Raw Vengeance (The Rich Fordham Series)

by Josh Handrich

  Peter made his way back toward the elevator and thought up an excuse for why he was up there already. The doors of the elevator opened. Led by the pilots, Shantell’s entourage made their way past him, and he followed.

  “What’re you doing up here?” Shantell asked him.

  “Needed a smoky treat,” answered Peter as he took another drag on a cigarette.

  They were oblivious to the threat.

  *****

  Andy “Tiny” Porter, the cop from the school shooting, waltzed into the room to see how Rich was doing.

  “Tiny, what’s up, man?” Rich asked. “Never thought I’d see you here.”

  “Free coffee.” He held up his coffee mug and smiled. “Rich Fordham saves the day.” He dropped his voice down low and cupped his mouth. “But between you and me, I couldn’t stand that wench. I couldn’t have taken a bullet for her.” He slapped the back of Rich’s shoulder in a sign of pride and acceptance and let out a huge belly laugh. Rich smiled and enjoyed the new company.

  “So now what?” Rich asked.

  “The mayor is on her way out with her entourage and one of Tyler’s guys.”

  “One of Tyler’s guys? Which one?” he asked out of curiosity.

  “The fat guy like me—Peter Raines, real nice fellah. Even flew Hueys back in ‘Nam. We chatted it up downstairs while you were playing hero.”

  An unsettling premonition fell over Rich. “You say he’s a helicopter pilot?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Shantell flew in on a helicop—” His eyes lit up. “Get to the roof. He’s going for Shantell!”

  Rich, Gabe, and Andy ran out the door and down the hall to the elevator. Andy ran as fast as his legs would allow, while yelling into his radio, “We have a suspect on the roof, I repeat, a suspect on the roof. Target is a bodyguard wearing a grey suit with a black tie, bald, late fifties, approximately two hundred and fifty pounds. Suspect is considered armed and dangerous.”

  The three waited impatiently as the elevator climbed to the top floor. The idling sound of the helicopter’s rotors could be heard even before the elevator doors opened. Andy had his gun ready and was the first out.

  “Freeze! Put your hands in the air and then get down on the ground!” Andy said with his gun aimed at Peter’s torso.

  Peter spun to his right and glimpsed Andy and the others. He put his hands above his head with a remote detonator in his right. All he needed now was a diversion. The Bell Ranger lifted off the roof into the night sky. Without emotion or a second thought, he flipped the safety and pressed the trigger.

  At ten feet above the deck, the rotor assembly and empennage disintegrated as a small fireball mushroomed into the sky. The pilot tried in vain to correct for the lack of resistance on the flight controls as the helicopter began spiraling out of control. Without a tail, he had no way to counteract the torsion of the main rotors. All the pilot could do was kill the engine and hope for the best.

  The helicopter dove and slammed back onto the asphalt rooftop. The front landing skids dug in, and momentum caused what was left of the tail to rise into the air. The underside of the nose collided with the roof; the rotor blades sliced into the hard surface and entered into a battle of physical forces. The instant stoppage exerted an exponential amount of additional torque. The mast collapsed like a wet noodle, and the rotors disintegrated, flying chaotically in every direction. Like an Olympian diver performing a stunt off the high-dive, the helicopter half-somersaulted, half-pirouetted onto its roof.

  Once the helicopter settled, Peter got on his knee and fired off three quick shots in succession at Andy.

  What felt like a red-hot poker burned into Andy’s gut as he returned fire. He knew he hit his mark when Peter slumped over onto his side without moving.

  “Andy, how bad are you shot?” Rich asked as he bent over to study him.

  “Don’t worry about me,” he grimaced. “I’ll be fine. Gabe, get help from downstairs. Rich, you go see if anyone’s alive.”

  Rich expected an explosion at any moment. He sprinted to the helicopter, pried the side door open, and peered inside. No occupants wore seat belts, except for the pilots, and each lay precariously in a bed of mangled metal, glass, and electrical wires. Then the smell of aviation fuel hit him. She’s going to blow. He went to the other side to check Wayne’s pulse, but he knew he was dead. His head had twisted around backward, eyes staring directly downward at his own butt, snapping his neck. Nothing. Rich took a deep breath and looked at Wayne’s battered, lifeless body; there was no way to save him.

  As delicately as possible, Rich lifted Shantell’s body and laid her out flat. Barely conscious, she opened her eyes halfway and smiled at the man looking down at her.

