by Johnny Jacks
“That liberal lawyer, Fisher, was at the scene? Just what your career needed at—,” Joe caught himself when Grayson pierced him with death rays from his eyes.
“Not her fault that I’m a jerk. Damn, Joe, how can a grown man act so childish?” Mindlessly, he flipped on the television. “Too bad her useless butt wasn’t the one who died.”
“Turn that damn thing off. It will be all over the news.”
“I want to see if they got the jackass.” Grayson flipped from station to station, found it on FOX 26 Houston. The reporter was describing the helicopter video of the chase and accident. “Huh. I didn’t know we had helicopter support.”
Joe gaped at Grayson in disbelief.
“A spokesman for the Houston Police Department says the manhunt was for Carlos Murtadha, one of Houston’s most wanted criminals. He has eluded police since he and his gang raped and gruesomely murdered a family. Unfortunately, the police helicopter lost track of him when their fuel gage showed dangerously low levels. The pilot had no choice but to break contact and return to the airport. The HPD discovered the getaway car outside of the Islamic Society of Greater Houston.”
“How the hell are we going to capture anybody if we can’t even remember to put gas in the chopper?” Grayson slammed his fist on the arm of his recliner and leaped to his feet. “Murtadha has made fools of us for the last time!”
Joe watched in amazement as Grayson’s personality made another quick shift.
“Where the hell is Danny?”
He grabbed his cell phone and tried to reach his son. The call went straight to voice mail. His voice softened as he pleaded with his son. “Danny, please call me the minute you get this message! I need to talk to you, son. This is an emergency. You need to come home immediately.”
Grayson flipped the TV off and sent the remote flying at the stone fireplace, shattering it to pieces.
“Does Danny know?” He spun on a dime to face Joe. “Tell me someone is looking for my son! If Murtadha gets to him….”
Chapter 7
Farewell Beautiful Souls
Year 1
Outside of Prince of Peace church, Ramirez stepped to Grayson’s side. “I’m sorry, Grayson. We’ve checked every street in the city and haven’t found Daniel’s car. It may be out of sight in a garage.”
Grayson nodded and lifted his swollen eyes. “Thanks, Chief. I’ve waited as long as possible to start the funeral. I keep hoping I’ll look around and he’ll be there. This isn’t like Daniel. He must know about the accident by now…and hate me.”
“I feel certain he’s safe. If Murtadha had him, he would flaunt it. Danny’s probably hiding out with a friend. You want some company down front?”
“No, sir. I’ll be fine.” Grayson turned and walked to the side door of the church.
Mourners overfilled the church, but Grayson was oblivious. His eyes remained on the single casket at the front of the altar. Margaret and Amanda rested side by side in a white coffin covered in pink roses. Margaret’s arm encircled Amanda; she held Jo-Jo in her little arms.
Continuously observing the line for the Eucharist, Mass concluded before Grayson accepted that Daniel was not there. He prayed that nothing horrible had happened.
As they prepared for the long procession to the cemetery, Joe approached Grayson. “Let’s get in the limo, partner.”
“Thanks, Joe, but I’d rather be alone for this ride.”
“You don’t have to do this alone.”
“I wouldn’t be alone if my son were here to pay his respects to his mother and sister. You ride with Belinda.” He got in the limousine, a car designed for friends and family to share. It pulled away from the curb silently, following Grayson’s wife and daughter on their last ride.
~~~
A slow ten miles later, the elegant white hearse rolled quietly to a stop, leading the long convoy of mourners to the final act in the age-old ceremony to honor the dead.
Ramirez rode behind the limousine that bore his old friend and comrade-in-arms. The line of cars snaked slowly through the streets of Houston. The officers were in dress uniform to honor Margaret, held in high esteem for her devotion and leadership assisting families of fallen policemen.
The procession stopped across the road from the vacant, timeworn chapel. Grayson lingered in the protective harbor of the limousine. If he dared move, it would be an admission it was real; Margaret and Amanda were dead. Maybe if I wait, it will turn into a bad dream.
