The Game of Deception

by Victor L. Martin

  Mance walked up to her bed with shameless tears in his eyes. His first words were I love you.

  “The doctor said you can come home tomorrow,” he said, holding her hand.

  “I know.” Volanda nodded slowly.

  “How you doing, boss?” Amanda held her other hand.

  “I’m fine. Just tired, really,” Volanda replied.

  “That’s your badge?” Mance nodded at the table beside the bed.

  Volanda nodded yes. Mance picked it up. She knew she would never see it again.

  “I already know, baby. I’m done.” Volanda knew how he felt with her working in the line of fire. Her mind was set . . . she would not fight him over his stance. She looked back on her countless arrests. What changes had she made? When would the cycle stop? She searched for something new under the sun, and the only thing she found worth fighting for was her love for Mance. He was different.

  Amanda stayed by Volanda’s side until it fully registered in her mind that her best friend was okay. After Amanda left, Mance told Volanda that he was still trying to reach Ghetti. His words made them realize their worries were far from being solved.

  CHAPTER 17:

  Alphabet Boys

  Durham, North Carolina

  Duke Hospital Sunday 9:45 A.M.

  Volanda was ready to go home. As it stood now, her checkout time was 12:00 p.m. doctor’s order. Mance had stayed over night at her side. He had stepped out a few hours earlier to go buy her a set of clothes to wear home. “How are you feeling?” Amanda asked as Volanda turned her nose up at the hospital food.

  “Okay,” Volanda said sounding tired. “This food is yuck.”

  “What will I do with this case? I know, Mance is serious about wanting you to quit the force,” Amanda said removing Volanda’s breakfast tray.

  “I assume you’re talking about the Glenbrook case?”

  Amanda nodded yes. “I don’t blame, Mance for wanting you to quit, but I do hope you’ll be able.”

  A knock at the door broke their conversation. The first person to step inside was their police chief, followed by the district attorney and two men in suits and ties. Volanda hid her nervousness and Amanda did the same. The police chief spent five minutes asking Volanda how she felt and how he was planning to submit her name for a medal. After that, things turned serious.

  “Ms. Carter and—” The chief wasn’t sure how he should address Amanda since her husband was dead.

  “Amanda,” she said.

  “Okay. Well, I have some strange news I must share with you. These gentlemen behind me are special agent Fieldman and special agent Delfin. Both of these men are with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

  The two FBI agents stepped forward and politely shook hands with Volanda and Amanda. Volanda was relieved that the EKG was off because her heart was pounding.

  “Okay.” The chief loosened his tie. “This uhhhh, meeting is to go no further than this room,” he said, making direct eye contact with Volanda and then Amanda.

  “I informed these two agents that no verbal . . . threats needed to be made toward you two for your cooperation in keeping a lid on this mess.”

  “Verbal threats?” Volanda raised an eyebrow. Something was not right.

  “He means by legal means.” Agent Fieldman stepped forward. “Let me explain.

  This meeting is in connection with the double murder of two Middle Eastern men January the fifth.”

  Volanda kept her face expressionless. Amanda crossed her legs.

  “As your chief stated, what I’m about to share with you is rather strange.” Agent Fieldman began, “The two men that were killed were connected to a terrorist cell that we had under constant surveillance. I’m not at liberty to reveal what group they were linked to, but we have strong substantial proof that their group was planning a terrorist attack within the United States. To finance their effort they accumulated twenty-eight and a half kilos of stolen cocaine by robbing major drug dealers. The dealers they robbed were never killed and this allowed them to stay on track without drawing any attention from the authorities. As we all know, a guy isn’t going to call the police and say he was robbed of his drugs. Anyway, through our surveillance and investigation, we stumbled on the terrorist cell and they have all been—quietly detained. By the order from the Director of the FBI as well as the Secretary of the Homeland Security Agency, this entire investigation will not be made public. A full media blackout in other words. We feel the public should not—let’s just say it’s in our best interest to keep this under wraps.”

  “I-I don’t understand.” Volanda looked at each agent.

