Loyalty and Deceit

  After one of the photographers snapped multiple pictures of the handcuffs at different angles, Jonathan Welch, the pathologist, removed them with great care in order to preserve any possible finger prints or DNA, and then placed them into an evidence bag.

  “Another case of senseless killings,” Latrice mumbled. Her mind instantly transgressed to that dreadful day when she was thirteen years old and Todd was eleven. It was Christmas Eve and their father was preparing to take them out to dinner. While Latrice and Todd were putting on their coats and boots, their father went outside to brush the light snow off of his car. Todd opened the door and saw a masked man pointing a gun at his father. He and Latrice ran out of the house screaming at the robber, who turned the gun on them.

  “Here. Take the money and leave!” their father screamed.

  In the midst of all the commotion, the robber snatched the wallet, looked at their father for a split second, and with trembling hands, he pulled the trigger. He then fled.

  The two children huddled over their father, cradling him and crying while the life drained from his body. The murderer was never captured, which became the driving force behind them pursuing careers as homicide detectives.

  “So, what do you think, Jonathan?” Todd asked. Latrice took a step closer, eager to hear his assessment.

  “This was a robbery gone awry. The front door shows evidence of forced entry. The paraphernalia on the living room table, along with traces of cocaine, leads me to believe that it was a larger amount there at one point. The big guy,” Jonathan paused for a second to take a look at his notes, “Antwon Green, lived here. I believe that he was tied up and beaten for information.”

  “From the looks of it, he was reluctant in giving it up.” Todd commented.

  “This is where it gets crazy. The masked man, whom we haven’t identified, was shot in the head from behind. Because of the large exit wound, I believe it was from the .44 that Tyreek Simmons had in his possession.”

  “Is that the kid rushed to the hospital?” Latrice asked.

  “Yes. His weapon was discharged three times. Once into the deceased. There was one recovered round which was lodged into the wall, but the third round is unaccounted for.”

  Jonathan took a few steps, heading out of the living room, and then pointed down to the carpet. “Those blood stains appear to travel in a particular direction...”

  “Out of the house,” Todd finished.

  “Exactly.”

  “We have someone out there with a huge slug in him, and we need to find him,” Latrice commented.

  “There was also a phone in Tyreek’s hand when the officers discovered him. The phone was on and a call was processed.”

  “We’ll get a copy of his phone records. Let’s hope that he survives. He should be able to shed some light on this mess.” Todd jotted down a few things on his note pad.

  “Let’s get everyone identified, the evidence organized, and crack this case,” Latrice said to her brother/partner.

  “I’ll notify every hospital in the tri-state area to be on the lookout for someone with a large caliber gunshot wound.”

  “Then comes the hard part,” Latrice said.

  “Yeah, notifying the victim’s family,” Todd said. “The only thing that’ll make me feel better is catching those who are responsible...”

  CHAPTER 14

  The last two weeks had been hell for Marty Frankel. He had no idea that his bank accounts would be frozen the day after he agreed to the offered plea. Kate had the embarrassing misfortune of finding out first, shopping with her friends. The credit cards on their joint account had been declined.

  After explaining her ordeal to Marty, he was forced to confess everything to his wife. The most difficult part was getting her to understand that he had to forfeit his coffers.

  Kate was livid at the situation he landed himself in. How could he be so selfish not to consider her and her well-being in his decision?

  A brutal argument ensued, creating distance between them. Marty made numerous attempts to reconcile, but to no avail. She simply refused to accept that their assets would be replaced shortly after the tribulation was over.

  The alarm chimed stirring Marty out of his sleep. He sat up and gazed angrily at the clock, as if it were aware he fought half the night to fall asleep. He didn’t know if his inability to sleep was due to him being forced to stay the night in the second bedroom alone, or because in a matter of hours he would be in a courtroom taking a life altering plea.

