Raw Vengeance (The Rich Fordham Series)

by Josh Handrich

  The neon-green Zoomie Juice sign came into view as they turned the corner into the cookie-cutter strip mall. The business was filled with mostly students like themselves—looking for a sugar high and the opportunity to mingle with friends. Tyler found a spot near the rear and double-parked.

  It neared eight p.m. and the sun had already set, creating a rainbow of soft colors through the cloud layers. Cooler air replaced the hot summer air of the day as they made their way to the store.

  As they walked, Dan asked, “So, how’s dating working out?”

  The question freaked out Tyler. The drama between him and Deon had preoccupied his mind for so long, he didn’t know how to answer. “Umm, I don’t date a whole lot. I’ve got a lot of shit going on, so I don’t have the time.”

  “I don’t buy it,” said Dan, disbelieving. “You’re a handsome guy. I’m sure the girls give you all sorts of time and affection.”

  Tyler swung open the glass doors and became transfixed by the assortment of flavors. They stood side-by-side as the juice virgin struggled to make a decision. “I have no idea what to get,” Tyler said, giving up.

  To help him out, Dan reached over and put his left arm around Tyler’s shoulders and his hand on his other shoulder and then pointed at the selections. “They all taste good, especially the darker berries, like blueberry.” And there it is, Tyler finally admitted to himself; a guy hit on him for the first time—and he liked it. Could he be any more obvious he likes me?

  CHAPTER 7

  He needed action and he didn’t care how he got it. Deon and his gang were bored and looking to make trouble. They lounged in his dilapidated Chevy Caprice with the windows open and Snoop Dog blaring. His buddy Labron passed him a doobie, and he took another hit. He let the smoke slowly exhale as his mind became numb from the weed. As if on command, an idea presented itself in the form of a tricked-out Cadillac Escalade pulling into a space on the opposite side of the parking lot.

  “Yo, guys, look what mother-fucker dropped by,” Deon said as Labron and the two in back strained to see what got his attention.

  “Dat chocolate?” asked Labron. “We should go fuck his shit up. Little faggot fuck thinks he can go anywhere.”

  Deon put his hand up to silence his friend. As much as he liked his Labron, sometimes he talked too much. “Whoa, check it out; dude’s with a white guy. Think they’re fucking each other in the ass?”

  “I thought that’s what you was into, Deon,” Jamal teased from the back seat. Without replying, Deon reached around and clocked him on the shoulder as hard as he could.

  “What the fuck was that for?” asked Jamal as he winced in pain.

  Without answering, Deon sprung from the car in pursuit of action. The other three followed and sprinted to catch up. Fifteen seconds later, Deon made his way inside the juice bar and laid eyes on his two targets.

  Like a cat stalking its prey, Deon went unnoticed as he stepped through the doors. The scene before him was all the ammunition in the world he needed to make Tyler’s life hell. With a wry smile, he watched as Dan placed his arm around Tyler in a show of affection. Motherfuckers really are a bunch of faggots, he thought as he strutted toward the two. A moment later, Deon swung his hands around the outside of both of their shoulders. “What brings you two hoes in here? I didn’t know they let faggots inside school,” he mocked as Dan withdrew his arm to his side and turned. Labron and the others surrounded them and snickered as they traded fist bumps.

  Labron stood behind Dan and sniffed him. “Smells like faggot, too,” he said.

  The manager noticed the imminent fight and commanded, “You boys take your shit outside before I call the cops.”

  “Mind your own fucking business, old man,” said Deon in defense.

  Seeing the situation disintegrating, Dan knew he needed to act swiftly to avoid being hurt. The only way to gain an upper hand in a situation like that was through surprise. He also knew the thugs wouldn’t expect a pretty blond kid to fight a black one, much less them.

