Raw Vengeance (The Rich Fordham Series)

by Josh Handrich

  The cops relaxed and asked, “ID?”

  Reggie fumbled around with his wallet, found his driver’s license, and handed it to the officer.

  Satisfied, the cop handed it back and let him through. “Sorry about your loss.”

  Just as Reggie was about to pass by, the officer scanned over Reggie’s backpack and saw the outline of something bulky pressing against the side. “Hold up,” he said as he held up his hand to Reggie’s chest, blocking his path. “What’s in the bag?”

  Two hands grabbed his arm and twisted it until it buckled into an unnatural, grotesque shape. A quick jab to his jaw, and he was out. The other officer was luckier—Reggie wrestled with him until the officer was put into a chokehold and passed out. For insurance, Reggie handcuffed both officers and dragged them behind a minivan. Then he stuffed their guns, ammunition, and a radio into his backpack, and took off into the hospital.

  With the image of his son motivating him every step of the way, Reggie found the morgue in the basement and waited impatiently to be escorted in. Finally, the mortician, an older woman with short white hair, escorted him into the chill of the morgue and opened the square metal door and slid out the body of what was once a spitting image of himself. The woman folded back the white sheet enough so he could see his son’s face and make peace.

  “Take as much time as you need,” she said, then ambled out.

  Reggie nodded and waited until the doctor left. Once he was gone, Reggie prayed while he held Deon’s hand and whimpered, “It’s not supposed to end like this, God damn it.”

  Knowing there would be more heat, Reggie walked the basement hallway until he found the laundry room. Finding Dan’s room would be a problem, so he decided to try to blend in. The door to the laundry had a simple mechanical punch code. He looked both ways, then kicked the door open. The overhead lights automatically turned on as he sprinted over to a series of dryers that were already on. He opened the first one and sifted through the clean scrubs, but they were pink and too small. With the next dryer, he hit the jackpot–blue scrubs in his size, even though they were damp. Time was ticking, and it was only a matter of minutes before someone discovered the cops he had incapacitated.

  Getting information from the old man at the information desk was like pulling teeth. “I’m Dr. Holmes,” Reggie lied. “I’m looking for Dan Monroe. Where is he?” he said in a monotone. He was sick of dealing with white people. All they had ever done was make his life miserable. And here a white, stubborn, senile bastard was giving him the stink-eye and the runaround. There were too many folks around to make a scene.

  Although Reggie wore scrubs like a doctor, the old man stuck to his guns. “You don’t look like a doctor; you have no ID.”

  Reggie lowered his voice so no one else could hear. “Look, old man, I have work to do. Tell me where he is before I call your boss and have you fired for discriminating against a black doctor. You wouldn’t want to be fired for making racist remarks, would you?” It worked.

  The man glared and gave in. “Room 1519; use the elevator behind me.”

  As the doors of the elevator slid open on the fifteenth floor, Reggie breathed in deeply and formulated a quick plan. There was no turning back. Hit and run. He followed the signs and counted down the room numbers until he saw the two officers guarding Dan’s room.

  A female doctor rushed from one end of the hospital to the other, oblivious to his presence. The brunette officer noticed him coming toward them and blocked the entrance as she and the other officer sized him up. She decided to challenge him. “Doctor, can we help you?” the officer asked Reggie when he was ten feet away.

  He kept walking toward them and ignored her. Her eyes… her posture stiffened—she was on to him. She reached for her gun and drew it. But she was a fraction of a second too late. Reggie rushed in and grabbed her wrist with his left hand and pushed the gun away from his body. With his right, he reached around her waist and pulled her toward him in an embrace, as if they were spooning–but there was nothing romantic about it. He took both of her hands and pried the gun away from her as she tried to elbow him in the ribs. Then he pointed it at the other officer and fired three times. The man went down hard, screaming in agony.

  “Security! Security!” the female doctor screamed at the top of her lungs as she ran away. Other nurses and doctors escaped to the exit when they heard the gunshots.

