Fiction
Vengeance From The Grave Part 7
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, Part 6
Back at Dark Sides, we commandeered an unused conference room and filed in with the six boxes of records Ryan Broussard had allowed us to take.
We were reasonably sure it was going to be a long night, especially when neither of us had a clue what we were looking for. Having swiped one of the coffee decanters from a nearby break room and a stack of styrofoam cups, we sat across from each other pouring over the multiple piles of information.
Time seems to disappear when you’re looking for gremlins, those little bits of information which are lurking around, sneering in contempt at dismal attempts to locate them.
At this point, the only thing determining our progress was the number of stacks we had left and how short each stack became.
It seemed as though it became an endless stream of rubbing of tired eyes, yawning, trips to the restroom to get rid of the coffee we’d drank, and more trips to the break room coffee to fill our emptied bladders.
When Sunny showed up, we both welcomed the break.
“What’s all this?”
“HR records from the Dukes.”
“Henry, I don’t even want to know how you two got them.”
“It’s all legit, Ms. Sunny. Me and Henry had a chat with Ryan Broussard. He agreed to help us.”
“Good enough, Roberto. Ryan’s a good man. He did a lot for the family after…well, you know.”
“Yeah princess, we know.”
“You boys need some help?”
“What time is it anyway?”
“Almost seven-thirty.”
“Damn De La Cruz, we been at this nearly six and a half hours?”
“Yeah.”
“Like I said. Do you two need some help?”
“Naw Shaundrika, we got this. You should probably get home and get some rest. We’re probably going to be at this all night. Besides, Robert’s probably waiting for his supper about now.”
“You can be such a misogynistic asshole, sometimes James.”
“You know I was just kidding, right?”
“Okay, how about just an asshole?”
“Seriously Shaundrika, Robert’s going to wonder where you are. You know the man worries about you overworking yourself. Especially in your condition right now.”
“Henry, women work in rice paddies and have their damned kids while they’re standing in water up to their knees. We’re a lot stronger and can take more than most men. Tell you what. You let me worry about Robert. How about us ordering some pizza and getting down to business?”
“What kind of pizza?”
“I don’t do anchovies.”
There was a brief moment of silence in the room as the two of us stared at Roberto while he calmly inspected the contents of a file. After a couple of seconds, he looked up.
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously, Henry. I don’t do anchovies.”
“Neither do we. What about black olives?”
“Nope, Ms. Sunny. Can’t stand ’em.”
“And that Shaundrika is why I love this boy so much.”
The night wore long, and the number of slices of pizza minus anchovies and black olives in each box grew smaller. Still, we were beginning to think we should have ordered a few lemon slices for the red herrings we were staring at.
There are only so many times you can look at something hoping for anything to jump out at you before you begin to see absolutely nothing at all.
“This is getting us nowhere.”
“You said that an hour ago, Henry.”
“And I’m repeating it, princess. Roberto, you done with you’re stacks?”
“Yes Henry, nothing I can see.”
“Shaundrika?”
“Well no.”
“Like I said, nowhere.”
“There’s got to be something Henry. Something that ties somebody on the organization to Macy. Are you sure about what Dante told Gorgie? I mean, neither you or Roberto saw him…”
“Which pisses me off.”
“Regardless. Tell me again what Dante told Gorgie.”
“Come on, princess. We’ve been through this.”
“Again, James.”
“Okay. He told Gorgie there was some double-dribbling going on off-court, and now it was time for some vengeance.”
“And you think by off-court Dante meant someone, not on court? Like coaches, trainers, and front office staff, right?”
“Exactly.”
“What the hell is a double dribble anyway?”
“As many of Dante’s games as we all went to, you should know that by now.”
“You know I just went for the popcorn, right?”
“I just bet you did. A double dribble is basically when a player pulls up and stops dribbling by holding onto the ball then dribbles it again.”
“So if we take Dante’s way of making a basketball reference to something going on, what could it mean?”
“Hell, it could mean anything.”
“Maybe not.”
“How so, Roberto?”
“So let’s say something was going on off-court Henry. Something a person was doing, then they had to stop, but then they started doing it again. And let’s say whatever they were doing was illegal. Wouldn’t that be like double dribbling?”
“It’s a loose definition, son, but I suppose so.”
“Okay then let’s say whoever this was realized that what they were doing was going to be found out, so they needed just one more big score before they bailed.”
“Okay, but that doesn’t get us any closer.”
“It does, Henry. I think Roberto’s on to something. We’ve been looking at this all wrong. Roberto, unless I miss my guess, you think this big score happened just before my brother’s death, don’t you?”
“Yeah, and I think we may find a few leads here, but we’re never going to find exactly what we need from these records.”
“How’s that, Roberto?”
“Well Henry, I think we can narrow it down by looking for anyone who left the Dukes just before or just after Dante’s death. Maybe this person didn’t expect Macy to kill Sunny’s brother. Maybe they had no idea what was about to happen. Anyway, I think when they discovered Dante had been killed, they took the payout and then split.”
“Damn Sunny, you eating another slice? What’s that like twelve pieces?”
“Shut the hell up, old man. Okay. We need to start looking at all these files again.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, princess. We’ve already looked at all of em.”
“Dammit James, did you not hear a word Roberto just said?”
“Before you two try to kill each other, and I have to step in between you guys and send you to separate corners, can we get started?”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
It’s amazing how short a cease-fire can be when one adversary simply won’t let a fundamental issue lay in peace.
“So, what the hell are we looking for?”
“Oh, for the love of God, old man, is there nothing but gristle growing between your ears?”
“Uh, you’re starting to get on my last nerve princess.”
“Henry, start looking for someone who left the organization right before Dante was killed or right after.”
“When was that?”
“You don’t remember James. Really? You don’t remember the month, day, and year, the very second of the day when we found my brother’s body in that damned van buried in the ground? Seriously James? I do. It’s a day I’ll never forget, a day God won’t let me ever forget. A day…”
In the amplified stillness in the room, the strained silence was hardly interrupted by the soft sound of chilled air rushing through the vents in the ceiling.
“It’s okay, princess. I remember the date. I just really don’t want to have a reason to remember it. I’m sorry, Shaundrika.”
“I know Henry, I don’t want to remember it either, but I think we both will and probably for the rest of our lives.”
“Hey, you two, I think I found something.”
Read On — Vengeance From The Grave Part 8
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