“I guess.” He shrugged.
My hand trembled as I reached out and touched his handsome face. It was a face that LC and I had created, a child I’d birthed without knowing and who had been stolen from me. I had another son. We had another son. Another Duncan. A missing link of our family that we didn’t even know existed. My heart leapt, and tears began to fall from my eyes.
“Ma, is this for real?” London’s hand was on my shoulder.
“It’s real,” Rio told her.
“Roman.” I said his name, then wrapped my arms around him. “My son.”
“What’s going on here?” Paris walked in the kitchem. “Why is Jordan upstairs talking about he has two Uncle Rios? And Ma, why are you crying? Whoa . . . who the fuck is that?”
“Paris, this is our twin brother, Roman,” Rio said.
“Get the fuck outta here.” She laughed.
I let go of Roman, and we turned to face her. As she stared at Roman, I could see the same look of shock and confusion on her face that had been on mine and London’s a few minutes earlier.
“It’s true, Paris. It appears this is your brother,” I told her.
“Looks like you’re gonna have to share that Wonder Twin title with someone else now, huh?” London smiled. “Wait until Daddy hears about this.”
I thought about LC, who’d gotten on a flight hours earlier. I needed to tell him, but this wasn’t a conversation that could be had over the phone. Our son was home, and he needed to see this for himself.
LC
58
I felt like I was part of a scene in an action film as I rode in Roscoe’s squad car. There had to be at least twenty other law enforcement vehicles from different jurisdictions around the South, in addition to the one Vegas and I were riding in, all traveling with lights flashing. We had no time to spare because there was a strong possibility that the suspects had been given a heads up, and if that happened, then they were sure to be long gone by the time we arrived. I glanced at the infamous PRIVATE PROPERTY sign that was pointed out the last time I visited. The procession of vehicles surrounded the front of the house and most of the outlying buildings. Within seconds, we were out of the car, waiting.
“What in the entire fuck is going on here?” KD yelled as he came rushing out of his front door and onto the porch.
I was relieved to see that he was home. No one had warned him in advance.
“KD, we’re here to bring you in.” Roscoe walked toward the house.
“Have you lost your goddamn mind, Roscoe? You take another step and I’ll put a bullet in your skinny ass.” He reached for his gun, aiming it at Roscoe, who continued toward him.
“You don’t wanna do that.” Roscoe jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “These boys are itching to take you out.”
“And just what do you call yourself arresting me for?” KD asked.
“For the murders of Sheriff Derrick Hughes and Sheriff Andy Wilkins,” Roscoe countered.
KD began laughing uncontrollably, as if Roscoe had told him the funniest joke he’d heard in decades. His fat belly jiggled, and his face turned fire engine red. After a few moments, he regained his composure and dabbed at the tears in his eyes.
“Is that right? Well, Roscoe, first of all, what makes you think I had anything to do with that? If they’re even dead. Because last I checked, them boys was missing. You find their bodies?”
I couldn’t listen to that smug bastard another moment. I stepped out of Roscoe’s car and held up a manila envelope. “We’ve got proof, motherfucker, and you’re going to jail.”
“I swear, LC, you must have some sort of crush on me or something. I have women I’ve fucked that don’t come around as much as you.”
I opened the envelope and took the pictures out, one by one, throwing them onto the porch. “You can’t talk your way outta this.”
His eyes went to the photos at his feet, and I saw his amusement fade fast as he realized what he was looking at. The pictures had come from the jump drive Johnny gave Vegas before he was killed. Somehow, he’d captured images of KD, Tyler, and two other state troopers standing outside Derrick’s vehicle. There were additional pictures of Derrick and Sheriff Andy Wilkins’ dead bodies in the back seat, and a full photo account of the car, from being loaded onto the back of a flatbed to it being dropped off at a recycling yard.
“What’s going on out here?” Tyler stepped out onto the porch.
“These pictures don’t prove shit. Anybody can use Photoshop these days and make it look incriminating.” KD kicked the pictures.
“We also have an eyewitness,” I told him.
One of the officers opened the back door of his cruiser, and out stepped Herman Cooke, who owned Morningstar Recycling and Scrap.
“It’s over, KD,” Herman told him. “They know everything.”
“You stupid—” KD went to step off the porch and nearly fell, but Tyler caught him.
“Tyler Shrugs, KD Shrugs, you’re both under arrest for the murder of Sheriff Derrick Hughes and Sheriff Andy Wilkins.” Roscoe instructed a couple of his deputies, “Cuff them and read them their rights.”
“You’d better not touch me, boy!” KD screamed as the deputies hopped onto the porch and handcuffed him and his son.
As they were led past me, KD turned beet red. “You uppity nigger. This is all your doing, but you’re gonna pay for this.”
“No, you are. Derrick was a nice young man who didn’t deserve to die.” I stared at him. “You didn’t even have the decency to allow his family to bury him, you bastard. I hope this time, you rot in jail.”
“Don’t worry, Daddy. We’ll be home before dinner. And trust me, there’s gonna be