  CHAPTER 21

  Tuesday mornings are almost as bad as Monday mornings. You know it’s another four days until the weekend, and you’re still recovering from the previous one.

  Rich stirred his coffee and took six hundred milligrams of ibuprofen for his throbbing headache. Today, however, felt different. He leaned back in his chair, stared at the Cancun beach wallpaper on his computer, and wished yesterday’s events had come out differently. Messages from other reporters, newspapers, and concerned citizens overwhelmed his voice mail system, and it wasn’t even nine a.m. yet. Three florists had already made personal deliveries.

  “What’re you doing here, Mr. Courageous?” Sarah Kinney teased as she strolled into his cubicle. His boss was one of the few people to whom Rich chose to speak. “Why don’t you take the day off?

  “Workaholic in training. Have a seat.” He motioned toward the leather office chair.

  “I wanted to see how you’re doing and how things turned out the way they did.” It was a rare show of empathy on her part.

  “Doing fine. Just feel bad that a gay kid snapped and tried to take his frustrations out on his mother. People didn’t need to die.”

  She leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. “Rich, it was an act of raw vengeance, plain and simple. You prevented more death.”

  He shrugged and took a sip of coffee. “This was years in the making.”

  Traumatic experiences affect different people in different ways. Rich chose to get right back into the swing of things and assume his normal routine, but at a relaxed pace. If people saw him taking time off, they’d assume he was deeply affected and over-emotional. Contrarily, if he soaked up all the attention and accepted every interview, he’d be seen as self-promoting and vain.

  “How did you find out Tyler, Dan, and Peter conspired?” Sarah finally asked.

  The question of the day. “Dan got spooked before Shantell showed. He offered his help to Tyler, but never intended to become part of some family feud. I could tell it in the way he confided in me and the way he looked at and spoke to Tyler. For a sixteen-year-old kid, Tyler recovered way too quickly after being involved in a shooting. He should have been withdrawn and stuck in deep thought; instead he argued with Dan and his mother. Then he comes in wearing street clothes, so I figured someone must have brought them in. When he argued with his mom, I saw Peter give him a nod. I knew something was up.”

  Sarah absorbed the words and reflected on the situation.

  “But get this,” he said excitedly. “I just got off the phone with a Detective Woods who says Tyler confessed to plotting the whole thing.”

  The revelation came as a shock to her. “Confessed to what? Plotting to kill his mother?”

  “Plotting revenge against the teenage thugs and sabotaging his mother’s campaign. Says Tyler brought a gun to school and shot the four teens and then turned the gun on Dan.” He paused for effect. “He purposefully used Dan as a propaganda tool to draw media attention. Tyler figured blacks shooting blacks happens every day, so no one would care. A black shooting a middle-class white kid is sure to draw much more attention. He was right.”

  “How does Peter fit in?”

  “He was bribed by Tyler to do the hit, since he didn’t have it in him to do it himself
. In exchange, Tyler agreed to transfer his two million dollar trust fund into Peter’s name. During lockdown, Tyler called Peter and told him that Shantell was arriving via helicopter, so there was his opportunity to make a move. The crime scene investigators, NTSB, and FBI found bomb fragments on the roof. They also found chemical residue and burn marks on the fuselage where there shouldn’t be any.” He paused for another taste of coffee and to analyze his thoughts. “It was supposed to look like an accident. Pretty wicked, if you ask me.”

  “By the way, nice burn on your forehead.” The skin had turned a deep red. Although painful, he worried more about the scorched hairs from the bullet that had killed Reggie. The remark was the only way Sarah was able to express her emotion.

  She got up as if to leave, but stood in front of him. “You’ve got an interview with CBC Cable News. I know some people there, and they liked how you handled the cop suicide, the school shooting, and the coverage at the hospital. Congratulations.”

  “What about Wayne?”

  “The funeral is on Friday,” she said in a somber tone.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “What about him? Unlike you, he was a lifer here and had no aspirations to do anything besides stay local. You’re much better suited for a place that will challenge you and has the assets to progress your career. WSNO is only good on a small scale.” She studied him for a moment. “It’s what you want, right?”

  He nodded and let the words sink in. “Absolutely.” Maybe Tuesdays weren’t so bad after all.

  *****

  Did you enjoy reading this novella? Go to http://www.josh-handrich-books.com for news and updates about my upcoming political thriller, Kingdom of Rage, the second installment of The Rich Fordham Series.