A Father's Wrath

by Phil Nova

  Bradley had a copy of Richie Carson’s work schedule and he knew the diner where Richie ate. “Park in that lot across the street. We may have to wait a while.”

  “Yes, sir.” The driver made a U-turn, then entered a dirt lot with a sign that read: $5 per hour, park it yourself.

  The messy old attendant got off his rusty metal folding chair and approached with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. The driver rolled down his window. The attendant said, “I’m gonna have to charge you for two spots for that thing.”

  Bradley rolled down his back window and waved a hundred dollar bill at the attendant.

  The attendant quickly came over.

  “I need to wait in my car for a couple hours, right here next to the entrance.”

  “Anything you need, sir.”

  Bradley gave the attendant the hundred dollar bill, then rolled up his window before the man had a chance to say anything else.

  “I’m going to make some calls. If you see Mr. Carson, let me know.”

  “Yes, sir.” Replied the driver.

  Bradley raised the divider, then took out his phone and stared at the screen. Sunday night, after David told Bradley what had happened with Lu and that little Polish immigrant boy in Switzerland, Bradley decided the best way to fix the problem would probably be the same way they fixed most problems—with money.

  Instead of making phone calls, he closed his eyes for a moment.

  The intercom buzzer startled Bradley awake—he wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He tried to sound like he wasn’t sleeping when he pressed the intercom button and asked, “Is he here?”

  “Yes, sir.” Replied the driver.

  Bradley rolled down the divider. “Keep the car here. Tom, let’s go across the street.” He opened the door, stepped out of the limo, and approached the attendant. “I’ll be right back.”

  The attendant nodded, staring at something behind Bradley.

  Bradley turned around, but the only thing behind him was Tom, the bodyguard whom David had sent. A 6’5” 350 lb. gorilla with a bulletproof vest under his overcoat. Bradley figured the old man was probably looking at the bulges in Tom’s coat, which were obviously guns.

  Tom followed Bradley across the street and into the old diner on the corner. A cute young black girl approached and asked, “Two?”

  Bradley said, “No. We are meeting someone.” He looked around and saw Richie at a booth alone, sipping on a large soda and doing something on his phone. Bradley pointed, “There he is.”

  “Oh. Okay. Right this way.” With two menus in her hand, she led Bradley and Tom to Richie’s table.

  The floor was black and white checkered tile and all the chairs and booths were red with metal trim. The oldies station played in the background.

  Bradley and Tom did their best to squeeze into the bench on the opposite side of Richie.

  Richie didn’t say anything.

  The girl gave Bradley and Tom menus. “Your waitress will be right over.”

  “Thank you.”

  The girl left.

  Richie asked, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “I’m here because I’m a father, too, and I want to help you.”

  “You gonna give up Ko Sin Lu?”

  Bradley shook his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t do that. But, I can help your family financially. My company is prepared to put ten million dollars into an account that your son can access when he is eighteen years old.”

  Richie glared at Bradley as the waitress approached and asked, “What can I get you gentlemen?”

  Bradley said, “Just two coffees. Thank you, honey.”

  She took their menus, then shuffled toward the kitchen.

  Richie said, “Take your coffees to go.” He stood.

  Tom stood.

  Tom and Richie were the same height, but Tom was more muscular, and he was a professional, not to mention the two big pistols he carried at all times.

  Bradley said, “No need to get hasty, Mr. Carson. You haven’t heard my entire offer. I have another five million dollars in cash waiting in the trunk of my limo, for counseling and doctor bills, or whatever.”

  “Counseling?” Richie grabbed his glass of diet soda from the table and smashed it against Bradley’s face.

  Bradley grabbed his face. It burned. He could feel chunks of glass in his skin.

  Tom pulled a gun and pointed it at Richie’s head.

  Everyone in the diner gasped. An old woman began to pray.

  “Put it away.” Bradley stood while still covering his face. The pain seemed to get worse with every second that passed, but he knew he deserved it.

  Tom helped Bradley out of the diner while Richie stayed behind.

  CHAPTER 17

  After Bradley and his goon left the diner, Richie called Detective McCoy. The phone rang a few times, then went to voicemail. He called again, voicemail again. The second time he left a message, not detailed, just that he needed to talk.

  Richie went back to work, but because he could lose his job for using his phone on duty, he set it to vibrate and put it in his bag. He couldn’t talk now anyway while taking passengers up and down Market Street in his bus.

  After finally finishing his shift, Richie checked his phone, but there were no calls or messages. He called McCoy again, but got his voicemail again, so he jumped in his car without even changing out of his uniform and headed to the city.

  Traffic between New Jersey and New York was bad going both ways, and during the entire ride, he ignored his wife who called and texted at least ten times.

  Finally, in Manhattan, on the Upper East Side, Richie parked in a garage that cost him twenty-five dollars for three hours, then he made his way down the block in the cold wind.

  Inside the precinct, most of the cops seemed to remember Richie by the way they looked at him, but he didn’t care—it wasn’t their son who was raped in the ass.

