The Innocents: a cop pursues a violent felon to avenge his father

by Nathan Senthil

  Ryatt punched the steering wheel of the Hummer, making it honk. Leo grabbed the remote and turned off the TV.

  They had first heard about Thomas at 11:00 a.m. MST, when they were studying a bank in Scottsbluff, Nebraska. Since live events and breaking news were unaffected by time zones, Ryatt calculated that it was 1:00 p.m. in Detroit when the news reported Thomas’s murder.

  They dropped everything and headed eastward with one thought in mind. Retribution.

  Moving inch by inch, the traffic thinned as it climbed onto a bridge; a huge swarm of police officers were directing the influx at its entry. Giggling, Leo pulled his MAC-10 out from under the seat.

  Ryatt shook his head, and he put it back. The pigs were not checking anyone, but regulating the vehicles to take only the left lane.

  Once on the bridge, the traffic moved at a slightly better pace. First thing Ryatt noticed was the SWAT helicopter on the right lane. It was being hauled onto the back of an eighteen-wheeler.

  Interest piqued, Ryatt observed the scene. A crane was standing on the riverbank and pulling an SUV from the water. A section of the bridge was broken on that side.

  Ryatt tapped Leo’s shoulder and motioned at the glovebox. Leo took out a pair of binoculars and handed them to Ryatt. He aimed them at the car in the river.

  It had a Michigan plate.

  Something didn’t seem right.

  “Search news from around this area,” Ryatt said.

  Leo pulled his phone and began working.

  “Nothing from major networks,” Leo said. “But a local YouTube channel, one Rapids Tribune, got something.”

  Leo played the video.

  The teenager/reporter said that a high-speed pursuit took place on the bridge connecting Iowa and Illinois. The kid with his mobile camera tried to videotape the occupants of the SUVs, but the armed SWAT men did not allow him.

  He did however manage to record the other two SUVs. One had its front crushed, the other one was peppered with bullet holes. Lolly went back in the video and paused it.

  On closer inspection, he found they both had Michigan plates.

  Could be Bugsy sending his men after Ryatt. First they got Thomas, tortured him, and got Ryatt’s location. Then they sent goon squads after him. Did Thomas also spill the beans about Iris?

  Suddenly out of breath, Ryatt pulled the car over and angry horns started blaring.

  He took his cell out and opened a live monitoring app. Without Iris’s knowledge, Ryatt had installed several cameras in their house, to keep an eye on his mom.

  Living room was empty, so was the kitchen. He swiped it to the bedroom. No, she was not there either.

  Horns were now mixed with drivers shouting. But Ryatt didn’t move one bit. What had happened to Iris? Had Bugsy abducted her as well?

  Just as he thought about calling her, he saw Iris getting out of the bathroom, toweling her hair.

  Of course…

  Taking a huge volume of air, he began driving again.

  Ryatt had to admit. Some sort of guardian angel was intervening here. Not only intercepting the hit team, but also, somehow, keeping Iris safe.

  But Ryatt couldn’t delegate his responsibility of keeping himself and his mom safe any longer. To get the control back, he needed to eliminate the only threat in his life: Bugsy.

  Chapter 43

  May 13, 2019. 06:03 A.M.

  In their eighteen plus hours on wheels, they switched driving between them to get the necessary sleep. Before entering Michigan, Leo changed the number plates.

  Ryatt opened his duffel and took two lollipops from it. His mom had said that they weren’t going to produce Zesty anymore. That batch was the last, and Ryatt decided he would use those two for Roman and Bugsy.

  Leo drove straight to Calabria and parked at a street behind. So early in the morning, it was locked. But was it truly? Roman conducted his business from this shithole, meaning it must have many important documents, files, or hard drives. He wouldn’t leave it unprotected.

  Ryatt strolled to the bar’s entrance, cupped the sides of his eyes and looked through the front door glass. No one was inside, but a ceiling fan was spinning over the bar counter.

  Ryatt instructed Leo to bring the jimmy from the Hummer and break into the shop.

  While Leo did the work, Ryatt scanned the neighborhood. The street was free of people. Maybe a few hobos here and a junkie there, but they wouldn’t pay attention to two old men lingering in front of a shop.

