A Father's Wrath (4 page)

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t outrank me, wise guy. I’ll tell you
to go fuck yourself any time I feel like . . . now . . . go fuck
yourself.”

A few cops and civilians on the sidewalk
stopped to watch the confrontation.

Detective Perez stepped between them. “You men
and your testosterone. Why don’t we all try to act like
grownups?”

Without a word, McCoy turned around and marched
into the precinct.

Joe turned around and trudged through the snow
toward Madison Avenue to spend another night giving directions to
tourists and telling bums to keep moving.

CHAPTER 11

Bradley had just finished a big dinner with his
large, but wonderful wife at their favorite Japanese restaurant. He
was happy to be home for a little rest and relaxation when David
called and said he was back in the city and wanted to
meet.

It was a waste of a Sunday night, but at least
there was no traffic, and it gave him the perfect opportunity to
swing by and fuck Olga, his hot Russian mistress.

Sitting in the back of his limo, he rolled up
the dividing window then called Olga. She didn’t answer, so he
called again. She still didn’t answer, so he texted.

Before he knew it, he was in Manhattan. Bradley
rolled down the divider and told his driver to double park in front
of David’s East Side high-rise, which David lived in, and
owned.

Cars beeped their horns while passing in the
street. The icy sidewalks still only had a few people hurrying
around.

David came out of the building with his
bodyguard.

Bradley put on his scarf and gloves before
getting out of the car.

David and Bradley strolled down the sidewalk
while David’s bodyguard stayed twenty feet behind.

Obviously annoyed, David asked, “So, what’s
with this cloak and dagger shit?”

Bradley replied, “I just want to be safe. Is
that not what Wayne Norman always tells us? To be safe?”

“Yes. Yes. So, what is it?”

“Do you remember that little boy who left the
fundraiser on a stretcher yesterday?”

“Just get to the point, Bedford. It’s
late.”

“Ko Sin Lu, raped that little boy in the
staircase during the fundraiser.”

David stopped walking. “Damn it. He just
couldn’t resist, that little bastard. His president offered him a
whole harem of boys back home and assured us that this would not
happen. Now we’re fucked.”

“We’re fucked? Try telling that to the
seven-year-old boy who had his asshole torn open and then stitched
back up.”

CHAPTER 12

Monday morning, Richie still hadn’t gotten much
sleep and he wasn’t feeling any better. He called in sick for that
afternoon, but didn’t tell his wife.

Gail took Taylor to her mother’s house before
going to work.

Richie stood with Chelsea on the sidewalk until
the school bus picked her up. It was the first time she had to go
to school without her big brother, but Richie told her that Taylor
needed to rest for a few days before going back. He kissed his
daughter before she got on the bus, then he waved until the bus was
out of sight.

No one told Chelsea exactly what had happened
to Taylor. They just told her that he had been hurt and needed to
recuperate. Richie was confident that she was too young to
understand what had really happened.

Back inside the house, Richie had a couple cups
of coffee and a few cigarettes while continually checking his cell
phone.

Rocky, the family’s fat yellow Labrador,
stepped around the mess of clothes and toys that were strewn about
the floor. It then climbed up onto the couch and curled up against
Richie. He stroked the dog’s head while staring at the
wall.

Finally, the phone rang. It was a 212 number
that he didn’t recognize. He usually didn’t answer calls from
numbers he didn’t know, but he had a feeling this was the
detectives. He answered, “Hello?”

“Mr. Carson. McCoy here.”

“What’s up? Any news?”

“The surgeon from last night volunteered his
DNA sample. The results should be ready in a couple hours. Also,
there were no other Asian men there, including employees and
volunteers.”

“And what about the ambassador?”

“We’re still trying to locate him. But, keep in
mind, Mr. Carson. It may not be either of those two men. We’re
talking about the memory of a traumatized seven-year-old boy. It
could have been someone who looked Asian, maybe Mexican or South
American—or the man could have been white, or even another race and
your son just didn’t get a good enough look at him.”

“My son has a better memory than I do.” Richie
had already researched the surgeon and the ambassador online, and
after looking at the pictures of Ko Sin Lu, he had a feeling that
he was the guilty man. “I think it was the ambassador, he looks
like a sicko. You could see it in his eyes.”

“I thought you didn’t remember him that
well.”

“I didn’t. I googled him this
morning.”

“Please, just leave the investigating to us.
I’ll get back to you soon.”

They ended the call.

Richie tried to find something to occupy his
mind, but all he could think about was what had happened to his
son. He had a little weed in a coffee can in the garage that he
saved for special occasions. It was dried out, but it still did the
job. Richie smoked a half a joint and fell asleep on the sofa in
front of the TV.

His cell phone woke him up. He felt
disorientated when he reached for it and answered,
“Hello?”

“McCoy here. We got the results. The surgeon is
not our man.”

Richie cleared his throat. “And the
ambassador?”

“Still waiting for his embassy to get back to
me. They’re giving me the run around. I have another call. I’ll
call you later.”

Richie rubbed his eyes and looked at the time.
He had slept for three hours, the longest at once since the
fundraiser. He got the other half a joint out of the house, then
nuked a few frozen burritos.

While eating in front of the TV, he decided to
crack open a cold beer.

Before he knew it, Richie was halfway through
his second six-pack. He wasn’t drunk, but buzzed enough to make him
want to look for a fight. McCoy hadn’t called him back yet, so he
decided to take things into his own hands.

