by Phil Nova
A FATHER’S WRATH
Joe Martello #1
A novella by
Phil Nova
Smashwords Edition
ISBN:
Copyright 2015
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
WARNING: This book contains adult language and/or situations.
CHAPTER 1
Joe Martello stood against the wall in his NYPD uniform, his radio on just enough to hear, but not enough to disturb the party.
A waiter in a tuxedo shirt passed with a tray of drinks and then entered the crowd of wealthy patrons, most of which were dressed in expensive suits and evening gowns.
Crystal chandeliers above provided the perfect amount of light while a piano player added elegant background music. The smell of garlic and rich foods emanated from the buffet table.
Joe strolled along the wall and glanced down an adjoining hallway. At the end of the hall was a large room full of children, most of them bald and skinny, a few of them laughing and talking, others eating cake and ice cream. A few women sat at a small table, talking and eating.
He didn’t want to stare, so he kept moving along the wood-paneled wall, toward the phone booths and the main doors that led to the hotel lobby.
Joe stepped out into the quiet lobby. The revolving door was still. The doorman stood inside the lobby, staring outside. A bearded maintenance man polished the ornate brass railing along the side of the staircase while a cute female clerk behind the counter sat and texted on her phone at super-fast speed.
The doorman glanced at Joe, then turned his gaze back to the street outside.
Joe took a quick stroll to the front doors and looked out the big glass window.
The snow had stopped coming down outside, and luckily, it only left a few inches as opposed to the one foot the weatherman had been ranting about. A sanitation truck plowed and salted the avenue while a few maintenance men cleared the sidewalks with snow blowers. Only a few bundled-up pedestrians were out and the only cars on the street were taxis and patrol cars.
When he finished the academy two years ago, Joe had planned to make detective, but with all these babysitting and security assignments around the United Nations, he knew he’d never make enough arrests to make it past beat cop.
As he turned around, Joe glanced at the bulletin that read, Children’s cancer research fundraiser. He felt guilty for thinking about his own problems while knowing that most of these poor kids will never live to see puberty.
A tall pale man with glasses, dressed in a pair of khakis and a polo shirt, stepped out into the lobby with an unlit cigarette in his hand. He didn’t fit in with all the suits, but he didn’t seem to be doing anything wrong either. Joe noticed a tattoo on the man’s forearm, the same tattoo he had on his shoulder: an eagle with the Earth, an anchor, and the words Semper Fi.
When Joe stepped back through the double-doors and into the fundraiser, he noticed two men rushing down the hall while zipping up their pants. As he got closer, he could hear a woman’s voice inside the men’s room yelling, “Taylor!”
Just as he was about to go inside, a full-figured woman in a black dress burst out of the men’s room and almost caught Joe in the face with the door.
He jumped back, “Hey! Watch it!”
The frantic woman yelled down the hall, “Taylor!”
“What’s the problem, miss?”
The woman turned to Joe and glanced at his uniform and badge, her body trembling and her eyes full of water. “He’s my son. He went to the bathroom, but he never came back. It’s my fault, damn it! I shouldn’t have let him go alone.” She started sobbing.
“It’s not your fault. Just tell me what he looks like.”
The woman caught her breath, then said, “He’s seven. He’s wearing a gray suit and the cutest little clip-on tie . . .” She started sobbing again.
A few people gathered in the hallway and watched.
The waiter approached with his empty tray, trying to make his way to the kitchen.
Joe stopped the waiter and said, “Stay with her. I’ll be right back.” He hurried down the hall and entered the door that led to the kitchen.
Inside, he found dishwashers washing and cooks cooking . . . business as usual.
He stepped out of the kitchen and continued to the end of the hall. There was an emergency exit door, but it had an alarm. If the kid had run out this way, the alarm would have gone off . . . unless it wasn’t working.
Joe braced himself for the loud blast, but it never came. He opened the door and stepped into the cold concrete staircase.
Across from the stairs was another emergency exit door. Just as Joe was about to go through that door, he heard something. He listened closely while moving closer to the staircase.
The sound of a whimpering child came from above. Joe knew it had to be that woman’s kid. Damn kid got lost and now he’s scared.
When he reached the landing above, Joe saw the kid curled up in a fetal position, crying. The kid’s shirt was torn and stretched. His pants were around his ankles along with his underwear.
Joe picked up his radio and called for an ambulance, then the precinct.
When he noticed blood, and what looked like shit, on the kid’s inner thighs, Joe knew someone had raped him.
His stomach twisted. He felt like crying for the boy, but at the same time, he felt like killing someone . . . killing the scumbag who could do something like this.
CHAPTER 2
Outside the hotel, shivering from the cold, Richie Carson finished his cigarette, then stomped it out on the icy sidewalk and hurried back into the lobby.
Inside, he stomped out the snow and salt on the rubber mat before sloshing across the highly polished marble floor. The doorman looked down at the mess Richie was making, but he didn’t say anything.