  Something moved at the corner of his eye.

  He looked up at the building across the street. A hotel. Ryatt squinted and studied the second-story window closely. The drapes moved but it could be Ryatt’s mind.

  Discarding it as a false alarm, Ryatt turned on his heels. Leo had successfully pried the door open.

  When inside the bar, Ryatt tiptoed towards the counter. And there, like he suspected, was a man lying on a mattress, down on the floor. Apparently guarding the bar, he parted his mouth and snored.

  Ryatt crouched and wedged the Desert Eagle’s muzzle into the guard’s open maw.

  But he did not wake up. Must be drunk.

  Irritated, Ryatt shook the barrel and the metal grated the guard’s teeth.

  This time, he jumped and woke up in terror, hurting his throat.

  Ryatt pointed his pistol at a telephone in the corner. “Call your fat boss and tell him that his bar’s been broken into.”

  “Y-you… you are Lolly,” the man said. His eyes widened in realization. “Fuck you, cunt.”

  “He chooses the hard way,” Ryatt informed Leo and hooked his knuckles onto the guard’s temple, disorienting him. Then he grabbed a towel under the bar table and bundled it up, before shoving it down the guard’s mouth.

  Leo bent over and put the muzzle of the MAC-10 under the guard’s chin. Ryatt shook his head. Then he lowered the gun and put it under his armpit.

  Ryatt thought for a few seconds. Not completely non-fatal, so he shook his head again. The MAC crept down to the guard’s leg and the muzzle rested on a foot.

  Ryatt nodded, and Leo squeezed the trigger.

  It was just a fraction of a second but at least three to five bullets would have smashed their way through the ankle. The guard’s eyes bulged and he let out a shrill, which the towel muffled. Ryatt let the loyal guardian writhe in pain for a good two minutes.

  When he was exhausted, Ryatt grabbed his hair and slapped him. “Still prefer the hard way?”

  The barkeeper trembled and shook his head.

  Ryatt pulled him up and dragged him to the telephone. Before giving him the receiver, he called Leo over and told him to put the muzzle on the guard’s zipper.

  “Just a pair of things to think about if you want to warn Roman,” Ryatt said.

  The guard made the call and acted his best. Well, the fear and the breathlessness weren’t acting.

  “He’s on his way,” the guard said and dropped the receiver.

  “Good boy.” Ryatt dragged him back and they all nestled together under the bar counter, safely tucked away from the front door.

  Fourteen minutes later, a bunch of angry footfalls pervaded the bar.

  Ryatt filled his lungs and stood to his full height, pulling his gun out. Leo followed suit.

  Roman’s jaw dropped at the sight of Ryatt. He had two goons at his side, well-built beefcakes with ponytails. They were twins.

  “Y-You…”

  “M-m-me.” Ryatt mocked. “Yes.”

  One of the ponytails slowly moved his hand towards his back.

  “Not this again,” Ryatt muttered and shook his head. “You wanna tell him, Rome?”

  Roman did. “Don’t, Levi! You’ll be dead before you touch your gun.” Then he addressed Ryatt. “What do you want?”

  “Someone has to pay for what happened to Thomas.”

  Roman said, “No, I don’t know—”

  “Cut the crap!” Ryatt barked. “First, tell those monkeys to lose their guns. And it’s choice time.
You or Bugsy.”

  Roman’s Adam Apple bobbed as he scratched the back of his head. Then he ordered the ponytails to drop the weapons, which they did. Leo skirted the table and picked them up.

  “Come here.” Ryatt led them to Roman’s office and closed the hefty door behind. Should be soundproofed. Good.

  Ryatt marched the weeping guard to a corner and stood him there. But he collapsed down and began tending to his mangled foot. Those types of wounds didn’t upset Ryatt’s stomach anymore. Perhaps he had evolved.

  “You two gentlemen,” Ryatt pointed at the ponytails, “sit beside your crying friend over there, and you, sir,” Ryatt motioned at Roman, “take the chair.”

  No one obliged him despite his good manners.

  Roman began, “Come on. I agreed that I’ll help—”

  The butt of the Desert Eagle knocked the words back into his mouth.