While putting on
his boots and coat, Richie said, “The run-around? See if they
give
me
the
run-around, mother fuckers.”

He headed out the door, above the level of
legally drunk, and drove north on Route 9 with his second car—a
fifteen year old Volvo that he shouldn’t have been taking on trips
like this.

There was much more traffic than the day
before, but somehow he made it all the way to Manhattan without
being arrested or getting into an accident.

He double-parked in front of the embassy of The
Republic of Tan Guk Van, which was on the first and second floors
of a ten-story beige-brick building. Cars honked at Richie as they
passed. He gave them the middle finger, then called
McCoy.

“McCoy here.”

“I’m here at the embassy. I’m going
in.”

“Do not do that. Wait for me. I’ll be right
there.”

“You better hurry before I find this sicko.”
Richie ended the call before McCoy could respond, then he slammed
another beer and stuffed the empty can under his seat.

He got out of his car and stormed passed the
pedestrians on the sidewalk and into the embassy.

Inside, the polished marble floors reminded
Richie of the fancy hotel lobby from the other night. There was a
staircase in the back, then next to that, a hallway.

Everyone in the building was from The Republic
of Tan Guk Van. Two soldiers at the door armed with AK-47’s, two
women and one man behind the counter, and a few civilians talking
to the workers behind the counter.

Richie went straight to the front of the line
and in his loudest booming voice, he hollered, “I need to see Ko
Sin Lu! Now!”

The soldiers at the door moved toward Richie
with their guns pointed at him.

The civilians scattered.

Richie yelled, “Put down those fucking guns and
get Ko Sin Lu out here right now!”

Four other soldiers with AK-47’s came down the
back stairs and surrounded Richie.

Detectives McCoy and Perez barreled in through
the front door.

Perez said, “Shit.”

McCoy showed his empty hands and said,
“Everyone calm down.” He motioned in Richie’s direction. “This man
is unarmed.”

The soldiers didn’t lower their
guns.

Richie looked down at the soldiers that were
all half his size. “You shrimps better do what he says. You’re in
America now, fuckers!”

Perez said, “You’re not helping
things.”

McCoy spoke slowly to one of the soldiers, “I
already spoke with your commanding officer and told him I was
coming. He said this man would be released into my
custody.”

A man in a suit came down the back stairs and
said, “Their commanding officer does not possess the authority to
authorize such a thing and this embassy is part of the sovereign
nation of The Republic of Tan Guk Van. This man is our prisoner and
subject to our laws. He will be tried and imprisoned.”

“No. He will not.” McCoy pulled his gun and
pointed it at the man in the suit.

Half of the soldiers turned their guns on
McCoy.

Perez pulled her gun and aimed back and forth
between the soldiers.

Richie wished he had a gun.

CHAPTER 13

Bradley was in the back of his limo, just about
to go for a late lunch when he got the call. He was only a few
blocks away from the embassy, but traffic was heavy. The first
thing he did was call David, then he called Lu.

By the time he finished his conversation with
Lu, he was there.

The driver helped Bradley out of the limo and
over a patch of ice in the gutter.

Bradley entered the embassy to find two NYPD
detectives with pistols drawn, six Tan Guk Van soldiers with
assault rifles ready to fire, and a tall fat white man in the
middle of it all.

He turned to the man in the suit and said, “Mr.
Shan. Please tell your men to lower their weapons. This has been a
misunderstanding.”

“I am sorry Mr. Bradley Bedford, but these
people are under arrest and will be tried according to the laws
of—” his phone rang.

Bradley said, “That is Ko Sin Lu. Pick it
up.”

Mr. Shan answered his phone and listened for a
minute before hanging up. He said something in his language to the
soldiers and they lowered their weapons.

The detectives lowered their
weapons.

Bradley said, “I need to speak with these
people in private.”

Mr. Shan led four soldiers up the back stairs
and the other two soldiers returned to their posts by the
door.

Bradley led Richie and the detectives down the
hallway to a room furnished with a meeting table and a dozen
chairs. He closed the door, then motioned for them to
sit.

No one sat, so Bradley didn’t sit either. “Ko
Sin Lu is out of the country on official business. I can answer any
questions you may have for him.”

McCoy asked, “And you are?”

“Mr. Bradley Bedford, attorney.”

“I see.” Replied McCoy.

Richie asked, “Why does he need his lawyer to
answer for him?”

Bradley looked at Richie’s red face and he knew
he’d been drinking. He didn’t even respond to his question. He
turned back to McCoy and said, “What would you like to know,
detective?”

McCoy said, “I’d like to know the exact
whereabouts of your client during every minute of the cancer
research fundraiser on Saturday night—but that’s impossible—so the
next best thing would be a DNA sample.”

Bradley replied, “I am sorry, but that is also
impossible.”

Perez said, “Of course.”

Bradley felt for that little boy and his
belligerent father, but at the same time, he had a job to do. “Let
me be frank, detectives. Ko Sin Lu has diplomatic immunity and
therefore is not obligated to answer any questions, and furthermore
. . . he is not liable for any laws broken in foreign
countries.”

“You motherfucker.” Richie moved toward
Bradley.

McCoy stopped Richie and stood between him and
Bradley.

Perez said, “We can get a federal
warrant.”

Bradley replied, “You can try.”

Richie opened the door and stormed out of the
room.

McCoy said, “We will be back.”

The two detectives left the room.