Fiction
Vengeance From The Grave Part 6
A Henry James And Roberto De La Cruz Series
My name is Henry Allen James, and I’m Roberto De La Cruz, and we’re writers for Dark Sides of the Truth magazine.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5
It was a short trip from the mall to the front offices of the Dukes in Cedar Park. Our intention was to meet up with Ryan Broussard, the Dukes’ general manager, and lead the conversation with a little bit of name dropping.
The late Dante Alexander was the name we intended to drop.
Although only one of us had met Ryan, we were both well versed in his reputation. Back in the eighties, Ryan had been one of the best power forwards The University of Texas had ever seen. Drafted by the Dukes in the first round, he helped the team make it into the playoffs for the very first time. Eventually, the rigors of professional sports and an aging body caught up with Ryan, and he went from player-coach to head coach and then finally general manager.
Two years ago, when Dante was killed, Ryan stood alongside Cynthia and Shaundrika, shedding tears with them. We figured if we caught him in the offices, he’d have no problem talking to us.
There were few cars in the parking lot as we turned in and rolled to a stop. July was just around the bend, and the Dukes had experienced a miserable season once again and gone into the offseason without so much as a whimper.
But as they always say, there’s always next year.
“Henry, you need to tuck that pistol of yours under your seat.”
“What?”
“Your gun? Beneath the seat.”
“Listen, De La Cruz. I’m licensed to carry in…”
“I know Henry, but see those two security guards standing just inside the front doors?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m pretty sure they don’t care if your licensed or not.”
“I swear to God, Roberto. You’re as bad as Alexander sometimes.”
“Johnson.”
“Oh, hell, son, you did not just go there.”
“Why, yes, I believe I did. The gun?”
“Fine. Happy now?”
“Ecstatic. Let’s roll.”
Both security guards opened the doors for us as we neared. One of them was holding a security wand in his hand, and as we stepped inside, he held up his hand.
“Welcome, gentlemen. This is just a precaution, but we’ll need to wand you both.”
We traded gazes as the guard checked each of us alternatively, nodded his head, and flashed us a warm grin.
“Okay, so who are you gents here to see?”
“Ryan Broussard. My name’s Henry James, and this is Roberto De La Cruz. We were…”
“Roberto De La Cruz? The Roberto De La Cruz?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh man, you had Tyler for lunch that night. It’s been more than two years, but I remember that night like it was yesterday. You cleaned his clock for sure.”
“Uh, we’d like…”
“Hang on, sir. Roberto? Can we get your autograph?”
“Sure.”
“But…”
“Sir, I said, hang on.”
Both guards scurried over to a security desk, each of them grabbing sharpies and clipboards then rushing back to where we stood. The first guard stuck out a clipboard, waving a sharpie at us.
“So the names Albert, but everybody calls me big Al. Can you write something cool? My wife’s going to freak out when she sees this.”
“Sure, Al. Here ya go.”
The guard read the personalized note aloud, “To big Al. One of my best and most loyal fans. See you in the ring, buddy. Roberto. Oh, wow, that’s like freaking awesome.”
The other guard came up with an even better idea and pulled his phone from his back pocket.
“How about a picture, Al? That’s even better than an autograph. Do you mind, Roberto?”
“No. Why not?”
The guard offered his phone to us, “Sir would you mind taking a shot with the three of us? You know how to work a smartphone?”
“Uh yeah, but we’re here to see…”
“Cool. Okay, be sure and take a couple. Al? You want the elderly gentleman to take pictures with your phone?”
“Elderly gentleman? Did you just call me an elderly gentleman?”
“Chill Henry, and just take the pictures.”
“What the hell ever. Okay, you three smile.”
After the glamour shots and finally being given a chance to tell the guards why we were there in the first place, they both happily escorted us to the offices, briskly walking on either side of their latest friend and paying little attention to the elderly gentleman tagging along behind.
They led us to a receptionist who checked our credentials and then tapped a button on an intercom.
“Mr. Broussard? There’s a Mr. Henry James and a Mr. Roberto De La Cruz to see you. Yes sir, Roberto De La Cruz.”
“Oh, for the love of God.”
“Give it a rest Henry.”
“Gentlemen, please be seated. Mr. Broussard will be here in just a minute.”
It was closer to fifteen minutes when Ryan Broussard pushed through a doorway to the right of the reception desk. Although in his late sixties, the man seemed as if he could step on the court and give someone a run for their money. Ryan smiled, his teeth in brilliant contrast to the dark chocolate backdrop of his skin. As he strode across the foyer, he extended his hand to Roberto, shook it then stepped back.
“Roberto De La Cruz. Man, that was a hell of a beating you gave Tyler that night. Seeing as you’re here with the great Henry James, I’m assuming you’re a journalist now. Is that right?
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“How’s Cynthia and the family, Henry?”
“I was wondering if you’d remember me, Ryan.”
“Of course I do. Dante’s death was tough on all of us. You did a lot for the Alexanders and the organization as a whole. The man was a member of our family as well.”
“And that’s why we’re here today. To talk about Dante’s death. Can we go somewhere a little more private?”
“Certainly. Susan? Hold my calls and push that conference call out another hour or so. Gentleman? Follow me.”
Once in his office, we waited only long enough for the man to get comfortable.
“The first thing you need to know Ryan, is we’re here because Dante told us to come here.”
“Wait, what? Dante was murdered over two years ago. How’s that possible? Did he come back from the grave or something?”
“Why yes, Ryan, he did. He came back and wants vengeance.”
“Mr. De La Cruz? Is he serious?”
“Yes, sir. Dante visited us and said something about some off-court double dribbling going on.”
Ryan Broussard smiled, “I can almost hear the man saying that. Off the court, on the court, it didn’t matter. He was always talking about basketball.”
“Ryan, I have to ask this. Have you ever had a conversation with a man named Dwayne Macy?”
The man squinted then craned his neck, staring at the ceiling in thought. Finally, he stopped gazing and stared at us.
“No, I can’t say that I have. Why?”
“We believe someone in your organization may have had something to do with Dante’s eventual death.”
“From two years ago?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hmmm. Well, aside from most of the team, some of the front office staff and me, we’ve made some serious changes over the last two years. It’s not like we’re having very many winning seasons lately. Hell, if this keeps up, I may not even be here.”
“Can we at least have some names of people who were here back then? According to what Dante said it’s off-court, so we’re thinking, maybe trainers, coaches, and office staff.”
“You two still expect me to believe the ghost of Dante Alexander made an appearance and talked to you?”
“Have you read any of my stories from Dark Sides, Ryan?”
“Yes, I have.”
“I rest my case.”
We let our silence do the talking as Ryan Broussard mulled over our request. We knew at this point, whoever spoke first would end up being the loser. He finally leaned forward and punched the intercom button on his phone.
“Susan?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I need you to escort these two gentlemen to HR. Tell Rebecca to give them anything they ask for.”
“Yes, sir. Be right there.”
As he sat back in his chair, Ryan gave us both a pensive look then said, “Henry, I hope you two find what you’re looking for.”
“So do we, Ryan. So do we.”
Read On — Vengeance From The Grave Part 7
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