  The officer’s training kicked in, but Reggie was too powerful for her. She instinctively slammed her head rearward into his face, breaking his nose. It now became a fight for survival. She twisted around and delivered an elbow to his face, but it only made him more angry. With one arm, he grabbed her by the throat and slammed her up against the wall, then shoved the gun into the bottom of her jaw.

  “Bitch, you’re gonna die for that,” he said. A second later, the sound of another gunshot rocketed through the hallways.

  Reggie felt an indescribable pain in his hip. He released his grip on the woman and pointed the gun at the officer on the ground who was still alive. As he pointed, the woman brought a knee up into his groin, then delivered a right hook into the gunshot wound on his hip. He grimaced and bent over onto his knees in pain. Fighting the police was the last thing he wanted to contend with. As much as he loathed them, his objective was less than twenty feet away.

  The female officer knew she had less than five seconds to run and save her partner. With all her remaining strength, she grabbed his arm and pulled him into an adjoining room just as the man fired another three rounds at them.

  “Officer down! Officer down on floor fifteen! We need backup immediately. Suspect is a black male, six-foot-two, two hundred and twenty pounds wearing blue hospital scrubs,” she said to her walkie-talkie. She took the other officer’s gun, reloaded, and peeked around the corner. There was no one in sight. He had simply vanished.

  CHAPTER 18

  “Tyler, the first time you were bullied was a month ago. Do you believe it was because you were different or because you came from an affluent family?” asked Rich. The journalist had clipped a lapel microphone to each of their collars. The interview had gone smoothly and the two teenagers were more than eager to share the story of how they were victimized at school. Once the camera rolled, they forgot the predicament they were in and focused on their moment of fame.

  “Both actually. My father died when I was young and left my mother a substantial fortune. She’ll never tell me how much money, but I’ve always gone to a private school, and I was enrolled at the Protégé—” he slipped up before he could stop himself.

  “Protégé?” Rich wondered for a second. “You went to the Protégé Academy in San Francisco? That’s the youth camp where they convert homosexuals back to heterosexuals, is it not?” It made no sense to lie. If you’re going to come out, why not do it in front of millions of Americans on live television?

  Tyler looked to Dan, then back to the camera. “I was there a week, but I got sick of it. The instructors tried to convince me there was something wrong with me, but I knew I’m wired differently. I’ve never looked at girls like that, you know? So I left.”

  “And they teased you?”

  Tyler refused to say Deon’s name out loud. “He didn’t like it that I was a good student and dressed nice and had a nicer car. Ever since he’s been giving me sh… crap.”

  “What would you say to others watching and going through the same dilemma?”

  He never had a chance to answer the question. The sound of firecrackers erupted in the hallway, followed by muffled conversation, then more gunshots. They all ducked down behind the bed and waited. Two minutes later, a black man limped through the door with his forehead jutted forward as he held a handgun at his side. His crazed expression made it obvious he was not in a friendly mood. Judging by the bloody scrubs, he’d already been in battle.

  “I’m looking for Dan Monroe!” he howled.

  Rich knew the instant Reggie walked in that shit was going to hit the fan. Reggie Taylor brought the
pistol up and aimed at Dan. Dan saw the gun, but reacted too late and had nowhere to hide. The shot was deafening as the sound waves reverberated off the walls. The bullet hit its mark, striking Dan in the chest. Reggie swung his aim at the other teen. Tyler anticipated the move and pushed off with his right foot, lunging for the gun and Reggie’s outstretched arm.

  “No!” Tyler shouted as he left the safety behind the bed and lunged for Reggie’s arm. Nearly twice Tyler’s size and strength, Reggie merely had to push him off with the other arm to regain control. Rich rushed in to deliver a blow, but reacted a split-second late. He had never been in a fight and acted on pure instinct and adrenaline. The gun rose in his direction, and he instinctively jumped and rolled to his right, then winced in an act of self-preservation. Reggie fired. The only thing Rich thought about mid-air was that he didn’t want to die at the hands of a brutal killer. He wanted his death to be on his own terms. The landing knocked the air out of him, but he felt grateful to still be alive and unscathed.