  “Shut up and sit!”

  Now everyone obliged the man with the gun.

  Leo made a quick trip to the Hummer and brought back a bag. While Ryatt kept watch, he took a pair of zip ties and tied Roman to the chair.

  “Big mistake,” one of the goons said under his breath. “Wait till Don knows you’re here.”

  Ryatt lifted his eyebrows at Leo who shrugged and pulled the MAC out. Not waiting for the confirmation, he casually shot the ponytail.

  A burst of bullets shattered the head of the goon and sprayed its contents behind the wall.

  “No!” the other ponytail screamed. They said twins could feel each other’s pain. Though Ryatt wondered if it was true, he wouldn’t ask the brother. Ryatt was not a sadist.

  Leo was.

  Amidst the living ponytail’s wailing, the guard cried even more while Roman sat motionless, a smelly puddle forming under his chair. He knew what happened to people Ryatt and Leo had bound. He had seen it firsthand.

  Ryatt sat on the table and put his shoe on Roman’s broken knee. “Tell me what I want to know, and I promise on my mother’s life, I won’t do anything to you.”

  “Y-yes.” Roman shivered.

  “I want to know about Bugsy’s mansion, how many men are there right now, the security codes, the dogs, the blind spots in the CCTV, and don’t forget, I need the key, too. I know what happens if we tamper with the lock.”

  Roman said, “The key is in my pocket,” and then gave out all the requested information. He also told them that there was a magnetic sensor fitted to his car, and that Bugsy’s front gates would automatically read it and let them in.

  Ryatt searched the pantry and found a glove. He wore it and inserted his hand into Roman’s drenched pant pocket and pulled the wet key fob out.

  Ryatt said, “Alright.”

  Roman said, “P-please untie me.”

  Ryatt walked away, not bothering to answer. Leo lifted the bag from the floor and dropped it on the table; the contents inside clanked menacingly.

  Roman’s eyes almost popped out as he shook in utter terror. “You promised you wouldn’t do anything.”

  “I did, and I am not,” Ryatt said and took out a lollipop from his pocket.

  No amount of getting used to or evolution could have prepared his stomach for what came next.

  * * *

  Roman took an eternity to die. But Leo didn’t stop doing stuff to him even after he was dead. Ryatt hadn’t seen anything so animalistic and primal. He didn’t think he would ever recover from the psychological trauma. But Leo didn’t seem to mind, not one bit. He kept on doing what he did, sometimes with his bare hands.

  The guard had in fact fainted when Leo was only halfway through. The living ponytail had become catatonic.

  “Enough,” Ryatt said. “Time to wrap it up.”

  While Leo cleaned up the evidence, Ryatt went to the Hummer and opened the tailgate. From inside, he took a pair of rubber gloves and pulled them over his hands.

  Another flicker of movement on the second-story window of the hotel across the street caught his attention. But he was unable to find anyone or anything between the drapes.

  It was just too dark.

  Shrugging, he lifted two five-gallon gas cans from the Hummer and walked into the bar.

  Chapter 44

  May 13, 2019. 08:31 A.M.

  Gabriel was sitting at the window, enjoying a cupcake. He munched, savoring the soft sugary goodness, as another wave of heat washed over him. On rare happy occasions, he treated himself with cakes for breakfast. Since the hotel had no chocolate cake, his favorite, he’d settled for cupcakes.

  The reason for his festive mood was the three-story inferno raging from Calabria, dancing to the wind like an orange butterfly.

  A gust of air fueled the fire and smeared smoke over Gabriel’s face. Inhaling the blackness, he bit another cupcake in half. Just as he began appreciating the combined taste of sweetened wheat flour and fiery murderous rage, he heard sirens.

  Ugh.

  Closing the window, he stood up and walked into the bathroom. Like he suspected, his face was covered in soot and gray flakes. Though he washed it away, the stain felt permanent. Didn’t matter, though. He blemished a good portion of his soul for revenge. And those who judged him for being no different than a criminal, they hadn’t had a call from the coroner who stated that their dad had been bound to a chair and shot in the face. Now that Roman had possibly died an equally cruel death, justice was almost served. Karma was a bitch, so expecting its enforcer to be a pleasant, by-the-book snob was nonsensical.