  With a lightning-fast move, instincts took over as Dan swung his right palm into Labron’s chin, sending him sprawling to the floor. The impact rendered him unconscious, but was light enough not to break his jaw. Deon reacted a second late as Dan made a vicious chopping motion with the side of his right hand into the base of his neck, an area packed with nerve endings. Two thugs down, two to go. Sixteen-year-old Jamal reached into his jean pocket for a knife, but Dan released a blow to his kidney. Jamal’s knife dropped to the ground as he doubled over in pain.

  Jadyn, Labron’s younger brother at sixteen and the omega of the group, never had a chance to react. Instead of fighting, he put his hands up in a show of surrender just as Dan was about to unleash hell on him.

  “Hey, assholes,” the manager broke in, “cops are coming for your asses.” Jadyn flew out the door.

  The three boys were writhing and moaning in pain, but Dan didn’t give a damn. He looked over to see Tyler’s mouth hanging wide open in a state of shock. “Come on, man,” he said as he waved Tyler to follow. “Cops will be here in less than two minutes. Time’s a-wasting.”

  Tyler prepared to deliver a savage kick to Deon’s ribcage when Dan stopped him. “Hey! This isn’t the time, man; we’ve got to go,” he ordered as he pulled him by the arm. Tyler put up a fuss at the realization his tormenters could be overtaken so easily. The two ran at breakneck speed until they were inside of the Escalade. Tyler took the wheel again and sped off like a bat out of hell.

  “Where’d you learn to fight?” Tyler asked in between breaths.

  Dan smiled. “It was nothing. Remember I said my dad found work out here? He was a cop back in Seattle and was laid off due to budget cuts. Chicago is the only place where he could start his own security consulting firm. He taught me those moves when I was five, and he insisted I practice after I came out.”

  “How’d that go?”

  “What—coming out or learning how to defend myself?”

  “Both.”

  “I know some jiu-jitsu, basic grappling techniques, and how to subdue a threat in as short a time as possible. Coming out was much more difficult. When I finally told my parents about five years ago, they said they already knew. I have two older brothers, and we all play football, and I play tight end or wherever the coach wants me. The toughest part is not telling any of the guys I play with. I’m sure they have no idea. I’m one of the biggest guys on the team, and I don’t act like the stereotypical gay. I don’t have a lisp, and I’m not into drama,” Dan said nonchalantly.

  A flood of emotions overwhelmed Tyler. Confronting the thugs had scared the hell out of him, but on the other hand, he felt high from actually doing something about it. The lights and siren of a lone cop car blazed past them in the opposite direction. One look in the rearview mirror, and he could tell they weren’t being followed.

  “What about you? You’ve come out, right?”

  Tyler heaved a heavy sigh before answering. “My mother is a bitch, plain and simple. She’s a self-promoting, self-righteous, egotistical sadistic bitch.”

  “So you’re saying things could be worse,” Dan said sarcastically.

  As an only child, Tyler had never been afforded the opportunity to openly discuss his sourness toward his mother or his treatment for being gay. “Several years ago she sent me off to ‘gay camp’ where they tell you how God wants you to act and be. How am I supposed to change me? Why am I supposed to conform to what everyone wants? Why do they give a damn? People like my mother are so obsessed about two boys kissing that they forget I’m a person. They talk to me like I’m not real, like I’m some sort of aberration. I do well in school, don’t do drugs, I don’t hurt anybody, and as Mr. Johnson says, I’m a good kid. But no, they get hung up on how gay I am. I don’t visit gay clubs or dress weird or talk funny. These people and my mother are the biggest bigots and hypocrites.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “Aw, fuck it, I don’t want to talk about her anymore. She hasn’t told me she loves me si
nce my coming out, and that was four years ago.”

  They sat in silence for the next fifteen minutes. Tyler was caught in a whirlwind of thoughts, oblivious to the hand resting on his thigh ever since they passed the cop car. “Hey, I’m sorry for venting. I’m sure you didn’t need to hear my sad story.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Dan gave Tyler’s thigh a quick squeeze.

  “I just realized I have no idea where I’m going. Do you want me to drop you off at school or your house?”

  “School is fine.”

  “I hate to ask, but do you think we’ll get in trouble?”

