“My mother came at me like a car salesman. She kept selling you until I broke down,” Ceyda admitted.
“I hope she didn’t tell you how much mileage I have on me, or the condition of my engine,” Deni joked.
“Ha, no. She just said you were pre-med at Temple and on the football team,” replied Ceyda.
“Right, pre-med,” said Deni with a sigh. He checked his watch. “You know Ceyda, it was really nice meeting you, but I did make plans with high school friends tonight. I haven’t seen them in a while.”
Ceyda stood awkwardly from the couch. “Oh, okay.”
Deni rose to meet her. “It’s not you, really. It’s just I have—”
“Plans,” she said.
“Maybe we can get together later this week for lunch?” he said.
“Sure, sure,” Ceyda replied.
Deni and Ceyda said their goodbyes to Deni’s family and walked outside together. “I’ll give you a call later,” said Deni.
Deni got into his car and drove through all the familiar streets of Reading, feeling a bit like an unfaithful husband. The infidelity stemmed from what had been going on in his heart since the first day of his senior year of high school, his secret from the family.
He pulled up onto the Atkins’ driveway and got out of the car. The windows were illuminated with a soft warm glow. Sitting alone in his car, he thought about going up and knocking on the door to see if anyone was home. What good would it do to see her? he thought as he realized what he really needed.
Deni soon arrived at Hector Ramirez’s house. He was immediately greeted with iced sugar cookies and a joint. Sweet, Deni thought as he reclined on the couch, smoking and listening to Christmas music playing on the stereo.
Hector’s brother, Luis, served them both a beer. “How is it?” asked Luis.
Deni inhaled the joint and then slowly exhaled. “Goood,” he slurred. It felt so good to allow the smoke to calm his mind and body as he melted into the Ramirez’s tweed couch. “Where’s Mama Ramirez?”
“At some Christmas pageant in Harrisburg, won’t be home until late tonight,” replied Hector.
Deni nodded and then looked up at their wiry, ill-shaped Christmas tree with a few old, scratched and dented decorations. He laughed at loud. “What the hell kind of tree is that?”
“All trees need love, dude. We always give love to the ugliest of the bunch,” said Hector with a puff of his joint.
Deni viewed his distorted reflection in one of the Christmas balls; his nose looked huge. “Just like your women,” he said.
“Ugly women give the best love; it’s a fact,” replied Hector.
Deni admired his distorted nose in the Christmas ornament. “And the best blow jobs.”
Hector chuckled. “Like I said—love.”
No one really gave much care to the doorbell that rang, until it rang again. “Who could that fucking be?” asked Luis as he headed to the door.
He opened the door and found Mikail on the doorstep. “Yeah, what you want?”
“My brother,” replied Mikail and then pulled out a Smith & Wesson with his gloved hand from his coat pocket. He shot Luis in the chest and then in the temple.
As Luis fell against the wall and slumped to the floor, Mikail entered the Ramirez’s house and found Deni and Hector giggling like schoolboys on the couch. Both Deni and Hector looked up at the same time to find Mikail looming above.
“Mik, what up? Why are you following me dude?” questioned Deni and then snickered.
“Yeah, what’s with the serious brow dude?” asked Hector and then dragged on the joint.
In a flash, Mikail pulled his weapon and shot Hector at close range in the head and then in the chest. Blood splattered all over the couch and Deni’s face and shirt.
“What the hell are you doing? What the fuck? Why’d you do that! Why’d you do that!” Deni yelled.
Mikail grabbed Deni by the shirt and pulled him off the couch. “Come on, let’s go!” With gloved hands, he leaned over and picked up the shell casings.
Deni stared at the bullet hole in his childhood friend’s head. The life that just existed a few seconds ago was gone.
It was the first summer in Reading and Bashir took the family up to Blue Marsh to picnic on a small man-made beach. While the rest of the Daudov family kept to themselves, Deni wandered off and made friends with a young Puerto Rican boy of the same age. They didn’t need to exchange names and when they spoke; they spoke in their native languages. Somehow, they understood each other.