  Reggie’s vision blurred, and he started to feel lightheaded. He hesitated and then began firing again when he heard more screams and shouting from the hallway. “Don’t anybody move, or I’ll blow your fucking brains out,” he yelled as he waved the gun around the room.

  Three uniformed police officers heard the call for help and ran full speed down the hall with their guns drawn as they headed toward the action. Reggie cursed inwardly and peeked around the corner to see what kind of threat he was up against. More pigs. The cops coming toward him he could dispose of; it was the radio and the SWAT which could fry his ass. Since time and surprise were not on his side, he bent his body around the corner and fired a quick succession of shots to fend them off. They missed wildly, and the cops dropped to the floor, aimed, and returned fire. A flurry of shots rang out, striking the wall and ceiling next to him, sending dust and debris into the air, stinging his eyes and nostrils.

  “You missed me!” he taunted.

  The three officers on the ground took the opportunity to scurry into rooms on each side for cover.

  Reggie realized that if he didn’t get out immediately, there would be too much heat in only a matter of minutes and his effort at revenge would become a suicide mission. There’s got to be another way out. The hallway in front of him was vacant. He counted down in his head—three, two, one, go!—and gave cover fire and sprinted forward toward the vacant end of the hallway away from the cops. The police fired at him until he was out of sight. As soon as he hit the opposing wall, he felt a stabbing pain in his left knee and arm as five other officers fired relentlessly. Ignoring the blinding pain, Reggie used willpower to guide his path. It took only a second to discover both of his escape routes blocked; he did a one-eighty and half-limped, half-jogged back into the room he’d just come from, laying down more bullets and carnage in the process.

  Reggie slammed the door shut and did a visual tally of the people in the room. They all stared at him from behind the bed like he was the devil, but he didn’t give a shit. Then he noticed the video camera laying on the floor pointing in his direction.

  Gabe followed Reggie’s eyes with his own and said, “It’s not on.” The lie remained unchallenged. The camera continued filming; Gabe had manually turned off the light.

  They needed a plan if they wanted to live. Although under severe duress, Rich’s brain kicked into high gear to help save itself. Rich got up from behind the bed slowly. “We can help you get out of here, but you just need to let us,” he said with his hands raised in a show of pleading and surrender. A surprised look spread across Reggie’s face. Seeing someone unarmed reveal himself is the last thing he expected. Rich sensed his opportunity to negotiate. “If you go out now, you’ll be killed. Backup has been called, and over a hundred police are on their way here.” He paused to let the information sink in.

  “You don’t think I already know that, cracker? You think I’m stupid?”

  Rich thought he was, but he wasn’t going to tell him. He’d seen enough movies to know the cavalry is always on the other side of the door in situations like this. “My father’s a cop, and my grandfather’s a cop, so I’m probably qualified to give an opinion. Just trying to help,” Rich lied. Reggie couldn’t tell if he was being bullshitted or not.

  Reggie ran toward the window and opened the blinds. Sure enough, the entire street was filled with flashing lights. He looked up in time to see a helicopter do a sweep with a high-powered spotlight lighting him up.

  “Fuck me,” was the only way he could verbally vent his frustration. Surrounded.

  Rich tapped Gabe on the arm to get his attention, and then he motioned with his eyes at the camera. Gabe nodded. Rich lowered his voice further and asked Reggie, “Do you want our help or not?”

  “Shut the fuck up!” he snapped as he pointed the gun sideways at him.

  Rich held his ground and maintained eye contact. If he flinched, it would be all over and he’d call his bluff.

  “None of us are armed, and none of us have any intention of hurting you.”

  “I said to shut the fuck up, you faggot. What part of ‘shut up’ don’t you understand?”

  The words struck Tyler like being hit in the gut with a two-by-four. They were the same words and tone Deon used when he bullied him.

  “What’s your name?” Rich asked.

  “You don’t need my name.”

  “My name is Rich, and that’s Gabe. Will you hear me out?”

  Reluctantly, Reggie lowered the gun and grasped the notion Rich had a point. “Okay, pretty boy, whatcha got in mind?”

