Sons of a Brutality

by Daniel Jeudy

  Narek looked down at the plate of food, unable to hold his cousin’s gaze. The truth was, he did occasionally think about dying but never allowed his thoughts to linger on the notion in case doubt entered his head. Hesitation could make a person freeze at the wrong moment. Besides, Erik didn’t understand life in the same way he did. There were rules in place to safeguard the more prominent players in the criminal underworld. Narek had dedicated most of his life to get to the position he was in today. He’d shed buckets of blood and was now an extremely successful gangster, not some bitch ass wannabe cunt.

  “I’m going outside for a smoke,” he said.

  “When you come back, give me a hand to clean up so I can go home. You probably haven’t even noticed, but the new dish-pig I put on failed to show his ass again tonight.”

  “Did the cocksucker call?”

  “Nope.”

  Narek shook his head with a comical expression. “You want me to pay him a visit for you?” he joked.

  “Fuck off, cousin.”

  Narek was grinning again as he walked through the dining area and made his way outside. The night air was warm, and a full moon hung above the city skyline, bathing its buildings in cold silver light.

  He lit a cigarette and looked up the street until he was confident nobody was lurking behind a car. Maybe tomorrow he’d buy Anna flowers, then take her and the kids out for a movie. Erik’s guidance struck a chord, and he felt a very slight pang of responsibility when he thought about his wife lying unconscious on the kitchen floor. He didn’t exactly enjoy hurting her, but it felt as though he had no control over his fiery temperament. The gangster life trained him to strike hard before the other person had a chance to get ready for the blow. It was entrenched behavior, which kept him breathing all these years.

  His cigarette tasted like stale dog piss, most likely because he’d smoked half the packet during the afternoon. He flicked the butt onto the road, leaving a spitball on the sidewalk for good measure. As he turned to make his way back inside the restaurant, he caught a burst of movement from around the side of the building.

  Someone was coming toward him with urgency, closing the space between them in no time at all. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was unfolding—it was already too late to try sprinting for the door. The assailant sneered from beneath a black hoodie, extending a pistol in a manner that suggested he wasn’t about to miss. Narek recognized the familiar flash of the gun barrel as a slug penetrated the right side of his chest, exploding through muscle and knocking him off his feet. It was like he’d been snapped in half by a linebacker who timed their impact to perfection. Narek tried reaching for the revolver he kept at the back of his pants, remembering how he’d left it in the glove compartment of his cousin’s BMW. He gaped up through teary eyes, unable to comprehend what was unfolding.

  The shooter stood over him victoriously. His smooth silhouette blocked the moon. Quiet laughter found a passage into Narek’s mind before another two rounds ripped holes inside his guts, hammering the air right out of him. He scraped the sidewalk with his nails, seeking absolution from the unforgiving terror he faced.

  Erik’s earlier caution resonated in his brain like some taunting summary of his impermanence. Narek didn’t feel the next slug shatter the left side of his rib cage, splintering bone while it bounced around like a pinball. Everything began to decelerate as his consciousness conveyed the grim reality that there would be no more tomorrow. The last thing he observed were two pale blue eyes glaring down at him with familiar animosity—with loathing so intense he could feel it in his spirit.

  Narek heard the tinny rattle of a plastic police badge hitting the ground beside him, then his vision darkened, as the essence of goodness was absorbed by a malevolence too intense for words. Something repulsive and decaying stood nearby, and Narek understood how it waited for him.

  The demon represented the cry of every person he’d murdered and the pain behind each beating his wife endured. It had anticipated being in his presence for such a long time and was restless to become acquainted. A looping reverberation of Anna’s laughter was deafening as the creature’s clammy hand clutched Narek by the hair and dragged his soul off into screeching blackness.

  Fifty-Five

  By the time the Filii Reprobi tip-off came through to the LAPD hotline, quite a lot of activity had transpired during the night. The vigilante killer claimed another victim from the Los Angeles criminal milieu—a high-ranking Armenian Power enforcer who got shot to shit in the suburb of Glendale. The killer dropped a toy police badge beside the contorted corpse on the sidewalk, just as he’d done with the previous four.