  “Ms. Carter,” Agent Delfin said politely, stepping closer. “What Agent Fieldman has explained is this: The case that you and your partner have, well, it does not exist anymore, and in a deeper aspect, it never happened. No form of media outlet will speak on your case and no further investigation will be made on your part. All evidence in this case is now being turned over to our agency. This is the spectrum, all photos, written statements, medical reports, and even the DNA sample that was found. I understand how it must feel to allow a suspect to go free, really I understand. But at some angle of this situation, this suspect did this country a favor.”

  The D.A. cleared her throat to speak. She looked tired and upset. “Of course I tried to fight this, but it was futile after I spoke to the attorney general. As the two agents pointed out, this case never happened. I apologize that your hard work will be wasted, but there is nothing we can do but cooperate with these agents.”

  “And one more thing.” Agent Delfin picked up his briefcase and popped it open. He pulled out two sheets of paper and handed one to Volanda and Amanda. A government document forbade them from ever speaking on what they just heard with a threat of jail time if their silence was broken. The forms were signed and handed back.

  “Thank you for your understanding,” Agent Delfin said. “And I wish you a speedy recovery, Detective Carter.”

  Two minutes later the FBI agents walked out.

  “Relax ladies,” the chief said. “The D.A. and myself had to sign the same forms.” He stayed a moment or two then left with the D.A.

  Volanda looked at Amanda when they were alone once again. “What just happened?”

  “Boss, I have no idea.”

  The FBI was thorough with their business. Everything vanished from the DNA to the APB on Ghetti’s Chevy. In all, Ghetti’s problems no longer weighed on his shoulders. On a quiet note, Maria’s brother had made bond. His sister’s death was a strain on his bereaved soul. He had been sitting in the dorm watching the news when his sister’s death was announced. He could not mentally cope with the loss of Maria. When he made bond his only focus was revenge.

  Poo-Man was ready to leave North Carolina behind and make a new life up in Trenton, New Jersey. Riff knew a few heads up north so that’s where he told Poo-Man to go. Riff was outside polishing his rims. He was going to follow Poo-Man to the Virginia state line to make sure he got out of the state.

  “Yo Poo!” Riff shouted. “Hurry up, yo!” Riff got into his car when this haggardly looking dude came walking up the sidewalk. He walked at a determined pace with a brown hoodie over his head. Somehow, Riff managed to get a glimpse of the dude’s unshaven face. Dude looked familiar, he thought. When it clicked in his mind that it was Carlos, it was too late.

  “Poo!” Riff shouted, pulling out his nickel-plated .44 Magnum. The next murderous sequence of events unfolded in 8.6 seconds.

  Poo-Man was locking the front door when Riff shouted his name. Poo-Man spun on the steps expecting the police, but he gasped deeply when he saw Carlos. That was the last breath he took at 10:08 a.m. along with his last thought of regret for killing Maria.

  BRRAAP! BRRRAAP!

  Riff screamed when he saw Carlos unloading on Poo-Man with a MAC-10.

  Poo-Man’s life was erased by seven rounds punching successively into his face, neck and chest.

  BRRRAAP! BRRRAAP!

&
nbsp; Carlos was still dumping lead into Poo-Man’s body when Riff ran up behind him holding his .44 sideways.

  BOOM! BOOM!

  Carlos crumpled to the ground with a chunk of his neck missing. Blood pumped from the two bodies seeping into the cracks of the concrete. Riff was stunned, but he knew this type of harsh life on a first name basis. He was able to think clearly in this situation. He would mourn for Poo-Man later. Stepping quickly over the two bodies, he snatched up the keys to the Honda that lay near Poo-Man’s hand. Riff did not bother to look back as he squealed off in the less conspicuous Honda Civic.

  Envy, lies, hate, love, and poor judgment had caused eighteen-year-old Poo-Man to find death early. His death changed nothing and he was far from being the last black male to lay dead in the streets of America.

