A black man even larger than the jock overheard the commotion. He raced over between the two and wedged his body against the player until he was nose-to-nose with him. “What’s your mother-fucking problem, snow-white? You got a problem with me, because I’ll make you my prob—”
Knowing that half the football team was there to back him up, the player heaved a sucker punch to the left side of the man’s face, dislocating his jaw and breaking his own knuckle. The impact sent the man backward into the woman he was defending, toppling them both like bowling pins. In a split second, the entire room erupted into violence, black against white. In many fights, onlookers will step in to try to stop the fighting. Not this time. Not a single person was sitting; a free-for-all of bodies fell and tripped over each other. Blood, sweat, and adrenaline flowed like a raging river through the room.
“Break it up!” the uniformed guard said. The command issued by the leader of the four guards manning the metal detectors went ignored. He unclipped his walkie-talkie and spoke into it, “This is unit one. We have a riot in the waiting room. Request immediate backup, lock this place down, and shut down the ventilation to the waiting room. I repeat, lock it down, and cut the ventilation.”
The leader led his team into the entryway and positioned them toward the wall on the right side so they weren’t blocking the exit. “Form a line,” he said to the other guards. They did as he instructed and waited for his next command. “In three seconds, aim for the far side, away from the door.” The four unloaded streams of pepper spray into the center of the fight, batons in hand if the fighters retaliated.
The effect was immediate; people screamed for help as the stinging and temporary blindness took effect. Several people saw the spray, panicked, and hightailed it for the exit. Those closest to the door gave up the fight and ran for the exit as they attempted to breathe through their shirts.
Despite broken bones, spilt lips, and the burn of the pepper spray, the two who started the fight refused to give up. They continued rolling around on the floor until the jock finally got the upper hand and had the black man pinned beneath him. Like a crazed beast, he walloped the side of the man’s head until he felt something poke him–he never noticed the red dot on his chest. An instant later, his muscles contracted involuntarily, and he lost all control of his movements as the Taser incapacitated him. He fell to the side and landed with a slight thud. The guards rolled him onto his stomach and placed flex cuffs around his wrists.
As they evacuated, two dozen officers appeared and assisted the four with making arrests. Within three minutes, the entire room was empty and the hospital was placed into lockdown indefinitely. No one could come in or out.
CHAPTER 15
“I know you’ve been through a lot, but we need to run through this from the beginning.” Officer Bruce Lure did his best to be sympathetic, but he grew impatient with Tyler’s silence. Child psychologist Lori Barnes understood the officer’s need to get a statement, but she also didn’t want Tyler to be scarred for life. Tyler stared straight ahead out the window with eyes wide in shock.
“Can you come back later? I’ll stay with him and let you know when he’s ready, okay?”
Bruce reluctantly agreed. “Here’s my number. Call me when he’s ready.” He handed her his number and left.
Tyler continued to stare out the window, rocking backward and forward while sitting on the bed. The physical bruises showed signs of fading. His silence perplexed her.
Lori sat on a chair adjacent to him wearing a red blouse and a conservative black business blazer. Her tight-fitting black skirt barely came down to the top of her knee, showing off her long, toned legs. She fidgeted with a strand of her curly blond hair as she studied the teen.
“Tyler?”
He continued his silent stare.
“Tyler, you’re safe now. Do you know where you are?” She caught only the slightest head nod. “Tyler, my name is Dr. Barnes, but you can call me Dr. Lori. I know it hurts to think about it, but do you remember what happened at school?” Again he gave a slight nod. “Can I get you anything to make you more comfortable? Maybe a snack or a Coke?”
“Wa…” His voice was barely a whisper.
Lori leaned in so she could hear better. “What? You want water?”
He nodded. “I… I sh… I” he stammered.
“Easy does it, Tyler. One word at a time.”
“I… can’t.” His face was expressionless.
“You can’t what?” The question was too much too soon.
“I just can’t tell you.”
“Tyler, if you want me to help you, you need to tell me what happened.”