“Get some more sand, we need to build another tower,” said Hector in Spanish.
Deni watched what Hector was doing and imitated by getting a handful of sand. He helped Hector erect another tower with the sand they both collected.
“I’m going to build a moat,” said Deni in Russian.
Hector watched Deni dig a line in the sand with his fingers to the water’s edge. When a stream of lake water circled to the tower, Hector jumped up excitedly and helped Deni dig the moat around the entire sand castle. By the end of the afternoon, they were best buds.
“Mik, what the fuck did you do!” screamed Deni.
“Calm down,” replied Mikail and then picked up the joint butt. “Did you smoke this?” Deni nodded numbly. Mikail then picked up the beer can? “Did you touch this?”
“Yeah. Mik, what the fuck?” questioned Deni again.
Mikail picked up the beer can. “Did you touch anything else?”
Deni couldn’t think; he couldn’t recall anything in his life before the moment Hector’s head exploded.
Mikail grabbed Deni by the shirt and pulled him off the couch. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Mikail surveyed the scene looking to remove any evidence on his way out. Deni cringed seeing Luis’ body just inside the doorway. “What the hell Mik? Why?” Outside, breathing the cold, winter air, Deni’s mind refreshed from the pot, but he was still in a complete stupor.
“Follow me home,” commanded Mikail.
Deni nodded and climbed into his car. As he looked at the steering console, he had temporarily forgotten how to drive. Mikail turned on his lights and honked his horn at Deni. On pure instinct, Deni started the car and followed Mikail back through the streets to his home.
Once at home, Mikail removed his gloves and jacket and calmly washed his hands in the sink. Deni leaned against the kitchen wall and then glanced down at Hector’s blood on his shirt.
“You need to wash up and take off that shirt,” said Mikail.
Deni numbly removed his shirt and handed it to his brother, who immediately dumped it in the washing machine and added about a cup of bleach. Mikail offered Deni a damp cloth to wash blood from his face. “You know I’d do anything to protect you,” said Mikail. “Those guys were no good. They were leading you down a path of self-destruction with their drugs and western indiscretions.” Mikail lifted Deni’s chin and looked earnestly in his eyes. “I worry about you brother. Ma worries about you and your lifestyle. We’re just trying to get you straight.” He put his arms on Deni’s bare shoulders. “We all want what’s best for you.”
Deni nodded, but none of it was coherent.
Jamie entered the kitchen with two-year-old Elena in her arms. “Is everything okay?”
Mikail turned toward Jamie and calmly said, “Yeah, just giving Deni a pep talk.” He walked over to Jamie and kissed her on the cheek and then took Elena from her arms. He turned to Deni. “Try to relax and get some sleep. We’ll see you in the morning.”
When Mikail and Jamie left the kitchen and retired to their bedroom, Deni remained standing in the kitchen for some time. He couldn’t move; he saw nothing and then finally walked to the pull-out sofa in the living room. Jamie had already had it made with the bed sheet turned down for him. It was all so sweet and perfect, but instead of crawling into bed, Deni headed for the bathroom.
Upon first sight of the toilet, Deni vomited a combination of Christmas cookies and beer. He hung over the porcel
ain bowl until he no longer had any contents in his stomach. He undressed and turned the water onto its hottest setting. Stepping into the stream of water, he didn’t even feel it; he didn’t even know his skin was turning beet red.
Deni stood in the shower with his head lowered under the showerhead. The water rained over him, but it could never wash away his suffering. He wanted to cry, but his body was frozen, paralyzed with guilt and fear. No longer could he face himself—ever.
He stepped out of the shower, dried himself off and dressed into his underwear. Quickly he stepped back out to the living room and slipped under the covers of the sofa bed. He tried to close his eyes, but when he did, he witnessed the shooting over and over again. The only way to block it from his mind was to keep his eyes open, but then if he couldn’t sleep, he would have to think about it. What a dilemma, he thought. There is no escape.