  The call came at three a.m. from an unknown male claiming to have seen a woman matching Paige Harding’s description locked inside a room. The informant explained how he delivered some heroin to the property for Edward Cole earlier in the evening. LAPD quickly ascertained that Cole was a very wealthy thirty-two-year-old who inherited a fortune in 2012. Lieutenant Collins was alerted right away, and the joint task force rolled out a short time later.

  Addison didn’t even attempt to sleep after finding the envelope at his backdoor. He just sat inside the house waiting for the impending call, quickly realizing there was no way to alleviate his concerns. Addison had witnessed too many acts from the extreme end of the cruelty spectrum to imagine a satisfying conclusion to this present situation. Instead, he soothed his guilty conscience with an understanding that the dead were already dead. They were deceased today, and they would still be dead come tomorrow. However, his kid was alive, and if that were to change because of anything he did, then there’d be nothing left to go on for.

  He watched from inside his Ford as the FBI SWAT team made final preparations to storm the property. Rick Sharp was speaking with the tactical response team leader half a mile up the road from Cole’s front gates. The dull thud inside Addison’s head was intense. He’d ingested some Tylenol with a mouthful of liquor ten minutes earlier, but his brain remained a hostile place. Impressions of Nate continued flooding his mind. Old memories of him sitting at the table in Eagle Rock, smiling while he ate his cereal, blissfully ignorant to the ways of the world.

  The predawn night contained an edge to its darkness. There was a sense of permanence to the quiet—a haunted quality to the ether that made Addison’s hackles rise. He considered turning around to start driving to Arizona until he got to his son. Just keep on going, then mail in his badge and never return.

  His thoughts were invaded by two bright headlights that sliced through the retreating darkness. He watched Jed pull in beside him and lower the window. “Howdy, Ad,” he said. His eyes darted nervously without ever coming to rest.

  The kid looked as if he’d spent the night entertaining ghosts.

  “How ya doin’?” Addison asked.

  Jed kept his attention trained on the action in front of him. “Yeah, I’m okay … Didn’t get much sleep, is all.”

  Addison saw his partner’s face harden. “You get a nasty phone call last night?” he asked.

  Jed’s knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. “The motherfuckers know my mom’s address,” he confirmed. “They provided me with a detailed description of her bedroom, and they also left a photograph of Rosie’s workplace in the mailbox. The cocksucker told me what a fine waitress she is. Much too bright to be working tables is how he put it. He said the perp would be served up on a plate tonight and that I’m never to mention Filii Reprobi again. What about you?”

  Addison grimaced through a hateful gaze. “They know where Michelle and Nate live, who Nate’s best friend is, and what time he goes to school. The piece of shit knew about a picture the kid has beside his Dallas Cowboys lamp. There was a photo of Nate and Michelle at my backdoor.”

  “Fucking incredible. What are we going to do?”

  “Well, I sure ain’t prepared to place my kid any danger, that’s for certain. Everyone who knows anything about these assholes has warned us from the get-go. We should probably
sit down with the lieutenant and reevaluate when the dust settles. Let’s just wait and see what’s on the other side of that gate. Then we’ll go from there.”

  Jed didn’t react, watching as Rick continued talking with animated hand movements. “You think they got a call as well?” he asked, lighting a smoke.

  “Nah,” Addison replied. “I’ve been watching him closely. He’s like a kid whose Christmases have come at once. I imagine once we find whatever’s been prepared on that land, the fed’s will likely move along to something else quickly. Maybe Pearce and Sharp will keep chewing on the bone, but I’m guessing they probably won’t.”

  “What about us?” Jed wondered.

  Addison was about to ask whether he’d be prepared to risk his mother’s life when he noticed Pearce walking toward them.

  “Howdy, boys. You fellas ready to catch another sicko?”

  Her unbridled enthusiasm confirmed that she’d never received the kind of phone call that had kept the two detectives awake throughout the night. So they affirmed their willingness as best they could before awaiting further clarification.