He glanced at the floor before speaking. “They kept pushing me and pushing me. What was I supposed to do?”
“Tyler, who is ‘they’? Did they bully you?”
He nodded. “For the past month, they been giving me shit. I thought we were going to die. Deon pulled a gun, but Dan wrestled it from him. It dropped, so I picked it up and I... Labron shot at me, but hit Dan instead. That’s what happened.”
Lori scribbled notes and thought of a line of questioning. “You were bullied. Was Dan there to protect you?”
He nodded weakly. “Dan said if I helped him with his homework, he’d back me up and would teach me how to defend myself. I guess it worked.”
She couldn’t tell if the last statement was an attempt at dry humor or a poor choice of words.
Instead of analyzing the statement, she changed the subject to something more pleasant. “Your friend Dan is okay,” she said and studied him for a reaction. Tyler remained unmoved. “He was shot in the shoulder, but he should be okay.” For the first time, she watched Tyler transform into his natural self.
Tyler glanced toward her and made eye contact. “I want to see him.”
CHAPTER 16
“It’s messed up, man; that’s what it is. Kids shooting kids. It ain’t right.” Every so often, Gabe would go on a rant after witnessing something traumatic. Rich could empathize, but sought the bigger picture. He’d never admit it, but he felt his partner in crime got too emotionally wrapped up over their stories. After his conversation with Ted Burke, Rich consciously strived to remain detached and not let his emotions hijack his reasoning and interfere with his objectivity. So far, his newfound perspective allowed him to see both sides of an issue with more clarity.
The twenty-minute drive to Mitchell Hospital proved mostly uneventful. Halfway there, Rich’s cell rang and vibrated, indicating a text message. He pulled it out and read the text message from Officer Andy Porter:
Mitchell Trauma Center
Deon Taylor 19 Deceased
Labron Smith 18 Deceased
Jadyn 16 GSW, ICU
Jamal 16 GSW, ICU
Dan Monroe 18 GSW, white kid
Tyler Cogan 16 unharmed
Remember, you NEVER saw me, nor read this message
Every bump rattled the van, producing stomach-churning bounces. Gabe was borderline nauseous as they parked outside the hospital’s front entrance. They each grabbed their gear, raised the antennas, and headed toward the two police officers guarding the double set of doors.
Before Rich had a chance to ask, the officer said, “Guys, we’re in lockdown, no one in or out. You know how it works.”
The blow-off caught him off guard. Rich didn’t recognize either cop, and they needed to get in. His choices were to either bullshit them or find another way in. “Captain Tomke knows we’re here and gave us permission to be on these premises. Go ahead and ask him. We were at the school shooting right along with him. We shot all the live coverage you saw on the TV today. Do you want to undermine a direct order from your boss?” He knew it would look bad if the officer ignored the captain’s order.
Reluctantly, the officer let them in. “Personally, I think you’re full of shit, but I got a kid that goes to school there,” he said as Rich and Gabe passed by.
They walked into the elevator, and Gabe pressed the ‘Lobby’ button.
Then they waited a good fifteen seconds before the doors slid close. “Geezus. They must think we’re a busload of senior citizens or something.”
They progressed through the maze of hallways and followed the signs directing them to the information desk. “Wouldn’t you think they would have the info desk right as you get off the elevator rather than needing to form an expedition?” asked Gabe. “We hardly look like Lewis and Clark.”
A tall, older gentleman smiled from behind the desk as they approached the visitor check-in. “Are you TV people?” he asked feebly. He narrowed his eyes and peered though his bifocals, “Is that a camera?”
Rich and Gabe exchanged awkward looks. Rich spoke first. “Yes, sir, we’re here to see Tyler Cogan and Dan Monroe, the kids brought in from Loring High School. We’re from—”
“You’re not black. The only kids I saw were black. You can’t come in unless you’re family. Hospital rules.”
“Well I’m—”
“I’m black. My boy Tyler is up there, and he needs to see his daddy. I’m his father. Get us signed in, and we’ll be on our way,” Gabe said forcefully. That shut the geezer up.