The limousine driver opened his door, and Grayson’s fantasy evaporated.
Expelling a long sigh and struggling with anger and disbelief, Grayson began the final steps that would forever detach him from his precious wife and daughter. Whimpering inside, he wanted to go with them and leave the insanity behind.
With Chief Ramirez and his wife, Grace, to his left, he stepped forward and began the longest walk of his life; each step lacerated his battered heart.
Unaware of the countless mourners moving to the burial site behind him, he vacillated between anger and pain. Where are you Daniel? Please, God. Don’t let Murtadha have him.
The pallbearers, police officers led by Joe in full dress uniform, carried the precious cargo and placed it on the casket stand over the open grave. They marched to the side, and stood in formation at parade rest.
Grayson faltered slightly when he saw Louise, Margaret’s elderly aunt, waiting for him. He didn’t remember seeing her in the church. She sat next to him in the chair normally designated for Margaret’s parents, who had passed several years previously. Louise was her only remaining relative. Had he called to tell her about Margaret? He felt her squeeze his hand lying on his knee. With the sign of the cross, she hung her head and prayed.
Soft weeping floated on the blue sky’s cool, spring breeze. Oddly, Grayson was aware of birds singing, which brought him a modicum of peace. His beloved wife and daughter were in Heaven; of that, he was sure. His anguished soul stilled when the priest spoke of the loving spirits that Margaret and Amanda brought to the world. After acknowledging Grayson, he made the sign of the cross, opening the service.
“In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.”
“Amen,” the mourners echoed.
The priest moved to the casket, said a prayer, and began blessing the grave and coffin with holy water, but he hesitated when the screeching halt of a car nearby ruptured the somber quiet.
Grayson and the startled mourners turned to see Daniel jump from his old jalopy. His twisted face and deliberate long strides amplified his anger. His hair disheveled and his eyes bloodshot, Daniel looked as though he had worn his clothes for days.
Grayson was happy to see his son alive, but anger pounded through his veins. How dare Daniel avoid the funeral of his mother and sister? He strained to deal with his reactions as his furious son approached.
“You son of a bitch!” Daniel cried, as he pushed his way through the mourners to stand in front of his father. Tears poured from his red and swollen eyes. Pointing at the casket, he screamed at his father. “This is your fault!” Grayson attempted to put his hands on his son’s shoulder, but Daniel jerked away. Standing almost as tall as Grayson, Daniel jabbed him in the chest with his fingers. “I’ve seen the news reports. You just couldn’t control yourself, could you?”
“Daniel, we’re burying your mother and sister. Son, please show them respect.” The air was dense with the awkwardness of a divided father and son, emotions volatile with a toxic jumble of grief and anger.
“We wouldn’t be burying Mom and Sissy if you had the sense to control yourself! You always have to be the center of attention. The big, bad cop.” Daniel’s tortured face spewed hate. “Large and in charge! I’ll never respect you again. Never!”
Daniel fought his way back through the crowd that opened a path, as he ran sobbing to his car. He peeled away, leaving the mourners in self-conscious shock.
“Folks, I’m sorry for my son’s behavior. I…I don’t know what else t
o say. I apologize. Father, please continue.”
Grayson remained standing until the burial ceremony was over and only Joe and the priest remained. They stood at the edge of the tent and watched Grayson weep uncontrollably over the open grave.
When his anguish began to abate, the priest laid his hand on his shoulder and prayed: “Christ, bring comfort to the souls of Grayson and Daniel Dean in their hour of need. In your wisdom and mercy, give them holy rest and bestow your peace upon them. Amen.”
“Thank you, Father.”
They crossed themselves and the priest patted Grayson on the back. “Call me if you need anything. Daniel is reacting as many boys entering manhood would. I’ll try to talk to him.” Grayson nodded, and the priest strode sadly into the fading day.
On the walk to Joe’s car, Grayson noticed a woman, dressed in black and wearing a thick black veil standing in the shadows of a small tree at the corner of the old chapel. She turned and rapidly disappeared behind the chapel.