  Tiny beads of perspiration formed on his forehead as anxiety hit him. Marty took a few deep breaths, and then stood. He trodded to the bathroom and got into the shower, hoping that the hot flow of water would help ease the tension.

  After showering and donning his favorite Tom Ford charcoal gray suit, he peeked into the master bedroom to check in on his wife. The room was empty and their bed was made. She must be downstairs, he thought. Let’s see if she decides to stand by my side and come to court with me.

  “Kate!” Marty yelled out, walking down the stairs. There was no answer. “Honey!” he called out again. Confused about her whereabouts, he slowly walked into the kitchen. His eyes focused on the refrigerator. A yellow piece of paper was held to the door by a magnet. Removing the note, he read it carefully.

  Marty, you have shown me that you are not the man I fell in love with and married. You made it clear by putting your job before us. Your choice destroyed all that we had. I’m filing for a divorce.

  Kate

  Continuously shaking his head in disbelief, he refused to accept what was written on the paper. His hands began to tremble. “Kate, honey, you just don’t understand,” he said. “Everything is going to be fine.” He rushed to the phone and dialed Kate’s cell number. His call went directly to her voice mail. After leaving several messages, he reluctantly gave up. He leaned against the wall. Still feeling unsteady, he slid down to the kitchen floor, dropping his head into his hands, sulking in utter disbelief. During one of the most trying times of his life, he found himself without the love and comfort of his wife...alone. He was forced to fight this battle by himself. The only thing that left him with a fraction of stability was the promise from the CEO of Goldman Sachs, Jack, and their attorney.

  Thirty minutes elapsed before Marty gathered the strength to rise to his feet. “Once this ordeal is over, you’ll see that everything will be better than ever.”

  Marty called his lawyer who had already made it to the federal building. He gave Marty instructions to meet him in the lobby. Marty grabbed his briefcase, cell phone and keys, and left his apartment. The unexpected chill from the crisp morning wind caused Marty to put a pep in his step. He quickly got into his awaiting Phantom.

  The chauffeur came to a stop in front of the federal building. The sedan was instantly swarmed by a slew of hungry press. Caught completely off guard by the crowd that surrounded his car, Marty darted out of the Phantom and barreled toward the building. Pushing forward microphones were shoved into his face, bright flashes of light from snapping cameras made him wince, and so many questions were thrown at him that they were indecipherable. Refusing to respond to anything, he continued to march forward until he reached the entrance.

  Inside of the building, on the opposite side of the metal detectors, stood his attorney, Tom Paranillo. After passing through, Marty stormed toward him.

  “What in the hell is that out there?” he questioned.

  “That’s called the media,” Tom answered flatly.

  “Why in God’s name were they on me like a pack of hungry wolves?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Tom chuckled. “I don’t know if you’ve been under a rock for the past couple of weeks, but this story has been steadily gaining media coverage.”

  “I know that, Tom, but my identity was supposed to remain undisclosed.” Exasperation had become evident by his demeanor. In response to Marty’s pitch rising, Tom consciously lowered his.

  “I have no idea how the media acquired your nam
e. Evidently someone leaked it to them.”

  “You think?” The sarcasm in Marty’s escalated voice bounced off the walls, causing a few people who were passing by to turn their heads. “I’m ruined!”

  Jack walked up, interrupting them. “Don’t be ridiculous, Marty.” He shook their hands firmly, then continued. “There’s no such thing as bad publicity when it’s of this stature. We may be human, but Goldman is immortal. Trust me, you’re doing the right thing. After today, your future will be secured. Your face will be synonymous with ambition and power.”

  Tom glared at his watch. “We were supposed to be in court five minutes ago. We have to go.” He spun on his heels and headed toward the courtroom.

  Jack gave Marty a strong pat on the back. “Come on, son. Let’s get the last day of your old life over with.”

  They followed Tom into the courtroom where the judge and U.S. attorney anticipated them. Butterflies churned in Marty’s stomach as the proceedings began...

  With the deal finalized and on record, Marty walked out of the courtroom feeling completely drained and disconnected from life.