  “First,” he pointed at Dan, “he’s going to die if we don’t get him a doctor.”

  “Not my fucking problem.”

  “It will be your fucking problem if he dies. That’s murder in the first,” Rich said matter-of-factly.

  “Bitch, I don’t give a fuck if he dies.”

  “But I do. I can’t live with that. You’re a father, and I’m a father,” he lied for the third time. “I’m going to walk very slowly into the bathroom, and I’m going to get some towels. Watch as closely as you like.” Reggie hesitated. It was all Rich needed to start his way to the bathroom. Keeping his chin down, he made deliberate movements to show Reggie he was still running the show. About midway, Rich’s heart nearly leapt out of his throat when the phone near the bed rang.

  Realizing Rich wasn’t a threat, Reggie picked up the phone and kept a watchful eye on his hostages. “What?” he answered gruffly.” None of your fucking business,” he replied, then slammed the phone down on the cradle.

  Rich entered the bathroom. Devoid of any useful products, nothing could be made into or used as weapons. Squirting body lotion or throwing a toilet bowl scrubber would probably have a minimal effect. Empty.

  Just then Reggie popped his head in to check on Rich. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Towels,” he replied as he held up a half dozen hand towels.

  The three hostages applied pressure on Dan’s wounds and then turned their attention back to their aggressor, stalling as much as practical.

  “May I make a suggestion?” Rich asked Reggie.

  “What?”

  “I know you’re pissed off. Hell, I’d be pissed off if I were you. But as I said, let us help you get out of here.”

  “Are you fucking stupid? Why would you want to help me? You’re just messing with my head.”

  “Umm, no, but if we help you, you have a much better chance of not spending the rest of your life being somebody’s bitch. Am I right?” Reggie almost cracked a smile, but maintained the strained expression so he didn’t lose focus.

  “What you got in mind?”

  Rich lived for a good volley. Time for the serve. “Well, no offense, but judging by your predicament, your escape plan got fucked.” Rich hated swearing, but he developed the attitude of when in Rome. He continued, “Take one or all of us. I guarantee SWAT is swarming over the building as we speak. I don’t care who you take, but they’re not goin
g to take a shot if you have a hostage. Trust me. I have a van you can take, it’s gassed up, and ready to go.” The bastard may just bite. “You can be down there in five minutes.”

  Reggie grimaced and weighed his options. The phone rang again and they ignored it.

  “You’re trying to trick me. I don’t trust no white trash folks.”

  “Look outside. Look on the other side of the door. You can surrender and hope a jury will be lenient because of your son, or you can take one of us. It’s your call.” The ball landed in his court, enabling him make his own decision.

  Reggie paced back and forth for a minute before coming to a decision. He sweated profusely and wiped his hands on his jeans. Grabbing Tyler by the nape of his neck, he said, “If I’m going to die, you’re going to die with me.”

  “If you take Tyler, he’s a full foot shorter, making you an easier target,” Rich said. “Why don’t you take Gabe or me?”

  Seeing his point, Reggie let Tyler go and placed his left hand on Rich’s shoulder and jabbed the gun into the back of his kidney. He marched him toward the door and ordered, “Open it slowly, and if you try anything, I’ll kill you.” Rich nodded.

  Rich grabbed the door handle and pulled it toward him, half expecting a flurry of gunshots to pummel his body. Instead, all he heard was silence, and he saw the red lasers of a dozen guns trained on the man behind him. A jab of the gun to his back served to jockey him out of his trance. The pits of his white dress shirt had huge sweat stains doing little to hide his nerves.

  “Keep moving,” said the voice behind him.

  Part one of his plan worked, making it possible for doctors to go in and treat Dan’s gunshot wounds. He did as he was instructed and found it difficult to concentrate on his next move.

  They moved clumsily down the hallway while the SWAT team positioned themselves around them and the exits. The blood loss slowed Reggie’s movements, and he struggled to keep moving. His mind had already turned to mush and his speech slurred. The police gave them enough room so he wouldn’t feel like they were invading his space. The elevator appeared on the right, and Rich pressed the down button; the wait felt like torture.