  Ghetti had chosen to leave Poo-Man alone. San’s words of making a change had bored its way inside Ghetti’s conscience mind. He left Chapel Hill with no set destination. He ended up in Durham, crashing out on a sofa at San’s crib. The two had stayed up late, building with words on how much bullshit they had to deal with on a daily basis. Ghetti had ignored all of his calls, sending them to his voice mail. He knew he would catch hell from Mance. It would be face-to-face. He was heading home, ready to face the problems behind the two bodies. Ghetti had no knowledge of Poo-Man being flat lined or about Volanda being shot. Rolling into Wayne County, his cell phone rang for the umpteenth time. Seeing Amanda’s number, his spirits rose a bit. For her to be calling his new number, he knew she had read his letter and got up with Dayshea. He allowed it to ring four times before he answered.

  “Hey stranger,” he said, driving with one hand.

  “Hey,” she replied short for words. “I ummmm, I read your letter.”

  Ghetti held no regrets. He had meant every word that was written. “So, whut’s on your mind?” he asked, feeling relieved that she had made the effort to call him.

  “You . . . and this letter you wrote me.”

  “Oh . . . ummm, wanna talk about it?”

  “I think that would be a good idea.”

  He picked up on her low spirits. “You feelin’ okay?”

  “You want the truth?”

  “I’m listenin’.”

  Amanda waited a few seconds. “Where are you now?”

  “Headin’ back to my crib,” he said, entering the city limits of Goldsboro. “You wanna meet me somewhere?”

  “That would be more appropriate because I’d rather talk to you face-to-face.”

  “Where you at now?”

  “At the mall in Goldsboro.”

  He sat up. “For real?”

  When she said yes, he surprised her as well by telling her where he was. Amanda had not told Volanda about her suspicion of his identity. As for Ghetti, neither Mance nor Volanda had ever referred to Amanda by her name. They arranged to meet at the K&W restaurant inside the mall. Amanda already had a table when Ghetti arrived. She waved him over, surprised at how her body reacted at the sight of him. A part of her could not get over a certain guilt. The autopsy had yet to be done on her late husband and here she sat with sexual urges for another man. As he neared the table, he motioned for her to stand, seeking a hug. His public display of affection pleased her. Through all the troubles she was dealing with, she was able to smile.

  Seated, she thanked him for showing up. After they exchanged casual conversation, Amanda got down to the point. She pulled out the letter after the food was placed on their table.

  “Who is Ghetti?” she asked, leaving her food untouched.

  Ghetti looked at the letter, then into her eyes. “Me,” he replied.

  “So, what is Vic? Your nickname or something?”

  “No. I just made it up when I got up with you, okay? I felt the threesome we had would just be a one time deal.” He shrugged. “I thought real names wouldn’t matter.”

  “I assume that Ghetti isn’t your birth name?”

  “Nah,” he said hesitating and shifting his eyes away from hers. He looked toward the exit then down at his hands.

  She waited for him to come clean with his government name. Given that he wasn’t touched a sore spot. Taking a sip of the tea, she reached across the table for his hand. “Ghetti,” she said. “Do you remember when you asked me if I had any more secrets?”

  He nodded yes.

  “And I said I didn’t.” She squeezed his hand. “I read your letter over and over and your words . . . they made me feel good. You said you would like to get to know me, despite all the issues I have on my shoulder. Do you really mean that?”

  Ghetti was feeling her seriously. But how could he open up to a relationship while being on the run? He felt foolish for jumping the gun and writing that letter. Keeping it real, he told her the truth. He meant what was written.

  “Ghetti,” she said his name softly. “I don’t doubt you . . . I can’t.” Reaching down into her purse, she knew that her next action would reveal if he were the suspect. Sitting back up, she closed her eyes taking a deep breath. Ghetti studied her weird actions, half-expecting her to drop down and ask him to marry her.

  Amanda steeled herself for what she was planning to do. Sitting up straight, she slid her hand across the table, palm down. With no words spoken, she slid her hand back leaving a noticeable object by his plate . . . her badge.

  “I’m a detective with the Durham County Police Department.”