  “We’ll follow SWAT through those gates in five minutes, and our priority is getting the girl out alive. When you see us start to move, buckle up and fall in behind Rick and me. Best of luck, boys, and I’ll see you both on the other side.”

  Addison watched Agent Pearce hustle her way back to a nearby SUV, envious of the fact she was operating beneath a banner of ignorance. Nothing they found was going to take away the churn inside Addison’s gut. Even if things got wrapped up in a manner to satisfy the demands of Filii Reprobi, they still had Nate’s whereabouts on record.

  It was right then that Addison decided he would devote himself to wiping the murdering assholes off the map. He thought back to Jed’s bleak outlook regarding police justice in Angela Brown’s living room.

  The kid’s hatred remained pressed upon his features. Filii Reprobi had threatened his mom and girlfriend. Hence, there were few misgivings about whether Addison could bank on his partner’s cooperation moving forward. They needed to bide their time and stay focused, but sooner or later, the sons of bitches were going to face a form of justice they never saw coming.

  Fifty-Six

  Officer Sean Brody examined his reflection in the bedroom mirror. The LAPD shield above his heart sparkled like precious metal beneath the ceiling lights, and the name pin on the other side of his chest was buffed to perfection. Sean stared into his blue eyes. They appeared gracious and tranquil, betraying the reality of who he’d become. He was a habitual murderer—a deadly individual by anyone’s standards, but a criminal he was not.

  When Sean arrived home after shooting Narek Avakian, everything felt different. As if a bubble had burst and squared the ledger from which he’d been operating. He’d begun rolling around the floor with uncontrollable laughter while he considered all he had achieved in the last thirteen months. A short time later, he was weeping from the deepest part of his soul, sobbing about everything dishonest and broken in this crooked world.

  After he finished crying, the flame in his belly had lost much of its homicidal-inspired ferocity. So, he tried thinking of other ways to bring a positive change to the city without discharging a gun. It was almost like he’d been standing outside his body this past year—as if life were living him and not one part of it was his own. And now, for the first time since Janey’s murder, he considered whether he might be feeling a little serenity here this morning.

  Sean would be meeting a couple of LAPD buddies for a drink in Santa Monica on Saturday. Maybe he’d ask them what they thought about him transferring across to youth services. Perhaps he needed to focus his energy on preventing underprivileged kids from making bad choices; do his best to stop them from becoming the next Narek Avakian.

  He was confident the LAPD would never solve the investigation into his shootings. Every day police officers were being tasked with solving the homicide of individuals who had no right to be living in the first place. Why should a cop give two fucks about people who make the world a better place when they’re gone?

  The prevailing immorality of modern society wasn’t going to change due to him taking out some trash. But if one wicked seed could poison an entire district, then the reverse must also apply when a teenager is rehabilitated from choosing a life of crime. The deliverance concept was what got him interested in becoming a cop in the first place, before gradually losing his bearings until his partner’s murder blew him entirely off course.

  Sean walked across his room and opened a window, appreciating the crisp morning breeze that freshened his face with an out-of-season chilliness. Perhaps he would take a drive over to Janey’s parents’ place with a six-pack of Coors and hot New York-style pizza when his shift finished. Surprise them with dinner while he put some tenderness back inside his heart.

  * * *

  At first, Anna had thought the detectives were fibbing for her late husband. Like he was testing her out to see how she responded. It was the kind of twisted game the evil prick would enjoy entrapping her in, mainly if he was in the mood to smack her around. If only she could have been there to see the life get sucked out of him when he died.

  She’d been praying earnestly for this moment since the birth of their first son, dreaming about it each night while he went out screwing his whores. She still needed to grieve for the disgusting creep at the funeral, and then they would finally be free. The bedroom safe held over three hundred thousand dollars, and the modern Glendale apartment would fetch a tidy sum. Anna could finally leave the neighborhood behind.

