already said they were going to release your brother.”

  “I don’t know, man,” Dre said. Dre knew that he needed Mack, but he was getting tired of him. “I just have a bad feeling, and I don’t trust anything that these people say. I want proof that he was moved just in case they try to pretend that they don’t know where he is all of a sudden. I am scared for my bro, man.” He was being sentimental, but he was genuinely scared. He didn’t want anything to happen to his brother, and not be on point to save him.

  “You be on everything.” This is a paranoid ass dude.

  “Gotta be, bro. Can’t trust nothing the government says. Nothing!”

  “Yeah, I feel you,” Mack said and then pointed to a black sedan pulling up to the prison gate. “Looks like them federal boys’ right there.” Bet, I can’t wait for my brother to get out of there.

  “I reckon you’re right, homie. Get ya camera ready ‘cause I am going to make a movie if something happens to my brother.”

  “What?”

  “Well, get your camera out in real life, because this shit is going on the news. And I’ll have the footage of Kareem Bezel being transferred to freedom. These people are going to try to keep their moves quiet to avoid public scrutiny. Fuck that, I am on their tops. These mutha fuckas wanna let him go all of a sudden. They may be trying to kill him for all I know.”

  Mack cocked his gun. “I wish the fuck they would. I’m going to blast them clowns. I am so ready to pop, anyone.”

  39

  NORTHEAST PHILADELPHIA

  United States Marshals Milton Walls sat stoically in the passenger seat as his partner drove out of the security gates of the Philadelphia House of Corrections. His partner, Scott Peterson, wore aviator sunglasses and a cheap wool sweater. Their prisoner, Kareem Bezel was in the back seat handcuffed to the back.

  Kareem hated being cuffed behind his back. Although the cuffs were locked and shouldn’t move, they did and pinched his skin. He had received a legal call from Ravonne right before the marshal’s arrived and he was aware that he was set to be released on bail and that the charges were to be dropped. Ravonne encouraged him to be calm, maintain a positive attitude, and that was the only thing that kept him from complaining about the cuffs. Inside, he l
aughed and was merry with pleasurable thoughts of his release.

  A Philadelphia SEPTA public transportation bus dropped visitors off the prison entrance, as the unmarked sedan headed southwest on State Road toward Bleigh Road. The marshals had KYW News Radio 1060 playing on the radio as they merged into the rush hour morning traffic. Many Northeast residents drove to make it to their downtown jobs, and the masterful criminal Kareem Bezel was right with them. In his mind he was behind driven by his drivers’ downtown like the true business man that he was.

  Just as the car arrived at Cottman Avenue, Andre rode along the vehicle for three seconds. The Bezel Brothers looked each other square in the eyes and smiled. They had did it again. Andre then got behind the vehicle and followed them for 6.7 miles to the I-95 South on ramp. The marshal merged the car onto the expressway on-ramp as an accident occurred.

  Two cars in front of the marshal’s vehicle was a three car pileup. Andre had narrowly missed slamming into the federal agent’s car. He stayed in the car while he looked in his rearview mirror to prepare to back up. He didn’t want any direct contact with the agents, because one of them may have noticed him and thought he was responsible for the accident.

  “Record this shit,” Dre said to Mack. He wanted the media to get this footage.

  Mack pulled out his cell phone and began recording the accident. Mack said, “You told me that some bullshit was going to happen. I never thought that it was. This is crazy.”

  “Get command on the line,” Agent Walls said to his partner and opened the passenger door. He was very loud and moved frantically. He stood outside the car, and yelled to the cars in front of him, “Move your cars over to the side, now.” He waved his badge, and sounded like a true cop.