  Dan had to think for a second about what he meant. “Oh, your home-boys back there? If they get caught—which I doubt—they won’t say anything. There’s honor amongst thieves, so they won’t rat you out even if they get arrested. When you see them in school, ignore them because they’ll know I’ve got your back.”

  The statement almost brought a tear to Tyler’s eyes. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” he said as they made eye contact.

  Tyler swung the wheel, and the Escalade rounded the corner into the Loring High School parking lot. The area was vacant except for a lone Honda. The SUV came to a stop, and Tyler shoved the gear into park. A pair of headlights appeared in the rearview mirror, getting larger as the vehicle pulled up behind them. “Someone’s following us,” Tyler said nervously.

  Once the sedan came to a stop, a man got out with a device in his hand. He walked up to Tyler’s window, knocked on it with a large metal flashlight, and pointed the light at Tyler.

  It took a second to figure out who it was. “Pete, what are you doing here?” he asked his bodyguard.

  “I was just about to ask you the same thing. You mind telling me what’s going on? We watched your friend here pummel those boys back at the juice bar and then we followed— “

  Dan cut in, “Don’t worry about us. We’re okay, but thanks for looking out for Tyler.”

  Peter Raines flicked the light over to Dan, looked him over. “You boys stay out of trouble,” he said sincerely, “but don’t let pride prevent you from asking for help.” Then he turned, disappeared into his car, and drove off.

  Dan said, “I’ve got to go.” He smiled and they hugged, and then he gave Tyler a quick peck on the lips.

  A second later, Dan jumped out the door and sped off.

  CHAPTER 8

  The wait killed him as he looked at his watch for the fifth time since the top of the evening hour. “Damn it, it’s 9:14 already,” Rich muttered to himself, just low enough so no one around him could hear. Being stood up by a date wasn’t something he wanted to get used to. All he knew about his date was her name—Shanna. They had met in line at a coffee shop, talked for an hour and exchanged phone numbers, then agreed on a future date.

  The trendy, bohemian-style restaurant was packed with yuppies and single folks like him, trying to get laid. It was the kind of place where people had to talk loud enough to hear over all the other patrons. Each table featured white linen tablecloths, and the entrees were served in portions large enough to feed a family. The aroma of garlic wafted from the kitchen across the room, making his mouth water.

  He drank his pilsner alone, surrounded by strangers who appeared to be having a much better time—at least in his mind. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the bar while sipping his beer and let out a sigh in frustration. The blond bartender displayed her ample bosom through the top of her white blouse, whetting the appetite of her male patrons. She eyed him and contemplated making conversation, but apparently thought better of it as she dried off pint glasses.

  No phone call, and it’s 9:25. I’m calling her. He picked out her name from the menu on his flip-phone and pressed talk. Five rings later, the voicemail picked up, and he left a message, “Shanna, it’s Rich. I’m at The View Bar on Fifth and Haines. Let me know if you’re going to make it.” He gave his number, then hung up. Impatience gave way to hunger, so he ordered a BBQ burger and coleslaw.

  Rich made a feeble effort to distract himself by thinking about his career path, trying to make the feeling of loneliness subside as the night went on. Since witnessing the horror of nine-eleven less than a month before, he felt he had to do something extraordinary. He had been reporting on everything from garage sales and babies being born to random shootings and the occasional sex pervert. But he realized he didn’t want to do it forever. If he did, he knew he’d become a news story himself—just another deadbeat reporter, a notion he dreaded.

  The bartender brought him his check, and he whipped out his debit card to pay. Rich’s watch showed 12:01 a.m. on Saturday morning, two hours before closing, when a figure he recognized instantly walked through the front door. The five beers in his system did not do him any favors as he squinted to see if his eyes were deceiving him. “No fucking way it’s him,” Rich said louder than he intended.