The next morning Deni slumped at the kitchen table. Jamie handed him breakfast. “Are you okay, Deni? If you need someone to talk to, you can talk to me,” said Jamie.
“I’m cool,” he said.
Jamie sat across the table from Deni. “I know Mik can be intense. He can be very passionate, but I know he means well. If there’s anything you want to talk about, it goes no further than you and I.”
Deni regarded Jamie’s kind expression. There was no way he could confess to her. Whether her love was blind, or she too was living in a bubble, Deni was not going to be the one to burst it.
Deni sat across from Marsha and based on her expression, he knew he should not have confessed to her. “See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you. Now, you can charge me and my brother with these murders.”
Marsha stared at Deni. “I think I need a drink.”
“I know what you’re thinking. Why didn’t I report the crime? Why did I cover for my brother? Well, you know it’s not that easy. My brother did it for me; he was protecting me. He loved me.”
Marsha remained silent.
“You don’t understand,” Deni continued. “My brother took care of me, protected me since I was a little boy in Grozny. I always trusted him completely.”
“I do understand. I understand your loyalty,” replied Marsha.
“But you judge him. You think he’s bad and therefore you think I’m bad for trusting him, for loving him,” said Deni.
“That’s not what I think.”
“He’s not bad you know; he’s not evil like everyone thinks. He had a lot of love in his heart for me, for our family, for his wife and daughter, for God. It’s not bad to love is it?”
“Deni,” Marsha said softly.
“The problem is America. He loved America. He had dreams of playing football, even coaching football. He was given the same opportunity from Coach Schwartz that I was to play. He loved football, even more than I did. He gave it his all and then, when he couldn’t get into a good school, his dream fell apart. He had nothing. He was led down the path to glory and then denied. It broke his heart. I understand that, I could see his pain and his suffering.”
“His pain and suffering was not your pain and suffering. It was not your burden to carry,” replied Marsha.
“It was. Don’t you see? He took care of me, he protected me and I cared for and protected him. It’s family; it’s love. You carry the burden for everyone you love. I had to do it, don’t you see. I had to do it. We were brothers bonded by blood¼nothing is thicker,” explained Deni and then collapsed back in his seat. “I know you don’t get it. You’re thinking how could I betray a friend? How could I let Hector lie there bleeding, waiting for his mother to come home just days before Christmas? You’re thinking how can I destroy another family?”
“Deni, that’s what you’re thinking. That’s your guilt talking,” said Marsha.
Deni buried his head in his hands and shook his head. By this time, he had nothing left; he was emotionally and mentally spent. “Everyone says confessing is good, but then once confessed you can never deny. You must face it every day with everyone who knows.” He looked at Marsha. “Now, it will never go away. It is out there in the open now, so thanks a lot.”
Marsha stood from her seat, walked around the table to Deni and put her arms around his shoulders. She kissed him on the cheek and said, “Try to relax your mind tonight. Do some reading, writing and praying.” She collected her files. “I’ll have the guards walk you back to your cell now.”
“Already,” Deni said. “Can’t you stay a little longer?”
Marsha’s mothering instincts were becoming overwhelming. She wanted nothing more than to sit with him and hold him, but it would go against her professional ethics and may even damage the case. “No, I can’t. I have other clients,” she lied. “Give yourself a break, okay.” When Deni nodded, she left the interview room.
Shortly after, the guard came in for Deni, and escorted him back to his cell. Deni sat on his bed and stared at the composition book and the Quran lying on the floor. He didn’t have much inspiration for either at the moment. He only wanted to take Marsha’s suggestion and that was to let his mind relax. He lay his head against the wall and closed his eyes. For brief moments he was able to go without any thought and it felt good.
Chapter 21
The next morning, Deni waited patiently in the prison interview room. He was relieved to see Marsha, someone he could actually talk to who wasn’t trying to diagnose him, chastise him, intimidate him, or frighten him. Deni trusted she was there to help him, despite being paid.
Marsha sat down across from him and opened her briefcase. “How are you feeling this morning?”
Deni stretched back in his seat. “I survived.”