A family with too much luggage approached the revolving door. The doorman stepped over to a glass door next to the revolving door and opened it. The cold wind blew in and made the girl behind the counter stop texting and look up.
The doorman continued holding the door while the family thanked him and dragged their wet luggage inside.
Before returning to the fundraiser, Richie sprayed two shots of Binaca into his mouth.
Inside, a crowd of people was gathered at the end of the hall, near the bathrooms. He wondered what was going on, but what he really wanted was another drink and some more of those delicious appetizers.
Just as he was about to make his way toward the back where the food and drinks were, he heard a woman scream—a woman that sounded a lot like his wife, Gail.
Richie pushed his way through the crowd, which at 6’5” and 280 pounds, wasn’t hard to do. As he got farther down the hall, he could hear his wife crying. Between the alcohol, his high blood pressure, and the adrenaline, his head felt like it was about to burst.
At the end of the hall, Richie saw the same cop he’d just seen in the lobby. He remembered the name on his badge, J. Martello. The cop stood with the staircase door open.
As Richie approached the door, he saw Gail sitting on the stairs, crying, and holding their son Taylor who was also crying.
The cop tried to stop Richie from entering the staircase.
Richie looked down at him, he didn’t care if he was a cop, no one was going to stop him from going through that door. “That’s my wife and son.”
Th
e cop stepped to the side and let Richie pass.
Richie approached his wife and asked, “What happened?”
Gail didn’t speak. She just looked down at Taylor, who had his face buried in her hip.
Richie squatted down, “What happened, buddy?”
Taylor didn’t answer, he didn’t even look at his father, he just kept crying and hiding his face, clinging to his mother.
Richie asked Gail, “What the hell’s going on? Where’s Chelsea?”
The cop said, “Your daughter is with the other children in the playroom, sir. She’s fine. The program director is with them.”
Richie noticed something on the floor . . . drops of blood. The veins in his balding head began to throb even more. He turned around and yelled at the cop, “What the fuck happened?”
The cop said, “Your son was assaulted, sir.”
“Assaulted? What do you mean assaulted?”
Gail finally caught her breath enough to say, “Don’t Richie.”
A man and a woman, both wearing business clothes and detective’s badges on their belts, entered the staircase. The male detective was white with blond hair. He was tall, but not as tall as Richie was. The female detective was short and looked Hispanic.
The male detective turned to the cop in uniform and said, “I’ll take it from here, officer Martello. Just try to clear that hallway, the bus should be here any minute.”
He turned to Richie and said, “I’m Detective McCoy. This is my partner, Detective Perez.”
CHAPTER 3
At a small table in the back of the fundraiser, near the piano, Bradley Bedford sipped a Martini while conversing with his boss, David Schultz.
Next to David was Ko Sin Lu, the US ambassador from The Republic of Tan Guk Van.
All three men wore glasses and tailored Italian suits.
David, a sixty-two year old financial genius with a swollen red nose and a receding hairline, supervisor of American affairs for Yates Pharmaceuticals, sipped his twelve-year-old Scotch, then turned to Ko Sin Lu and said, “So . . . Lu . . . do you mind if I call you Lu?”
Ko Sin Lu replied in his heavy accent, “I like it. It sounds very American.”
Bradley chuckled.
David took another sip, then said, “So . . . Lu . . . your country will soon realize they made the right decision to become a part of this great ideal we call capitalism.”
As a black man who grew up in the projects and earned his law degree through scholarships and hard work, Bradley was happy to raise his glass and make a toast, “To capitalism.”
David and Lu also raised their glasses and said, “Capitalism.”
They all took a drink.
Bradley glanced at his watch. He was hoping to visit his hot Russian mistress tonight before going home to his wife, but now, watching David suck down that Scotch, he had a feeling this was going to be a long night.
David said, “You know, Lu . . . you and your country have given me something to look forward to. For the past ten years, we’ve been dealing with religious fanatics in Afghanistan. What a shit hole.” David took another sip and winced.
Bradly watched a crowd of people gathered on the other side of the room, near the entrance. He wondered what was going on.
David continued speaking with Lu. “I hate those damn religious fanatics. They’re not scared to kill themselves because they get all those virgins after they die.”
“Virgins?”
David said, “Yeah, virgins. I know . . . the whole thing is just so fucking crazy. Anyways, I’m just happy to get out of there and get into your country. We don’t mind doing business with gangsters. That’s something we already know how to do.” David winked, then raised his glass.
Lu raised his glass.
Bradley noticed two paramedics enter the fundraiser with an empty stretcher, then disappear behind the crowd. “Something’s happening.”
David and Lu turned their heads to the direction Bradley was looking.
The paramedics returned with the stretcher, no longer empty, now it had a little boy on it.
Bradley said, “I wonder if that little boy is one of the cancer patients.”
While looking at his phone, Lu said, “So sorry, but I must go.”
David asked, “Everything alright? You need anything?”