What kind of weirdo stares at strangers in mourning?
~~~
Grayson found little comfort in the post-funeral meal at the parish hall. Completely drained, he didn’t eat a bite and forgot to honor Louise’s request to speak with him in private. Daniel’s behavior at the cemetery had skewered what was left of him. He thanked everyone for their kind words and asked Joe to take him home.
Daniel’s car, parked in front of the house, was loaded with his possessions. He stuffed a bundle of clothes in the backseat and was at the driver’s door when Grayson approached him. Avoiding eye contact with his father, he jerked the car door open.
Grayson pushed it closed and looked straight into his son’s face, a face bathed in pain. “What are you doing, Daniel?”
“I’m leaving! Isn’t it obvious?”
“We need to talk, son.”
“No way. I want nothing to do with you. Aunt Louise says I can live with her.” Grayson reached to hug his son, but Daniel shoved him away. “You’re no longer my dad. You killed Mom and Sissy. Get out of my way!” Daniel pulled at the car door.
Grayson stepped back. “I won’t stand in your way, son. I hope and pray you find it in your heart to come back home. Louise will take good care of you, but I need you at home with me.”
Daniel shot his father a venomous glare and started his car. “That’s a joke. You don’t need anyone. You killed everything that was important to me.” The boy’s voice caught in his throat. “I never want to see you again!” He jammed the accelerator to the floor and spun away.
The pain too fresh, Grayson let him go. He would be safe with Louise, while Grayson worked to repair their relationship. Abject loneliness descended heavily, and he wasn’t sure he could make it to the front door.
“He doesn’t mean what he said. The boy’s broken into pieces, just like you. It’s impossible to reach him right now.”
“You know it’s funny. I was worried about Murtadha hurting my son, but I was the bad guy all along.”
“You’re not a bad guy, Grayson. You’re a guy who’s had a bad stroke of luck.”
“Joe, bless you for helping me through this past week. You’re the brother I never had. I’d appreciate it if you’d hang around awhile.”
The two friends entered Grayson’s dark, empty house, flipping on the kitchen light. “Joe, Daniel’s right. My damnable pride has finally killed almost everyone I love.”
Chapter 8
Persecution and Transition
Year 1
The squad room was oddly quiet as Grayson made his way to Chief Ramirez’s office. He nodded to a few of the staff but didn’t linger. The chief shook his hand and shut the door. His distracted demeanor told Grayson the meeting would not bode well for him.
“Grayson, I know this is tough, the funeral only a few days ago, but policy dictates that I place you on paid leave, pending the outcome of the Internal Affairs investigation. I have to take your service weapon and badge. I was supposed to have done it the day of the accident, but I hoped they wouldn’t notice.”
Grayson, his eyes bloodshot and his body weak from lack of sleep and food, didn’t object. He was surprised when Joe had returned his Sig that morning. His gun was a part of getting dressed, and strangely, he hadn’t noticed it missing.
“I know the drill.” Grayson placed his weapon and badge on Ramirez’s desk, having left it with an empty magazine and the slide locked back the same as when Joe returned it.
“IA is all over me due to public sentiment over this incident. A police chase through a residential area and…uh…fatalities don’t play well in the news. The liberal press is attacking, claiming police incompetence, endangerment of citizens. The teary kid with the mangled bicycle is all over social media. You understand?”
“Sir, we both know I’m screwed on this one.”
“You aren’t the only one who participated in the chase. Joe’s butt and others are on the line.”
Grayson shook his head. “But my family got caught in the crossfire because of my egomania.”
“Listen to me. You weren’t the lead car—”
“But I was the guy calling the shots…and had a civilian in the car. That ACLU bitch can destroy me.” Grayson’s limp body collapsed in a chair. “I’m responsible for the deaths of my wife and child. Period.”
“Have you heard the rumor that the mayor and city council want you canned?” Ramirez asked.
Grayson nodded.