  “Marty, I want you to take this weekend off. You have too much on your mind to worry about work. By next Monday the buzz surrounding all of this should be gone, then we can move forward. Maybe you and your wife should go on a vacation.”

  Jack’s comment caused a surge of emotions to materialize. “It’s quite difficult to go on a vacation when you have no money, Jack.”

  Jack displayed a sly grin. “Come on, Marty, I know you’ve set up a nice safety net.”

  “What are you talking about, Jack?”

  “You know our investigators have noses like bloodhounds. Just under two million dollars had been incrementally removed from your account over the past three weeks. But the only problem they’re having is figuring out where it was hidden. That’s not a bad thing at all for you, because if they can’t find it, then the feds shouldn’t be able to.”

  “Jack, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Marty’s perplexed expression appeared genuine, however, Jack was skeptical.

  “I can understand if you don’t want to touch your money right away.” Jack pulled out his checkbook and a pen. He filled it out. “Here’s a check for fifty thousand dollars. It should hold you down momentarily.” Marty was left with no other choice but to accept it. “I’ll see you next week,” Jack said, then left.

  Marty trudged through the mob of awaiting press, taking a sigh of relief once he was safely in the confines of his Phantom. The driver immediately pulled off and headed toward Marty’s apartment building. As the car approached the Dakota Building, Marty’s eyes zoomed in. He was grateful not to see any press laying in wait for him. Once inside the building he boarded the elevator, got off on his floor, and entered his apartment.

  Although everything looked the same, the place felt different. The feeling of coming into a home was no longer there. Without Kate, their apartment was nothing more than a place to stay.

  He walked to the bar and poured a generous amount of Scotch into a glass. After throwing it back, he placed the glass on the table, and picked up the bottle. He took a huge gulp and headed into the living room with the bottle in hand. The alcohol intensified all of the feelings contained within him. Marty sat on the sofa and continued to drink.

  After devouring a quarter of the bottle, his thoughts travelled to his wife. He pulled out his phone and did his best to focus enough to dial her number.

  “Hello?” Kate answered.

  “Kate, honey, I need to talk to you,” he pleaded with slurred words.

  “Marty, there’s not much to talk about at this point. You did what you felt you had to do, and I’ve done what I had to do.”

  “No, baby. We...we can make this work. It’s only...”

  “Why are you still talking to him?” a male voice said in the background to Kate.

  “Who - who was that?”

  “I think you should be more concerned with what’s on CNN. Good bye, Marty.” The phone went dead.

  “Kate...Kate...Kate!” Marty yelled desperately into the receiver. She was gone. He threw the phone violently against the wall, causing it to shatter upon impact. Everything that he cherished in life began to dissipate before his eyes. Who in the hell was the man in the background? What was on CNN? He scrambled for the remote control and turned on the TV. It was already on the news channel.

  Marty’s eyes grew wide as he saw the CEO of Goldman at a press conference. He repeatedly apologized for the exposed scandal. He informed the press that investigators had been hired by the company and Marty Frankel was responsible for the manipulation of the gas contracts. He went on to say that Marty accepted responsibility for his actions, however, deceiving the American people would not be tolerated. And, because of that, Marty Frankel’s employment was terminated immediately.

  This backstabbing surprise hit Marty like a ton of bricks. He didn’t know if he should scream in anger or cry from the hurt. He laughed. He laughed at the fact that his loyalty was repaid with deceit. He picked up the bottle of Scotch and drank. He drank until he was numb. His dependency on alcohol was born. His life had taken a tremendous turn for the worse, and he was not willing to experience a second of it sober...

  CHAPTER 15

  “I’m not letting this shit ride, T,” Mack warned. They sat in the plush living room of Terry’s condominium smoking blunts of their own.

  “I don’t want to let them niggas get away with this shit either, but we can’t just run around killing muthafuckas on some nut shit. We’ve got more to lose now than we’ve ever had.”