Rich did everything in his power not to bust up laughing. Conning a senile old bastard. We’re a classy bunch.
The man looked at the computer screen and said, “You say you’re Tyler’s dad? Well, the screen says he’s undergoing evaluation and cannot be seen until further notice. For Dan, it says, uh, room 1519. Take the elevator to the top, that’s floor fifteen. Elevator is just right there.” He pointed behind him.
The two rode the elevator up the fifteenth floor and got off. A sign on the wall pointed to their left for Monroe’s room. The room appeared on their right, and at first glance looked vacant, except for the patient information posted on the outside of the door. Two police officers—one average-sized black male and a stocky brunette—stood guard near the doorway.
“Good evening, Officers,” Rich said with enthusiasm. “I’m Rich Fordham, and this is my cameraman, Gabe Amiri. We’ve come from WSNO News to talk with Dan Monroe,” he said loud enough so anyone inside the room could hear. “How is the boy doing?”
“I can’t answer that,” the brunette replied and placed her hands on her hips in an effort to intimidate him. “You’ll have to wait down in the—”
“Let them in,” the masculine voice from inside the room said. “It’s okay, Officers.”
The door itself remained open, and Rich peered in to see who let them in. On the far side of the room, a teenager wearing a sling watched television on the opposite wall. He knocked and entered. “Hey, you must be Dan Monroe,” he inquired with his trademark smile.
“That I am. You’re obviously the reporter that keeps showing up over and over again on the news,” Dan said in an irritated tone.
“I’m Rich Fordham from WSNO News, and this is my best friend and colleague, Gabriel Amiri.” They each made the uncomfortable shake with Monroe’s left hand. Rich looked him over and figured he must be on the football team due to his massive size. “You’re a big guy. What sport do you play?” he asked in an effort to gain Dan’s comfort and trust. People, especially teenagers, were anxious to reveal their life story. Dan was no different, but there was something different about him.
“Tight end, although I might try being a kicker after this,” he said as he held up his right arm.
“I was a receiver back then,” Gabe added, “but I sucked, so I spent more time on the bench.”
Rich felt they had the rapport necessary to switch gears, and he put on his journalist hat. “If you don’t mind me asking, have the cops gotten a statement from you yet?”
Dan nodded. “They were in and out in an hour. I claimed self-defense. They asked a few questions and left.”
“Really?” asked Rich. “Rumor has it that this is also race—”
A soft knock on the door interrupted Rich’s line of questions. “Knock, knock,” the teen said as he moseyed on in. He looked at the present company and stopped. “Whoa, bad time?”
Rich swiveled to his right and gestured for him to join them.
“You’re reporter Rich Fordham. I’ve seen you before on TV,” the boy admitted enthusiastically and shook Rich’s and Gabe’s hand. “I’m Tyler.” He wore hospital scrubs two sizes too large.
“Tyler, what brings you up here?” Dan asked with a hint of anger.
“To apologize for getting you into this. I never meant for this to happen,” Tyler said sympathetically.
“Man, I’m out for the rest of the season.” Dan’s eyes drilled into Tyler. “And hell, you… I could have been killed, damn it.”
Rich and Gabe stood by and listened to them argue.
“Look, I’m sorry, what else do you want me to say?”
“Nothing, man, not a fucking thing,” Dan said with so much energy he kicked the food tray, sending orange juice and food scraps everywhere. Rich and Gabe were nearest and jumped in time to avoid being hit. Dan looked away and refused to make eye contact. A moment passed where no one said a thing. “I can’t believe I got shot. Never in my life did I think by helping someone I’d end up with a piece of lead in me. I be a nice guy and defend you against the bullies, and look at what happens,” he said as his eyes burned through Tyler’s.
Tyler merely turned his gaze to the floor. “But you’re a hero, man. If it weren’t for you, I could have been killed by those guys,” he said in an effort to ease the tension.
“Those guys are dead. At least two are, the other two are in the intensive care unit,” Rich said as he gauged their reaction. “I can’t imagine how awful you feel.”
