Nicola saw it as the only way to keep people from just popping up on his doorstep with cameras to shove down his throat in the name of good journalism. Plus, he couldn’t be sure that someone posing as a reporter might not be someone sent to kill him or his family.
Since they had come home a few days ago, Nicola had gutted their original security system and put another in its place. He had also put in cameras of his own throughout the entire house where he could monitor everything. Huge motion lights had been placed around the perimeter of the house and the few friends he had left on the department sent cars to heavily patrol the area.
Essentially, they were living in a prison. Although it was a nice prison with all the trapping of luxury, it was still a prison.
But he had to keep things tight. He was both prisoner and warden.
As expected, Ivy was going crazy. She had promised not to go into the office for a few days and work from home remotely, but sitting around watching every local station in the city and most of the major networks across the nation cover her husband’s story with no regard for the truth was making her insane.
Ivy reminded him constantly of her profession. She knew PR. She knew crisis communications. She had begged him to release a statement. He would not.
She had begged him to do one interview with one of the stations in town she had a good relationship with. He would not.
She had asked him to call in and do talk radio with the most controversial man in radio, because she was certain the public would see his side. But Nicola refused.
He told her every time that she asked that he was waiting on the investigation to be over. According to him, the police had a gag order until then. But Ivy felt that by the time that this was all over, his silence would have destroyed his image and any chances of a career forever.
She pleaded with him daily, he said no to all of her suggestions and even a few of her demands.
The kids had been taken out of summer camp and were confined to the house also. Just the thought of the perp making good on his promise to hurt the children and then leaving them in a position to be vulnerable was simply out of the question for Nicola.
They would stay where he could protect them at all times.
Buried in buttermilk biscuits, salmon croquettes and bacon at the moment, he sloshed around the kitchen swinging cabinets open and closed while the boys argued at the table.
“I didn’t eat my booger,” Madison yelled at his twin brother. He slammed his small fists against the table. “I don’t eat boogers. It’s gross!”
“Yes, you did,” Adamo said emphatically. His eyes narrowed like his father’s and brow furrowed. “I saw you eat it. You munched it up and then swallowed…” He quickly played out the gross action with his finger, sticking it into his mouth. Nicola had always said that Adamo would be a cop when he grew up. He was always the one that Nicola could depend on to give an even, accurate account of any situation - how something was broken, what happened to a toy, who did what. The boy seemed to be unable to tell a lie.
Their little brothers laughed at them as they became more heated, but Nicola ignored them all. With is ear buds pressed tightly in his earlobes he fixed six plates of breakfast food, deaf to the war brewing at the table. He had learned not to get enthralled in what he called kiddie politics.
“Take it back booty head,” Madison demanded, throwing a fork across the table and hitting his brother in the forehead.
“Ouch! I’m not taking it back, but I am telling Mom, cootie breath. She told you to stop eating your boogers.”
The smaller twin boys laughed again. They recited the words in unison. “Cootie breath, booty head.” With a naughty snicker, they pointed at both of their big brothers, gazing out past their heavy, curled lashes and green, sparkling eyes. It was exciting to them to watch the Titans of their childhood fight for dominance.
“Well, if you tell Mom that, then I’ll tell her that you snuck and watched Cartoon Network after bedtime,” Madison snarled. “And you’ll be in as much trouble as me you little snitch.”
Adamo sucked in his frustration and thought hard for a moment. Finally, he squared in on his brother. “Fine, then we’ll both get in trouble, but I’m telling,” he promised.
Pulling the ear buds out of his ear, Nicola looked over at the table and surveyed his sons. “What’s going on here?” he asked, knowing without knowing that something was wrong.
Both boys pointed at each other and began to tell.
“Adamo snuck and watched Cartoon Network after bedtime,” Madison yelled first.
“Maddy won’t stop eating his boogers,” Adamo screeched.
“Save it for your mother,” Nicola said, putting the plates in front of the boys. “Eat up. You’re too skinny.”
“We’re not skinny,” the youngest said. His voice sounded like a mouse as he squeaked at his father.
Nicola cut a smile and looked over his boys. The sight of them, carefree and happy made him proud.
Despite the war brewing outside of his door, his boys still loved him. They were still happy, still unaware of how loathed their father had become.
Grateful for the moment, he ran his hand over each boy’s head. “You are skinny sticks ,boys. You won’t be men until you’ve eaten.”
The sound behind him let him know that Ivy had entered into the kitchen. He turned around and looked over at her. She was wearing her normal loungewear of pink running shorts and a green Nike t-shirt with her hair pulled into a ponytail.
“Are you off your conference call?” he asked.
She looked in the refrigerator for a bottle of water and cut her eyes at him. “It’s ridiculous that you won’t let me go to work.”
“You are working,” he said, shaking his head.
“I’ve got my own career to think of, Nicola.” She slammed the door and turned to walk back out of the kitchen.
“I’ve cooked your favorite,” he said, drawing her back in.
She stopped in her tracks, stomach burning to its core.