  Mance was jubilant to have Volanda under his roof. She was still on bed rest allowing Mance to pamper her. She had checked out of the hospital about two hours ago and rode home with Mance. She was trying to sit up when Mance came in with a tray of food.

  “Baby, what time is it?” she asked.

  “A quarter past five,” he said, carefully placing the tray of food on the bed.

  “What’s taking Amanda so long?”

  Mance shrugged. “Ain’t no telling.” He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Ghetti’s number.

  “Still no answer?” Volanda said when Mance tossed the phone on the bed.

  “Voice mail again,” he said flustered. “I left a message earlier and told him that your partner was here and then—”

  “Mance,” she said, cutting him off. “Sit here for a second.” She patted the space next to her.

  “What’s up?”

  Reaching for his hand she told him about the visit from the F.B.I.

  Back at K&W, Ghetti listened to the same story that Volanda was sharing with Mance. Of course, Ghetti assumed it was some bullshit. He was still expecting the police to jump out and throw the cuffs on him. When she asked him if he owned a greenish-gold convertible, he refused to answer her.

  “Ghetti, even if you were still wanted, I don’t think I would have the courage to arrest you. Look, I didn’t even tell Volanda about your letter and my suspicion about who you really were. And this was before . . .” She lowered her voice. “Before the feds stepped into the picture. I know this is hard to accept, but I’m giving you nothing but the truth and hard facts Ghetti.”

  Ghetti looked down at her badge. “This is somethin’ . . . I just don’t believe it.” he couldn’t hide his surprised look. Her badge was the real deal. The only difference it had from Volanda’s was the badge number. The entire deal was crazy. He was on the run from the pops and fucking one at the same time.

  “Ghetti, there’s something else you should know,” she added morosely.

  She began with the death of her husband. As she spoke, her emotions got the best of her. She was focused on the happier times with Matt, not the latter pain. Ghetti was deeply concerned when she told him about Volanda being shot in the line of duty. Now he knew why Mance was blowing up his line. Hearing that Volanda was home and recovering eased his mind. Ghetti wanted to know the “why” behind the shooting and why her husband had committed suicide.

  “Ghetti, to make a long story short, there’s a strong possibility that I might be able to have kids.”

  He leaned forward. “But . . . I thought . . . you
said you were—”

  “I told you I assumed to be the truth.”

  Ghetti hung on to every word she said while she told him about her husband’s deceit.

  “Ghetti, I’m telling you the truth about everything.” Tears flooded her eyes.

  “I don’t know what to do.” She covered her face, as her emotions broke free. Ghetti stood up. Amanda assumed he was leaving. Looking up she saw he had his hand extended toward her.

  “You gonna leave me hangin’ or what?”

  Volanda was on the phone with a detective from Chapel Hill. He was calling to inform her about Poo-Man’s death. When she told Mance, he hoped that Ghetti wasn’t behind it. Volanda went on to tell him about Maria’s brother being killed as well.

  “So this all happened today?” he asked her just when he heard a car pulling up in the driveway. Mance got up to look through the curtains. “Baby,” he said without turning around.

  “Huh?”

  “I think we finna have full closure on this bullshit,” he said as Ghetti pulled up with Amanda parking behind him.

  EPILOGUE

  One Year Later: February 2008

  Mance was proven 99.9% to be the father of Volanda’s little baby girl. As Jerry Springer would have said, “Mance, when it comes to the test results of one-month old Katherine, you are the father.”

  To make things official, Mance had given Volanda his last name back in November. After pressing Volanda for Bruce’s work address, Mance had paid him a surprise visit to confront him. Mance made it firmly clear that he wasn’t taking no bullshit when it comes to his family. “Bruh,” Mance had said sternly. “I don’t give a fuck about your badge. But if I hear one word that you are botherin’ my wife, you’ll see me again. And this is a promise! Not a threat.”

  Bruce had backed down, telling himself that Volanda wasn’t worth the trouble. Besides, the child wasn’t his.

  Volanda was fully retired from the police force. Loving Mance and being a mother had a significant change in how she lived her life. She had moved in with Mance, turning his house into a home.