“I don’t know what to feel. A gun was pointed at me and I…” Tyler’s voice trailed off.
Rich asked, “How do you two feel about being front and center in the media spotlight? This will make national news and has political implications with your mother and all. Shantell Cogan is your mother, right?”
Before answering, Tyler sat on the edge of the bed at the end and placed his hand next to Dan’s foot. Tyler looked at Dan, “I don’t want any attention—”
A doctor who looked fifty entered and surveyed the group of men. “Hello, gentlemen. I don’t mean to intrude, but I’m Doctor Ally Lacey. I’m the chief of staff here. How is everyone doing?” They all nodded or said “good.” “I just wanted to tell Tyler his mother will be flying in an hour via helicopter.”
Tyler’s eyes went wide “Really?” he asked. “Why would she do that?”
The doctor looked at him in confusion. “To make sure you’re alright, that’s why. It’s her motherly duty.” She looked him over and asked hurriedly, “You okay with that?”
“Yeah, yeah, I didn’t expect her so soon,” he said nervously as he gave Dan’s foot a slight nudge with his hand. Rich noticed the gesture.
“Well, I just wanted to poke my head in. You boys behave.” She smiled and left as soon as she’d arrived.
CHAPTER 17
Reggie Taylor listened to the voicemail for the third time. “NOOO! God-damn-mother-fucker! This isn’t happening! This can’t be happening!” He kicked and punched the lockers in a rage-induced meltdown lasting for five minutes before he settled down. He dialed his girlfriend, who had left him the message. “Dead, how can he be dead?” he spat. He swung a right hook and put a new dent in the locker. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of this.” Then he hung up. He felt no pain, only madness, pure unadulterated madness.
He stood alone in the men’s locker room where he worked as a janitor in a health club. In his off time, he enjoyed the perks of the job and worked out daily with the goal to get into competitive boxing. Mike Tyson was his hero, and he even wore the same facial tattoo on his bicep. Now thirty-four, he bore the burden of being a father to a dead son.
His son, Deon Taylor, was a spitting image of his father: tall, lean, pure muscle, and he had a temper and personality to match. When Deon’s mother died, it would have been easy to give up on him and let someone else take the reins.
A pastor told him to be a man of God: Reggie must take the child and raise it on his own or risk being punished and sent to hell. He was sixteen and went full charge into fatherhood.
Reggie had never felt such rage, which meant a lot for a kid who grew up on the street. His temper had ruined most of his relationships and had gotten him into jail for repeated assaults. He had no fear of the police, nor of anyone else.
Reggie’s mind became so drunk with thoughts and sensations of hatred that he couldn’t see straight. He grabbed his coat, raced for his car, and headed toward the interstate doing Mach I. Doing over a hundred twenty, he swerved in and out traffic, trying to avoid slow cars, cursing them as he passed. Nothing could stop him. Reggie wanted revenge for killing the only thing in his life with any sentimental value. Something primal erupted within him, and he decided the only way he could go on was to inflict the greatest amount of pain possible on the person responsible for his son’s death.
Reggie found Mitchell Trauma Center’s ramp and took the first available parking spot. He jumped around back and popped the trunk. The adrenaline and anger-induced state did nothing but seal his fate on what he was about to do. The area around him was deserted. He stuffed the weapons into a backpack and checked the clip on his pistol before putting it into the back of his waistband. Not wasting another second, he trotted toward the entrance and stopped dead when he saw the two officers guarding it. He had to make a choice: either take out the cops silently or leave the weapons behind.
Seeing the stocky black man coming toward them, the officers quit bullshitting and made a quick assessment if Reggie was a threat or not. The officer closest to him put a hand on top of his weapon and said, “Sir, hospital is off limits. Please return to your car immediately.”
“Guys,” Reggie said with melancholy, “my dead son is in there. Please, let me see him. His name is Deon, Deon Taylor. My name is Reggie Taylor.” He stopped just outside of arm’s reach.
Raw Vengeance (The Rich Fordham Series) Page 8