“I'm not hungry,” she lied.
Nicola walked up behind her and kissed her shoulder. “Are you sure about that?” He ran a hand over her stomach. “If you’re not hungry, maybe she is.”
Despite her many frustrations, Ivy couldn’t help but smile. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere this morning, Nicky. I want to go to work.” She stopped. “Scratch that. I need to go to work.”
“Is it so bad being here with us?” he asked playfully.
“Horrible,” she said sarcastically.
“You go back tomorrow. There is no need to pout today,” he said, pulling at her arm. “Now come eat with me and the boys. We miss you. You’ve been locked in that damned room working all day.”
Unable to deny all of her men at the same time, she turned on her heels and followed her husband to the kitchen table where the boys waited.
As soon as they sat down at the table by the beautiful morning view of blue skies and chirping birds outside of the bay window, Nicola’s phone dinged with a text.
Ivy raised a brow immediately, forbidding him to even look at it. He hesitated at first, his gut telling him that it was important. But the urgency of her snarl made him question if he would survive the aftermath of digging in his pocket for it.
“Let us pray,” Nicola said with a smirk.
The children and Ivy bowed their heads and clasped their hands together.
Nicola began, “Lord…”
The phone dinged again.
Nicola sighed. “Please Lord, bless us for this food that we are now about to receive…”
The phone rang.
“Shit!” he exclaimed.
“Nicky!” Ivy snapped.
He put up a finger. “Baby, just hold on one minute.” He reached down and pulled out his phone. He was about to turn off the ringer when he saw the text. “DeMario’s mother and lawyer are holding a news conference at The Med right now. Turn on your television.” It was from one of his friends, Cory, i
n his old unit.
“Damn it,” Nicola said, standing up. “Where is the remote?”
“Probably in the counter drawer where it always is,” Ivy said, frowning. “What’s wrong?” She turned in her chair to watch him, her fingers clasping the back of the chair.
“The perp is having a news conference,” Nicola growled, walking over to the counter. He opened the drawer and pulled out the remote. Turning on the television in the nook near the table, he leaned against the counter and smacked his lips.
As soon as the television clicked on, DeMario’s mother appeared on the screen standing beside her lawyer while her son sat in a wheelchair. The live shot was a horrid reminder of what the media was capable of.
“Look at him up there like a fucking victim,” Nicola said, feeling his blood boil.
“Oooh, Daddy,” Adamo said, shaking his head. “You’re cursing.”
Nicola turned up his lips into a smirk. “Thanks for stating the obvious there, chief.”
“Shh!” Ivy said, leaning into the television. “Turn it up. I can’t hear.”
“It’s all lies anyway.” Nicola pressed hard down on the remote with his thumb taking out his frustration on the button.
DeMario Washington’s mother was barely 16 years older than him. Standing at the podium with her lawyer with crimson red streaks in her well-curled mane and false eye lashes that extended nearly an inch out from her face, she nervously read from the paper that had been prepared for her.
“My name is Marquetta Washington. My son, DeMario Washington, was a victim of police brutality suffered at the hand of the Memphis Police Department,” she opened. Her voice quivered as she spoke. Grabbing the microphone to pull it closer, she cleared her throat. “He was beaten within an inch of his life by Sergeant Ni…Nick-cola Agusta, a Vice detective from one of the investigative bureaus ran by the Memphis Police Department under Director Amway.”
Nicola bated an eye. “Well, maybe it’s not me that’s in trouble here. We should be going after Agusta, whoever the fuck that is.”
Ivy rolled her eyes but said nothing.
Marquetta took a deep breath and wiped a tear from her eye. “He beat him because of bad intelligence from another police officer that somehow he was the Baby Boy killer, when in fact, he just wanted to share the information that he thought might help solve the case. After a ten minute beating caught on tape by onlookers, my son, DeMario suffered broken ribs, broken teeth, a cracked jaw that had to be wired, multiple abra… abrasion to the face, head and chest. He has a hairline fracture to the skull and a bruised kidney.”
Ivy looked back at her husband and frowned. “Did you really do all of that?”
Nicola sighed. “I thought I did more. I guess I’m losing my touch.”
“There are reports that my son was carrying a weapon, but he was not. There are reports that he somehow intimidated the Sergeant with information about his family, but my son had never met him before the beating. It comes down to a man in power taking advantage of the disenfranchised because of his skin color and his socioeconomic status.” She looked up from the paper. “And we want justice.” She looked back down at the paper and gained her composure. “How many of our sons, husband and fathers have to be nearly killed by white officers who hate young black men simply because they wear their pants low or listen to a certain type of music? Why are our children not safe from the very men and women who are trained to uphold the law when no one else will? Sgt. Agusta is a prime example of what the broken system looks like. Letting him walk away without the loss of his job and his freedom for his crimes will be an injustice to all of us. We are humans, not animals. Our children are people, and they deserve to be protected from bigots who look to make examples out of them just because they can’t comp...competently do their jobs and find the right people responsible for their cases.”