  The Armenian Power wouldn’t care much where she went now that Narek was laid out on a slab in the morgue. They’d probably be relieved to hear she intended to move away with the boys. The only person she’d miss seeing was Narek’s cousin, Erik; he had always been so kind to her. It wasn’t easy to comprehend how they were related.

  Anna thought about the conversation she had with Layla Grigoryan the previous evening after coming to her senses on the kitchen floor. Layla’s husband, Tigran, hadn’t been home since Monday night, and her friend feared the worst. She begged her to ask Narek if he knew where he was. Anna had felt sorry for her. Tigran treated his wife well, and Layla had always appreciated the perks she received from being married to a successful criminal.

  All Anna ever wanted was to meet a kind-hearted, loving husband who cherished his children and respected the role of being a father. She desired a simple lifestyle away from the venality of Los Angeles. Whenever she’d tried picturing such a life with Narek around, it was like watching someone drop a snake beneath her sons’ pillows.

  The realization that her piece-of-shit husband was truly gone had started to settle in nicely. He was gone all right, although her recognition of the fact was abrupt and jagged like an assortment of broken glass. She could still feel him in her bruises and smell his repulsive fragrance in the ether of the apartment. Just a few more weeks, and there’d be nothing left to remind her of the monster who’d controlled her existence.

  “Mom?” a sleepy voice called from across the room.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” she replied, walking over to scoop her youngest son up in her arms like a human bulldozer consumed by love.

  The boys were still distraught by the news their father was dead, but Anna also knew how robust children could be, and she was going to ensure that in a year from now, Narek Avakian would be nothing more than a hazy memory.

  Fifty-Seven

  There were law enforcement vehicles parked all over the Palmdale acreage as a CBS helicopter hovered overhead to capture all the developing action. Addison was crouched beside his Ford, puffing on a cigarette while watching Katy Pearce lead Paige Harding to a waiting EMS bus. An FBI windbreaker concealed the nakedness of her bruised body, and she appeared remarkably well for someone who had undergone such a traumatic ordeal.

  Addison wasn’t sure of what he’d been expecting to find when the SWAT team smashed its way through the front d
oor of the homestead, though a dead man with a needle dangling from his arm was not even on the radar.

  The FBI had recovered the missing body parts and three bottles of blood from a kitchen refrigerator. Addison already understood they wouldn’t connect anything to Filii Reprobi. Whoever arranged the body would have made sure they swept the place clean beforehand.

  The sound of footsteps interrupted Addison’s thinking, and he turned to see Jed coming toward him with a specter of loathing perched upon his shoulders. His partner was dressed like a ranger from an HBO series in a pair of skinny denim jeans and a crisp white collared shirt, once again making Addison feel antiquated in his crinkled black suit.

  “Are you not coming inside?” Jed asked him.

  Addison took another drag on his cigarette. “What’s the point?” he replied.

  The two of them eyed Edward Cole’s home like it was some pedophile whom they’d been ordered to release inside a kindergarten.

  “There’s a shack out back,” Jed disclosed evenly.

  Addison continued smoking. Somewhere nearby, he heard Rick Sharp laughing with his team of agents in recognition of a successful assignment. They were whooping it up like they’d won a war, oblivious to the diversionary tricks crafted into the scene for their arrival.

  “You want to take a look inside that cabin with me?” Jed asked.

  Addison flicked his cigarette into the dust. “Sure, kid, why the hell not,” he replied while struggling to his feet, believing it wouldn’t make a lick of difference either way.

  The FBI might be unaware of the structure behind the home, but Filii Reprobi would have known all about it, of that he had no doubt. Addison fell in behind Jed as they walked down the side of the house and into into a clearing that led to a dense vegetation patch. The detectives traversed a narrow path, moving with caution. They assessed the area for any danger in case Cole had primed something to take a leg. Addison saw a cabin as he rounded a slight bend. It appeared to have been constructed from recycled materials without a foundation, like a shanty dwelling from a third-world slum. Overgrown branches covered part of the entrance, and a solitary window was caked in dirt.