  The desk cop said, “He’s been in court all day. I don’t know what time he’ll be back.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “Suit yourself.” The desk cop pointed at a row of old green chairs against the wall.

  Richie looked at his watch. It was after ten thirty. He sat down and called his wife.

  “I’ve been calling you for the past two hours. Where are you?”

  “I’m in the city, at the precinct.”

  “They called you?”

  “No. I came on my own.” Richie noticed McCoy and Perez coming in through the front door.

  On the phone, Gail said, “Damn it, Richie. You agreed to wait.”

  “I gotta go, Gail. I’ll call you back.” He ended the call before she could argue, then he approached the detectives.

  Perez looked annoyed. McCoy just looked exhausted.

  “I’ve been trying to call you all day.”

  McCoy said, “We were in court all day, and then we had two night sessions.” He moved to the side, away from the stream of cops going in and out of the building. “Come upstairs where we have a little privacy.”

  On the second floor, only two other detectives were working, both on their computers.

  McCoy offered Richie a cup of coffee.

  Richie shook his head. “That lawyer, Bedford, came to see me on my lunch break today. Motherfucker tried to give me fifteen million dollars to sign a waiver. Can you believe that shit?”

  Perez asked, “Fifteen million?”

  McCoy poured himself a cup of coffee, then asked, “And what did you say?”

  “I smashed a glass of diet coke against his face.”

  McCoy said, “You assaulted him.”

  “What happened with the federal warrant?”

  McCoy said, “The judge refused it.”

  Perez looked at McCoy with a surprised look. “You didn’t tell me about that.”

  “I’ve been kind of busy if you haven’t noticed.” McCoy turned back to Richie and said, “It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, since the DNA sample from the scene is contamin
ated.”

  Perez said, “You didn’t tell me about that, either.”

  McCoy ignored her and said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Carson, there’s nothing we can do as far as Ko Sin Lu, but we will follow up on the guest list and employee list, just in case we missed anything. We’ll be in court for the next couple days, so I’ll get back to you early next week.”

  Richie couldn’t believe that this guy was ready to sweep everything under the rug. He looked into McCoy’s green eyes and wondered if he was lying. He wondered if Mr. Bedford had paid him a visit with an offer he couldn’t refuse.

  McCoy put his hand on Richie’s shoulder and said, “You hang in there. Everything will be okay. Time heals all wounds.”

  “Yeah? Tell my son that.” Richie turned around and walked down the stairs.

  For the first time, his temper didn’t get the best of him. Richie was saving his anger now for Ko Sin Lu. It was time to take matters into his own hands.

  On the first floor, just as Richie was about to exit the building, he saw the cop from that night. He remembered the name on his badge, J. Martello.

  The cop recognized him too. “Mr. Carson. I was asking about you.”

  “Why?”

  “Just wondering how your case is going.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I’m just a grunt here.”

  Richie knew that cops usually looked out for each other, but he decided to take a chance. “Can I buy you a beer? I need talk to you about something.”

  “My shift is over. I just have to change.”

  “I’ll wait outside.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Joe could tell something was bothering Richie and he really did want to know how his family was doing, so he decided to have a beer with the man, even though what he really wanted was to get home and continue sorting through his father’s case files.

  Outside, Richie steamed a cigarette while pacing on the sidewalk.

  They shook hands.

  “Thanks for talking to me, officer Martello.”

  “Call me Joe.”

  “Joe. Call me Richie.”

  They strolled down the sidewalk to a pub and went inside for a drink.

  The dark pub wasn’t crowded, but wasn’t empty either.

  Richie ordered two draft beers.

  They took off their coats and placed them on two stools, then stood at the bar between two separate groups of tipsy office workers.

  Joe looked down at the tattoo on Richie’s forearm. “I noticed your tattoo the other night. I was in the second battalion fifth marines.”

  Richie replied, “Second tank battalion.”

  They both sipped their beers.

  Richie said, “You really don’t know anything about my son’s case?”

  Joe shook his head.

  Richie looked around, then lowered his voice. “They have a suspect, but he has diplomatic immunity. McCoy said he would get a federal warrant for a DNA test, then, the next thing I know, a lawyer offers me fifteen million dollars to drop the case and sign a waiver.”

  “Holy shit.” That big number took Joe by surprise.

  Richie continued, “Then, I went to the precinct tonight to talk to McCoy, and all of a sudden . . . there’s no chance of getting a warrant. And that’s not all. Now the DNA sample just happens to be contaminated.”

  “You’re not thinking . . .” Joe didn’t have any suspicion about McCoy being a crooked cop, but those kinds of numbers could make a lot of people crooked.

  “Yeah. I think they paid him off.”

  “And what about Hanna?”

  “Who? The chick cop? I don’t know. She seemed surprised when McCoy told me he couldn’t get the federal warrant.”

  Joe didn’t know what to say. What if Richie was just paranoid? What if he was right? Joe asked, “And who is this suspect with diplomatic immunity?”