“Oh no she didn’t just…” Ivy said, eyes narrowed on the screen.
Nicola turned the television off. “I’ve seen enough.”
She spun around in her chair. “But Nicola we need to watch this to prepare a sound rebuttal through our channels,” Ivy said, going into work mode.
“I don’t want you involved in this, Ivy. How many times do I have to tell you?” he said, turning around to face the counter to hide the sheer anger in his face. He clutched the marble end with his hands until the white in his knuckles began to show and bowed his head.
Ivy stood up from the table and looked over her children, who watched on confused and mortified. “Babies, will you excuse us?” she said softly with a painted on smile. Walking over to Nicola, she put her hand on his back and led him into the adjoining entertainment room.
“Nicola,” she said, taking his face into her hands. “Nicky, you have to let me help you. I can,” she pleaded.
He shook his head. “No, I don’t want you anywhere near this. Everyone who gets close is going to get burned.” He slipped her hands into his own as he tried to talk softer.
“I’m your wife. If anyone should be standing beside you…”
“I know you mean well. I do, but you don’t understand what’s happening here. This isn’t something that can be cleaned up with a media statement and news conference. This isn’t something that’s going to just go away.”
“You don’t think that I don’t know that?” she asked, eyebrows spiked. “But you can’t go at it alone. Now, I can…”
His stance was now protective. “Ivy, you’re my wife,” Nicola said, eyes blazing, voice in command mode. “I’m responsible for you and for my sons. And I’m telling you that you are not to get involved. I don’t want one camera in your face and I don’t want one statement out of your mouth. I don’t want anyone to know who you are. Do you understand me?”
Ivy blinked hard.
“Do you?” Nicola growled. His voice rose. He wanted an answer now.
Ivy’s eyes watered at the sheer roughness of his tone. He hadn’t spoken to her like that in so long until she had forgotten what his truly angry tone sounded like.
Shaking her head, she stepped back away from him. “You’re a real bastard, you know that? You put us in this position and then you turn around and tell me that I can’t do anything about it? That we can’t defend ourselves? That we can’t tell people that I’m not married to a racist bigot like everyone is accusing you of being? Yes, I understand you. You’re setting this entire family up for failure,” she said, turning away from him.
Nicola was left speechless. Swallowing down words meant for a harsher audience, he humbled himself.
“Ivy, I'm doing this for your own good,” he said, reaching out for her.
Her shoulders went slack as she heard the pain in his voice, still her temper flared with irritation. The conflicting emotions made the room too small to stomach. “Have you ever given consideration to the fact that you can’t know what our own good is without allowing us to weigh in on it?” she asked, shaking her head. Walking away from him, she headed up stairs to be alone where she could cry in peace.
Nicola pounced down on the side of the sofa and wiped his tired face. “I know what’s best,” he answered her. “And as long as I keep you safe, I don't really give a damn about being a bastard.”
It was a sign that he was truly angry. Nicola only talked to himself, answered others and formulated plans audibly when he was beyond himself, and only one woman could do that to him.
Drive him crazy.
Make him question everything.
Make him regret.
He heard her feet upstairs as she stomped into the bedroom and slammed the door.
That only meant one thing for him.
The damned couch.
As he heard a slap of a small hand against bare skin from the kitchen, one of his sons began to cry. He was about to go in and check on the boys, who were known to break out in fights, when the doorbell rang.
“Really?” Nicola growled.
Stalking through the hallway to the front door, he peered out to find Johns
on, unannounced and unwelcomed again.
He opened the door quickly. “You know that if you get caught here, then your ass is just as suspended as mine, right?” Nicola asked, pulling him in and looking around outside before he slammed the door.
Johnson looked towards the direction of the kitchen as he heard a child crying. “Is everyone okay?”
“I forgot, you don’t have kids,” Nicola said, locking each metal latch on the wooden door back. The clicking sound of steel echoed down the hall. He rolled his eyes as he turned to Johnson and led him towards the noise. “If they aren’t screaming, crying, laughing, eating or making a mess, then normally something is wrong.”
Johnson raised a brow. “Sounds like fun.”
He could not keep the obvious sarcasm out of his voice. He listened closer and realized that he heard multiple cries coming from what sounded like a football team of children.
They walked into the den, where Nicola took a seat in his favorite reclining leather chair. Johnson sat across from him on the sofa and pulled out the card that Amway had given him.
“The Director told me to give this to you,” Johnson said, looking at the name on the back of the card one last time.
Nicola took the card and flipped it over. Reading the name, he released a long exhale and nodded. “Okay,” he said, biting down on his lip.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Johnson asked, intrigued.
Nicola looked at his watch and stood up. Walking over to the small bar carved into the corner wall and poured himself a shot of Gentleman’s Jack.
Johnson watched his partner as he poured a second shot. “Hey, I’m not opposed to an early morning drink. Don’t get me wrong. But I at least like to know what I’m drinking to.”
The World in Reverse Page 16