  As he came out of the bathroom, he noticed an envelope near the front door. He hadn’t noticed it earlier. Someone must have slid it under during the night.

  Gabriel carefully tore off the edge and shook the paper out. Three lines were typed on it. A user ID, a password, and a hyperlink.

  Gabriel took out his phone and entered the web address but didn’t press return.

  “Stupid,” Gabriel muttered and put the phone back in his pocket. He grabbed the jacket hanging from the wall and took the burner out.

  In it, he logged onto the website. It was a bank in Switzerland.

  Mildly aware of what was happening, he filled the user ID and password.

  And pressed Enter.

  The screen announced that Gabriel was now a multimillionaire.

  Whistling, he put the envelope and burner into his rucksack. Then he swiftly wore the jacket he had kept ready and clipped the holster, before leaving.

  Bill’s room was closed. Let him sleep. Where Gabriel was heading now, it would become dangerous and ugly.

  Chapter 45

  May 13, 2019. 08:45 A.M.

  The Chrysler eased to a stop in front of Bugsy’s, and like Roman said, the intimidating gates parted automatically. In the meantime, Ryatt and Leo pulled their respective masks over their faces. The green zombie and red demon.

  Though Ryatt had forgotten the mansion’s color, he did remember its size. And it was gigantic as ever.

  But not a single sentry on sight.

  Bugsy should be lethargic with the security detail here because the news about what happened to his men in Illinois had not leaked to the national media.

  Leo crossed himself and muttered Isaiah 54:17. His fingertips, nails, and skin around them, still pinkish from Roman’s blood. Just a while ago, he had cut an eyeball out of a living man, but now he was all God-fearing like. Ryatt wondered, for the umpteenth time, how the cogs turned inside that little head of Leo’s.

  He stopped the car at the entrance; the security camera was pointed at their windshield. Leo observed it, too, and solved the conundrum with a bullet from his suppressor-fitted machine pistol.

  The front door was thick, and that same sneaky lock was protecting it.

  Ryatt pulled out Roman’s key fob and selected the one that unlocked this door. Sweating behind the rubber, he operated the lock with the finesse of a burglar.

  It unlocked with a click.

  Weapon in hand, he went in and closed the door behind.

  The house was still, as if
time itself had frozen. Ryatt lay on the floor, so did Leo, presenting smaller targets just in case someone burst through.

  No one did.

  Ryatt crawled along the entryway, and when he reached the end of the wall, he peeked out on both sides. The hall was quiet, too, the silence so absolute that it rang in his ears.

  He pushed himself up and sat on his haunches. Confident that they wouldn’t confront CCTV, they removed their masks and crouched up the stairs.

  A mechanical dentist-chair-like thing rested on the corner of the top step. Ryatt felt warm, looking at it.

  He remembered that Bugsy’s room was to the left. Just as he turned around on the landing, something shifted on the shiny banister.

  A mini electrical-bomb went off in his stomach and a sickening sensation stunned him. Microseconds later, he heard the cocking of a gun; the click-clack of a round being chambered was robust. Must be a shotgun.

  “Stop right there!” someone screamed behind them. “Don’t move a muscle.”

  Ryatt could outdraw anyone and shoot them.

  If they were in front of him.

  “Reach for the skies!”

  Ryatt did not obey. Better to die by a spray of pellets than whatever Bugsy and his men would do if they were to catch him alive.

  “I said hands up!”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Leo stiffen.

  “Don’t move!”

  Leo said, “Thank you, Ry. Thanks so much.”

  Then he smiled and winked, slowly turning towards the voice. No, no, no. Ryatt knew that look, the madness in his eyes. It was the same look when he set something on fire. When he flayed Roman’s penis.

  Leo giggled and dashed, and the explosion of the shotgun shook the corridor. It was so loud that it almost swallowed the series of gunshots from Leo’s MAC-10.

  Almost.

  Ryatt turned on his feet in time to see Leo crash on the guy, and they both limply fell. Gun at ready, Ryatt sprinted towards them. He pulled Leo off the man who had several holes in his face.