Angel's Revenge

“May I speak with Delores Murphy?”

“Who’s calling?” she asked, although she already knew who it was. His tone and style were a dead giveaway.

“This is Detective Meritti. I’m sorry to inform you that your son, Bernard James, has been killed,” Meritti explained softly but matter-of-factly. “We need you to come and identify the body. I know this is difficult, and I’m sorry that I’m not there in person to deliver-”

“No,” Delores interrupted. “No, it’s quite all right. I’m already aware of Bernard’s…” She cleared her throat and added, “I was expecting your call.”

“If it’s all right with you, ma’am, I think it would be best if I sent a car for you.”

“No, I don’t need a car. I can get there. I’ll be there within the hour.”

Meritti sighed with relief. He didn’t want to appear pushy, but the sooner they completed their official charade, the sooner they could concentrate on finding Dutch.

“That would be great, ma’am. Do you know how to get to the County Coroner’s Office?”

“I can find it, Detective Meritti,” Delores replied, her tone sending the message that the call was over.

“Very good. We’ll be waiting for you.”

Delores hung up.

“Who’s fooling who in here?” Meritti asked.

“I wonder if she’ll buy it?” Smalls wondered aloud.

“Please, God. Don’t let it be true! Burned beyond recognition? Charred remains…”

The detectives took Delores to a clean room where a body lay covered by a white sheet on top of a table. Detective Meritti introduced himself and recounted to Delores all that had transpired.

“It looks like his accomplices, these, um, Angel’s Charlies, were the actual culprits. It seems they started the fire so that your son could escape. But he didn’t make it out. And it looks like the coroner has already identified a set of matching dental records,” he added as he flashed them at her before placing them back into the folder next to the body.

Then he lifted the sheet.

Detective Meritti proceeded to tell her that the pink-black distorted lump before her was her son.

This ain’t my son, Delores thought as her body began to tremble uncontrollably.

Meritti noticed that she was beginning to lose her equilibrium, and he gently grabbed her to support her in case she fainted.

“Mrs. Murphy? Are you all right? Can I get you anything? Please, sit down.”

Delores shook off his offer and brushed his hand off her shoulder. She stood very still, silently staring at the body. The nameless lump of flesh they claimed was her son wasn’t even the right height. Close, but a little too tall. His build, or what was left of it, was too bulky.

Anxious eyes looking for closure could be easily fooled.

Detective Smalls watched her intently, as if he had the eyes of a hawk. He was fully aware of the masquerade he and Meritti were perpetrating. More important, he was looking for a sign that Delores was staging a masquerade of her own. He felt that if she identified the body too quickly, too cleanly, perhaps she was already aware of her son’s whereabouts, already knew that he wasn’t dead. So Smalls watched her facial expressions from the moment the sheet was lifted and observed her eyes as they flicked over the body. He watched her very carefully to see if she had been prepared or had rehearsed her reaction. Crying too hard, screaming for the Lord, or shouting for mercy and faking too much drama would be dead giveaways. But to his surprise, Delores did nothing like that. The pain that glazed her eyes was too deep and too real to be an act. She had passed the test, but not for the reasons Smalls had assumed. Delores looked from face to face, and her motherly instincts kicked in.

She knew they were up to something. But what? This ain’t Bernard, but they must want it to be or they want to know where he is. I’m going to pretend right along with them. And that’s exactly what she did to protect her child.

The police were trying so hard to deceive her, but they themselves were being deceived. Delores stood in the middle of the cold, sterile room trying to figure out their motives while they were trying to figure out hers. The illusion of truth wore a mask of deception well.

“Mrs. Murphy, I know this is hard for you,” Meritti said slowly. “But can you ID this body for us as your son?”

Her weak gaze hid a strong resolve as she looked from Smalls to Meritti. Delores lowered her head and subtly nodded.

Meritti was relieved.

Smalls was perplexed.

And Delores’s soul was tormented. The pain in her eyes Smalls detected wasn’t caused by her belief that her son was dead. It was because he was still alive. Somehow, somewhere, Bernard James, Jr., was still alive. The nightmare wasn’t over, and she was more confused and flooded with emotion now than when they had first lifted the sheet. Once again, she had cosigned to a reign of terror she was sure would follow. The nightmare was nowhere near over. The truth was, it was just about to begin.

“Where do I sign for my son’s body?” she asked.

“Right here, Mrs. Murphy,” said Detective Meritti.

Delores took the pen and signed for the pretend Dutch to be released to the funeral director. I got to pay to bury this muthafucka that ain’t even Bernard. I’m going to kill that boy when I see him, she thought to herself. But her intentions were to cremate the remains so that the secret of Dutch could be scattered to the winds.

CHAPTER THREE

Whose world is this?”

“Mine!”

“Whose world am I?”

“Mine!”

“Then say my name, ma. Say my name.”

“Young World,” Lana purred as she posed in the bathroom doorway. She had the curves of two letter S’s facing each other. Chocolate from head to toe, she stood bowlegged, wet and naked, tantalizing Young World as he lay back on the spacious bed in their Cancun hotel suite.

“Do my dance, yo,” Young World told her.

Lana began to slowly and sensually gyrate her hips to the rhythm of her own lust, palming her full breasts and pulling at her tender brown nipples.

“Like this, World?” She smiled, loving the feeling of her man’s eyes all over her.

“No doubt. Slow motion, ma. Move it slow motion for me,” he replied with gangsta charisma. He licked his lips and grabbed his crotch.

Lana complied as she crawled on the bed like a black panther in the jungle stalking her prey. Young World parlayed like the young don Dutch made him, wearing only two things: a pair of burgundy silk boxers and Dutch’s dragon chain gleaming off the reddish-brown skin of his bare chest.

He watched Lana take his erect member into her warm mouth and wrap her juicy lips around his shaft, relaxing her throat, and curling his toes. Her head bobbed as if his dick was licorice and she was addicted to sweets.

Young World had definitely come up lovely. It had been nine months since the courthouse massacre and things had gone just as Dutch predicted they would.

The streets is gonna be wide open like pussy after this. Niggas you thought you could count on either gonna flip and try and go for dolo or nut up under pressure.

The streets lit up like the Fourth of July as street niggas and greedy crews scrambled for the crumbs off Dutch’s table. Young World had one of the sickest teams in the game, but even he took losses. His right-hand man, Jazz, didn’t have the killer instincts it took to ball on World’s level, so seventeen shots later found him on a basketball court in the park. Jazz and Young World had come up together so his death hit Young World hard, but