“I really think you should talk to Dr. Sodhi about what happened,” Marsha responded.
“Why?”
“It’s her profession. She is much better equipped to talk about such things.”
“Because she has a diploma, a piece of paper that states she is qualified to talk about feelings.”
“You don’t think that highly of psychology, do you?” Marsha asked.
“Yeah, sure if someone’s legitimately crazy, but not this feel-good therapy shit. Everyone’s got problems,” replied Deni.
“Some people’s problems are bigger; some people’s problems are too big a burden to carry alone.”
Deni signed. “Can we drop it? You are my lawyer not my shrink.”
Marsha opened Deni’s file. “Alright. Let’s see, the day after Hector’s murder you returned to Temple.”
“I couldn’t stand to be in Reading,” he said flatly.
“Was that to escape the police, the media?” Marsha asked.
“The media! Good God no, do you think the media cared about the deaths of two Hispanic drug dealers? According to everyone in Reading, they got what they deserved. The police didn’t even care. They were happy someone did their job for them. What’s the difference if two undesirables are off the street?” he said with sarcasm.
Marsha reclined in her seat and studied Deni. “That must have made you angry.”
Deni stood from his seat and paced nervously around. “That’s when I really realized how fucked up this world is. To some, that murder made my brother a hero, while others believed it to be a hate crime. Everyone had their truth.”
“But only you knew the truth,” replied Marsha.
“I used to believe the truth was important, that’s why I wanted to be a journalist. I was naive enough to believe truth was justice.” He turned to Marsha with a wry grin. “I was naive enough to believe the pen was mightier than the sword. I believed when you illuminate the truth there will be justice, but people really only want to believe what they want. Most people don’t give a shit about the truth; they just want what makes them feel better about themselves.”
Marsha peeked at Deni’s folder. “Let’s talk about what happened when you returned to Temple.”
The City of Brotherly Love was a crap hole, especially the neighborhood around Temple. It was filthy, rat infested, graffiti pain
ted, and it suited Deni’s mood just fine. Ironically, he felt at home among the desperate and impoverished. Despite being a white college boy, no one in the neighborhood gave him any trouble.
On a blustery day, Deni walked around the neighborhood wondering how Philly got the nickname, City of Brotherly Love. He gazed at the people waiting for buses, stopping in the restaurants and bodegas.
It was around two in the afternoon when Deni stopped inside a local dive bar. He bought a beer and a pack of cigarettes. The first beer went down fast, so he ordered another and lit a cigarette. Gazing around at the other patrons, he realized he was way too young to be one of them. The joint was full of down-on-their-luck souls whose survival depended on their next drink.
After a while, Deni stopped counting drinks and when he finally left, it was dark outside and the City of Brotherly Love was ripe for the battle. Derelicts lingered, the prostitutes were out, and the cop cars flashed their lights.
Deni watched as a black kid, a kid who reminded him of his friend T-Bone, strolled casually down the street with his hood pulled low over his eyes and his hands deep in his pockets. A cop car slowed behind the kid and suddenly turned on its lights. The kid turned, paying no mind to the cop.
“You there,” said the cop through his speaker. The cop parked the car and approached the kid, while the kid stood motionless and afraid.
“Hey!” Deni yelled at the cop. “Why don’t you leave him alone? He’s not doing anything?”
“Why don’t you stay out of this!” yelled the cop.
Deni stepped up between the kid and the cop. “Why don’t you let him be? Why do you gotta be bustin’ in everyone’s business. Have a quota to make? Do you get bonuses for how many kids you pick up?”
The cop could smell the alcohol on Deni’s breath. “Can I see you identification?”
Deni hesitated and immediately thought of Hector’s murder. “No.”
“Wrong answer!” The cop grabbed Deni by the arm and pushed him up against the squad car. He frisked Deni and found his wallet in his back pocket. The cop studied the contents—Deni’s driver’s license, college I.D. “Nineteen. Does mommy and daddy know what you’re up to when you should be studying?”
The Insurrectionist Page 21