  “Ko Sin Lu. Ambassador from The Republic of Tam Guk Van.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Joe slept later than usual on Wednesday, it must have been those few beers he had the night before with Richie. He’d planned on looking into Ko Sin Lu, and also spending some time on his father’s case files, but now it was too late. He only had time for a quick workout before heading out to work.

  Luckily, Joe got to the precinct earlier than he expected. Using the NYPD computer, he looked up the schedule for diplomats in the city. Ko Sin Lu wasn’t important enough to warrant high security from the NYPD, so Joe was easily able to access the information. Aside from a few meetings at the UN, the ambassador would be attending another fundraiser in Manhattan next weekend, this time for hungry children.

  He texted the information to Richie and instantly had a feeling deep within his gut that he may have just made a major mistake.

  Richie replied with a text message that read, “I’m going to chop off his cock and balls.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Saturday morning, Richie was ready to go. He’d had a week and a half to plan his vengeance. He’d bought a gun and rented a tuxedo.

  The fundraiser would be at The Children’s Museum of New York City, so Richie was confident he would be able to get in. He just hoped Lu didn’t have any bodyguards. Richie knew he’d be going to prison, but he didn’t want to go away for murder. He just wanted to hurt Lu, real bad.

  After an awkward, quiet breakfast with the family, Richie took his bus driver uniform and headed out the door. The tux, the gun, and a Bowie knife were waiting for him in his Volvo.

  While driving his bus up and down Market Street, Richie had to do his best to concentrate on what he was doing and not to think about what he was planning to do. It seemed like a waste to go to work, but even one extra day on his last paycheck would help his family. There was even a moment when he considered getting himself killed during his mission, just so his wife and children could collect the insurance money.

  After what felt like the longest shift of his life, Richie got out of the bus, said hello to the large woman who was replacing him, and headed to his usual bar for a drink.

  Richie had told his wife he had to work overtime tonight. He hated to lie to her, but he couldn’t tell her the truth.

  The bartender poured Richie a beer and a shot of Jack Daniels. “Nice haircut. You join the marines or something?”

  Richie downed the shot and said, “Another.”

  “One of those nights, Rich?” The bartender poured another shot.

  Richie downed the second shot and chased it with a gulp of his beer. “Nothing a good drink can’t fix.”

  The bartender said, “I’ll drink to that.” He set up an empty glass and poured a shot into it. He poured another shot into Richie’s glass, then put the bottle down.

  They raised their glasses, clinked them together, then downed their shots simultaneously.

  Richie finished his beer, threw twenty dollars on the bar, and stood.

  The bartender asked, “You okay to drive?”

  Richie patted his own big belly and said, “This thing is like a sponge. Don’t worry about me.” He headed out the door and walked through the falling snow to where his car was parked.

  Inside the car, Richie stared at the windshield wipers as they went back and forth. The sun was gone already, and the roads were getting dangerous. He opened the window for some fresh air. The last thing he needed was a car accident, or a drinking and driving arrest.

  He took his time driving to New York. He already had the route to the museum highlighted in his map book.

  The snow stopped falling as Richie got into the city. He drove into a half-empty parking garage a few blocks from the museum and went up to the fifth floor, parking behind a van to block the view of his car.

  Standing next to his car, Richie quickly took off his bus driver’s uniform and put on his tuxedo. He didn’t have a mirror to see what he looked like, but he’d practiced putting it on twice at home during the week and he was confident that he now had everything in place.

  He checked his map book once mo
re before heading to the garage elevator.

  Downstairs, on the sidewalk, Richie hurried to the museum, being careful not to slip on any snow or ice. Luckily, it only took him a few minutes to get there.

  During the past week and a half, Richie pictured every possible scenario in his head—he tried to think of the best way to get in, but by the time he got there, he decided to try something completely different, it just seemed too perfect not to work.

  Richie approached the door, opened it, and saw a security guard standing next to a woman with a nametag on her dress and pamphlets in her hand. Before either of them could say anything, Richie said, “I forgot my phone. Can you believe it?” He chuckled, then strolled in as if he were there all night.

  The security guard and the woman at the door must have fallen for it, because they didn’t say anything, and they didn’t come after him.

  Richie was relieved, but he knew he still had a long way to go. He looked around for Lu, while hoping he didn’t have any protection.

  Trying to fit in, he took a glass of white wine from a waiter with a tray and began to mingle. He saw the same type of rich people who were at the last fundraiser. He glanced at the exhibits, most were art made by children, but a few were art that featured children.

  Finally, he spotted him. Ko Sin Lu was looking at a painting of two naked cherubs and discussing it with two older women who weighed less than the diamonds they were wearing.

  Richie never liked those pictures of naked angels, and it seemed fitting that this little sicko would like that type of shit.

  There didn’t seem to be any bodyguards around, or anyone else who looked threatening, so Richie decided to make his move. He slipped his glasses into his pocket. He wouldn’t be able to see exact details, but he didn’t need to . . . for now.

  He approached Lu and the two women and with some help from the alcohol, Richie put on his best southern accent. “Is that?” He got closer to them. “Is that Ko Sin Lu?”