Ramirez rubbed the top of his salt and pepper brush cut. “The civilian ride-along isn’t helping. They also recommend federal prosecution for civil rights violations.”
“You gotta be kidding, Chief. On what grounds?”
“On the grounds that you chased Murtadha because he’s Hispanic. They’re calling you a racist. Passing it to the feds gets the problem off their plate. I imagine you can thank Shannon Fisher for that.”
“Murtadha is a wanted felon. What the hell’s wrong with them?”
“The department’s been caught in unsafe car chases too many times, and this may be the one that nails us. Since you lost more than anyone, I hope they’ll cut you some slack, but I honestly don’t know.”
“I should resign and not drag this out.”
Ramirez gave Grayson a hard stare; his gruff retort left no room for argument. “That’s not going to happen. Now, get out of my office. I’ve got a meeting to go to.”
~~~
“Madam Mayor and esteemed select members of the Houston City Council, I appreciate you accepting my invitation to this limited-topic meeting.” The council squirmed under Chief Ramirez’s pointed gaze. Toughened by years of fighting terrorists in the Middle East and criminals on the streets of the United States, Ramirez had grown callous and calculating when protecting his turf. In J. Edgar Hoover style, he ruthlessly leveraged his position to keep the politicians in line.
“Cut the BS, Manuel,” Mayor Edith Greenberg, a tough old bird herself intoned. “Get on with it!”
“I’m not difficult to get along with; my focus is on getting the bad guys off the streets of Houston, a focus that benefits your careers greatly. I have no interest in your activities except as they affect the police department. And we have a problem that does just that.”
“No, Manuel. You have a problem.” Councilman Ward Stein, Ramirez’s most ardent political enemy, announced.
Ramirez flicked his comment aside. “Detective Grayson Dean must remain on the force, and you will assist in that endeavor. He is one of the finest officers I have the pleasure to command. The gang task force and other tactical endeavors require his leadership and expertise.”
Coiled and waiting, they shot their venomous hatred at him. The grimy secrets the chief held on each of them surreptitiously hung in the air, as though thousands watched them intoxicated and naked. They cautiously avoided looking at each other. Ramirez held their attention.
“You will talk kindly of Detective Dean to the press, expounding on his record as a war hero, his brave law enforcement wor
k, and that he works conscientiously to remove dangerous criminals from our streets.”
A council member of metrosexual proportions started to speak, but shut up when the mayor’s head snapped around and she glared at him.
“You might want to take notes. Diplomatically remind people that we all make mistakes. Sway Houston’s citizens to take pity on a public servant who, while serving them, lost his wife and daughter to a foul criminal.”
Ramirez leaned on the gleaming table, holding his firm position. “Remind citizens that Murtadha raped and killed a mother and her twelve-year-old daughter a few months ago while the husband was forced to watch, then stuck a butcher knife in the poor man’s heart and cut his head off.”
The Democratic mayor couldn’t contain herself. “Pull the string, and it will follow wherever you wish. Push it, and it will go nowhere.”
Ramirez bared his teeth in a grin. “Madam Mayor, you just quoted the great Republican president, Dwight David Eisenhower. At any rate, we don’t want our boy to go rogue. You shortchange him, who knows what could happen in his grief-ridden state.”
The hyper-liberal Democratic mayor’s anger was unambiguous. “Is your perfect cop so psychotic he would go rogue? This is the upstanding detective you want us to save?”
Ramirez’s ebony eyes drilled a hole in the mayor’s blue ones. “No one’s perfect. We both know that. In the Middle East, I saw him take on two Taliban fighters at the same time and kill them both with his bare hands. Detective Dean is the epitome of strength and integrity, a man you want on your side.”
Edith Greenberg swallowed hard, adjusted her suit jacket, and regained her steel composure. “Heed me, Manuel. This is not over. That star detective is responsible for this mess, thanks—once again—to his infamous reactions. Let me be the first to deliver this piece of news. The ACLU is about to file a civil action suit against the City of Houston on behalf of Mr. Delgado. You remember; the man Dean shot in the spine?”