“Everything is fine.”
CHAPTER 4
While the detectives were at the hospital with Richie Carson and his family, Joe Martello completed his paperwork at the precinct.
He couldn’t understand how some people could have such bad luck. That poor family. It’s not enough that their five-year-old daughter had been diagnosed with cancer, now this atrocity had to happen to their seven-year-old son.
Joe finished his paperwork and hoped there weren’t any mistakes. He turned it in to the sergeant on duty and prepared to go home for the night.
Before entering the men’s locker room, a chubby little desk cop named Amy was just about to pass Joe, but she stopped. She was short and round, but she had a pretty face with juicy lips and monstrous breasts. Not Joe’s usual type, but he could definitely imagine her giving a mean blowjob.
“Hey Joe. You tell your girlfriend about me yet?”
“Yes, Amy. I told her you’re my soul mate and I’m leaving her for you.”
She giggled. “You’re a liar.”
“I’m not lying. I’m joking.” Joe smiled.
“Cute.”
Joe asked, “Did you think about what I asked you?”
“I did.”
Joe’s heartbeat increased. “And?”
“Is it true that you used to be a lawyer?”
Joe nodded. “Yeah. Why?”
“Not only are you gonna represent me for free if I get in trouble for this, but you’re going to feed my cat while I’m gone.” While looking both ways down the hall, she retrieved a flash drive from her pocket, stepped toward the drinking fountain, placed it on a dry spot on the edge, then stepped back.
Joe didn’t think she would really do it. He snatched the flash drive, then exhaled and said, “Thank you so much, Amy. I owe you big time.”
“Why don’t you thank me over dinner tonight?” She giggled.
“I was telling the truth when I said I’m one of those rare men that would never cheat on his girlfriend.” He waited for another cop to pass, then he leaned in close and whispered in her ear, making sure she could feel his hot breath. “But if you ever catch me when I’m single, I’ll give you the fuck of your life.”
He kissed her on the cheek and then headed into the locker room, leaving Amy frozen like a statue with her mouth open.
CHAPTER 5
An announcement rang over the hospital loudspeaker while a nurse stepped into the room, wrote something in a chart, and stepped back out.
Wearing a paper gown and covered with a blanket, Taylor was propped up on the hospital bed. His sandy blond hair was a mess and his pale skin was whiter than normal.
Richie became more frustrated by the minute as he watched the detectives question Taylor and Taylor ignore their questions. He tried using his best sympathetic daddy voice, “Taylor, buddy . . . the police are your friends. They want to find the bad man who hurt you, but they don’t know who he is. Please, Taylor . . . you need to tell them what they need to know.”
Taylor shook his head, but didn’t speak.
“You tell them, boy, or I’m gonna give you the beating of your life.”
Detective Hanna Perez said, “That won’t be necessary Mr. Carson.”
Richie was glad that Gail and Chelsea didn’t have to be there. He ignored Detective Perez and said, “Okay, Taylor. Forget the beating. Let’s try this. Either you tell the detectives what they need to know or I’m throwing your TV and Xbox right in the garbage.”
“But, Dad.”
“But, nothing! You start talking right now, boy! And speak up!”
Taylor began to cry.
Detective McCoy said, “Mr. Carson. What do you say
you and I step into the hall and leave Perez with your son for a while? She’s good with kids.”
Richie didn’t answer. He just looked back and forth at the two detectives and at his son who was still crying.
CHAPTER 6
In front of the hotel, Bradley waited as David’s bodyguard assisted David into the back of his limousine and closed the door. The bodyguard then sat up front with the driver.
David rolled down his window and said, “Bedford, tell Lu to rest up tomorrow. Monday is going to be a long day. We have a lot of money to make.”
“I’ll tell him.” Bradley stepped back onto the sidewalk and waited for his own limo to pull up. He looked at his Rolex. The fundraiser had ended at eleven and it was already eleven thirty. He hadn’t heard from Lu since he’d left the table earlier. Bradley had called twice, but Lu’s phone went straight to voicemail. He texted once, but still didn’t hear anything back.
Bradley’s limo pulled up. The driver got out.
Still on the sidewalk, Bradley said, “I have to go back in for something. Just keep circling the block until I text you.”
“Yes, sir.” The driver got back in the car.
Bradley wondered if Lu had gotten sick, or maybe he’d called a hooker. He just hoped he wasn’t in his room getting high. He didn’t need those kinds of problems.
The doorman stood at attention while Bradley entered through the revolving door. The lobby was still quiet. The elevator opened as soon as he pressed the button.
The girl behind the counter looked at him, and for a moment, Bradley thought she was going to say something, but she didn’t. True, he was black, but he was a middle-aged man wearing a three-thousand-dollar suit and a ten-thousand-dollar watch.
Bradley stepped into the elevator as if he owned the building and the girl behind the counter went back to texting. He loosened his scarf and unbuttoned his coat while watching the floor numbers on the screen.