  The man in his sixties was wearing a white polo shirt, tan khaki pants, and loafers. He strolled directly over to the opposite side of the bar with the aid of a cane and placed his cell phone, reading glasses, and a notepad onto the bar before sitting on a bar stool. The bartender noticed his entrance and took his order. Once the drink came, he put his glasses on, sipped his drink, and indulged himself in a copy of The New York Times.

  Rich needed to know who he was studying and pulled the bartender over. “Who’s the old guy reading the paper?” he asked as he gestured with his eyes and a tilt of the head. He, the man, and three others were the only ones left at the bar.

  She looked where he pointed. “Beats the hell out of me. Do we look like we hang out in the same social circles?” she asked in a mocking tone.

  “Yeah, but that’s Ted Burke. At least I think it’s Ted. The guy is a legend in the world of journalism and—”

  The woman cut him off. “Look, I got work to do, if you don’t mind.” She wandered off to take a smoke break.

  Rich took a breath as he got up from the stool. He felt more nervous now than any of the hundreds of times he had approached women in the past. A moment later, he got himself moving, adjusted his sleeves, and popped in a mint as he approached. The man seemed oblivious to the world around him. Just as Rich prepared to give his introduction, the man asked, “What do you want, Mr. Fordham?” without taking his eyes off of the page.

  The question caught Rich completely off guard, and he took a moment to gather his thoughts before answering. “Wait, how do you know my name?”

  “I used to be an investigative reporter, so I keep up to speed on things and those around me in the industry. I did local news from time to time, too, you know.”

  “You’ve watched me? I mean, holy shit, it’s really you.” For the first time, the man looked up and made eye contact with him, sending a surge of adrenaline through his veins. “You’re Ted Burke, former CBC war correspondent.”

  “That’s what they keep calling me, whether I like it or not,” said Ted as he gave Rich a discerning look. “What is it you want?”

  “I, uh, just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Rich Fordham, but you already knew that,” he said as he extended his hand. Ted returned the handshake with firmness Rich hadn’t felt in years.

  “Is it Richard?” asked Ted.

  “Never been called Richard, just Rich.” Switching subjects, he said, “I’ve followed your work since I graduated film school back in ‘92. Your reporting in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Bosnia was amazing. And you won a Pulitzer for your coverage of on international terrorism ring with ties to Al-Qaeda? You’re truly inspiring.”

  The compliment made Ted smile, and his gruff demeanor changed immediately. “And you? What about you, now?” he asked with genuine interest.

  “Me? I’m still covering local news stories, mundane things of that nature. Although, I don’t know what I’m going to do next. I’m going through a bit of a transition period.”

  “A transition? What do you mean?” Ted laid the paper down on the bar.

  “Since nine-eleve
n I’ve been doing some thinking about what I want to do.”

  Ted waved his hand at the stool next to him and ordered, “Sit, then talk.”

  Rich sat. “I’m bored seeing the same things and interviewing the same people. The worst that ever happens around here are sex scandals and snowstorms. It gets old. The mob was how many decades ago, and everything else has been covered. If anything important does happen, there’s this asshole reporter who won’t let me have any good stories.”

  “Let me guess—Wayne Vale?”

  “Yeah, how’d you know?”

  “Wayne was there right before I retired. He was smooth as silk on screen, but I couldn’t stand his arrogance off screen. He bossed around the secretaries and staff members because he could. But he got good marks and respect from the higher-ups. You can be as big of an ass as you want as long as you’re putting money into the pockets of the executives.”

  “I just can’t wait for the opportunity to cover something big, like Pulitzer-big, but so far nothing is panning out.”

  Ted let out his trademark belly laugh that carried across the entire restaurant. “You want a Pulitzer? They don’t give it for just being a pretty-boy in front of the camera, you know,” he said with a nudge and a wink.

  Being on the receiving end of teasing by Ted brought a smile to Rich’s face, and he replied with a shrug.

  “Look, Rich—may I call you Rich?” he asked, forgetting he had already told him it was okay.

  “Yeah, of course. Can I call you Ted?” Rich asked as he stuck out his hand and waited for him to reciprocate the introduction.