  Mack was well aware of all that was at stake. The last thing he wanted was to destroy the empire that was being built by Terry and himself. The problem was he had recently become a businessman in the legal field, but he had lived the street life since an adolescent.

  One rule of the streets was if someone waged war against you, either back down or take them to war.

  “Everything we have is because of the streets. We’re not ready to leave the streets alone, yet. If we don’t do nothing, you better believe we’re going to be the next in line to get hit.”

  “Maybe we should wait it out and let the dust settle before we turn it up,” Terry suggested.

  “Fuck that, cannon. Don’t let this money make you soft. If we don’t react, we’re going to open the door for anybody to test us. This is part of the game, my nigga. They violated us. If they want war, then war it’s gon’ be!” Mack paused for a moment to take a long drag from his blunt. “I know how you felt about Twan. We have to bury him. Reek will never be able to walk again. My man might have to do a prison bid in a fuckin’ wheel chair! I don’t know about you, but I can’t live with myself knowing I didn’t do nothin’ about this. This shit is personal. I’m going to handle it...with or without you.”

  Silence consumed the room as they continued to smoke. “You’re not doing nothing by yourself, my nigga. We’re in this together.”

  “I found out that the nigga who Reek killed was muscle for the twins,” Mack revealed.

  “Who the fuck is the twins?”

  “Kahdeem and Quadir. They get money in North Philly. I had to punch Kahdeem in the mouth at a concert a couple of months ago, but it wasn’t nothing too big, or at least I didn’t think so.”

  “Oh, I know who you’re talking about.” Their images became clear in Terry’s mind as Mack spoke. “They own that car wash at Broad and Lehigh Avenue, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s them,” Mack answered. “They knew Twan was with us. I guess now that they’re touchin’ some money, they think they can try to run down on us.”

  “Fuck it, let’s get them niggas out of the way.”

  “I’m gonna show ‘em what happens when they play chicken with a Mack truck.”

  The electric-blue Audi RS7 pulled into Pit Stop Car Wash and Detail Shop, stopping in front of the office door. Quadir stepped out of his car into the brisk air, shaking th
e chill off. He was five feet nine, with a medium build and caramel toned skin. His well-kept shoulder length locks was the only distinction between him and his twin.

  As usual, he was the first to arrive at the shop. It was 10:00 in the morning. The shop wasn’t scheduled to open for business for another hour. With a little time to kill, Quadir decided to smoke his morning blunt. He wasn’t quite finished rolling up the weed when he heard a light rap on the door. He got up to see a young, Hispanic woman on the other side.

  He cracked the door partially open, and asked, “Can I help you?”

  “Do you wanna buy this truck?” she asked. Her words were filled with attitude.

  Quadir looked out the door’s window and saw a clean white and tan Suburban equipped with chrome twenty-eight inch rims. “It’s definitely nice, but I wasn’t looking to buy a truck at the moment.”

  “You give me an offer and I’ll take it. I’m sick of this puta,” she ranted. “I do everything for him, and he gets that dirty bitch pregnant? Oh, hell no. I’ll give this fucking truck away before he gets back in it!”

  It was evident that the lady was emotional because of a failing relationship. If the Suburban looked as good on the inside as it did on the outside, there was no question he could get it for a steal. “Do you have the title?”

  “Damn right. I legally own this truck.” She spat.

  “How many miles does it have?” Quadir asked.

  “I think it has around thirty thousand miles,” she said. “You can check the truck out for yourself. I just want to get him and all of his shit out of my fucking life. I don’t want anything that reminds me of his no good ass.” She folded her arms and continued to rant in Spanish.

  Quadir stepped outside and walked toward the Suburban. Before he was able to reach it, he felt the searing pain of fifty thousand volts erupt into his body. He went rigid and immediately fell to the pavement.

  Unaware of what was going on, his mind raced to find clarity. Before he was granted that opportunity, he was tazed again, for a longer period.