True to the game iii, p.8
True to the Game III, p.8Teri Woods
“What the hell are you doing?” Gah Git shouted. “Gary! Gary!”
Terrell shoved the door open, knocking Gah Git onto the floor. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
“Get the hell outta my house!” Gah Git shouted. “Gary!”
Gary ran down the stairs. “What the fuck is going on?” He leaned forward and helped his grandmother up. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Where’s Gena?” Terrell demanded. “Is she here?”
“Nigga, you better get the fuck outta here!” Gary told him.
Terrell shoved Gary out of the way and walked into the kitchen.
“Nigga, I said get the fuck outta my grandmom’s house!” Gary shouted. He charged Terrell.
Terrell backhanded Gary, and then clasped his hand around Gary’s throat. Gary gripped Terrell’s hand and struggled to free himself. Terrell tossed Gary aside like a rag doll, sending him flying over the living-room coffee table.
“Oh, my God, Gary! Gary, you okay?” asked Gah Git, running to her grandson’s side. “Get the hell outta here!” Gah Git shouted.
Gary rose and charged Terrell again. Terrell punched Gary in his stomach, dropping him to the floor. He kicked Gary in his stomach, and then pulled out his pistol.
“I’m tired of this bullshit! Where the fuck is she?”
“Oh, my God, no, please! Oh, God, please don’t kill him! Don’t kill him!” Gah Git pleaded.
Terrell turned the pistol backward and struck Gah Git across her jaw. “Where the fuck is she?”
Gah Git fell to the floor again.
“Where the fuck is she?” Terrell asked, striking Gah Git with the pistol once again.
Gary tried to rise. “Leave her alone!”
Terrell struck Gah Git across her face again, and then kicked her in her stomach. Gary braced himself and stood back up to charge Terrell, but before he could, Terrell turned around with the pistol in his hand and fired a shot into Gary’s stomach. “Lay down, bitch!”
Gary flew back into an end table, knocking over a lamp. Terrell turned his attention back to a crying Gah Git.
“Where is she, old woman?”
“I don’t know . . .”
Terrell gripped Gah Git’s hair and pulled her face up toward his. “How do you get in touch with her?”
“She just comes by!” Gah Git shouted.
Terrell struck her with the handle of his pistol several times, causing blood to pour from her head, her nose, and her mouth. “Wrong answer, old woman!”
Terrell continued to beat Gah Git with the pistol until she was unconscious. He then began to search the apartment. Terrell tore through the place, ransacking it in the process. He searched drawers for an address or a telephone number that would lead him to Gena. He found none. By the time he returned downstairs, Gah Git was awake and dragging her bloody, beaten, and bruised body into the kitchen where the phone hung on the wall.
“Well, well, well.” Terrell smiled. “Where are we going?”
“No, please . . .” Gah Git begged. “Just go. My grandbaby needs an ambulance. Please . . .”
“Call her,” Terrell said sternly.
“Pick up the goddamned telephone and call Gena!”
“I don’t have her number! I swear to the good Lord, I don’t have no number for that chile!”
Terrell grabbed Gah Git by her hair and bent her over the kitchen table. “When you see her, I want you to give her a message for me.”
“Tell her I said this.” Terrell lifted Gah Git’s housecoat in the back and ripped off her underwear. Gah Git screamed like a wild animal, but Terrell covered her mouth as he forced himself inside her. He ravaged her violently, though what seemed to last a lifetime lasted only four minutes. Gah Git had found herself at some low times in her life, but somehow, she had always made it through. She had always found strength in her God.
Once her assailant left the apartment, Gah Git crawled up to the telephone and dialed 911. She then crawled into the living room, lifted Gary’s head into her bloody lap, and talked to him to keep him from going into shock. The entire time she waited, she couldn’t help but call to God. You gonna have to carry me through this, carry me on. Why, God, why? Please don’t let my grandbaby die in here today; take me, Lord, take me, but don’t take my grandbaby; don’t take him.
Joshua Harbinger had been in the Federal Bureau of Investigations for the last eight years of his life. He had graduated from Harvard in the top of his class at the age of nineteen and had been recruited by the Bureau straight out of college. His plan had been to go to Harvard Law, but after talking to the Bureau’s recruiter midway through his senior year, he caught the FBI bug.
Josh, as he was mostly called, had for the most part lived a very sheltered life. His father was the United States ambassador to Australia, and his mother was a former United States attorney, and she was also a former White House counsel. Josh grew up around privilege and power. He also grew up around money, lots of it. His maternal grandfather was a former international commodities trader who later became a United States senator, while his father’s father was the founder of a very successful Wall Street brokerage. Josh was the product of the Andover prep school and had been groomed to go to Harvard Law so he could take over the family business. He, however, craved excitement and danger.
His first years in the Bureau were spent chasing low-level counterfeiters and investigating missing children cases. Eventually, after plenty of wild and loose but lucky stunts, he worked his way up the ladder and built a reputation as a maverick who would get the job done. His reputation won him a transfer to New York to work on the high-profile organized crime leaders and the New York Mafia families. Once they had been pretty much broken up, he was transferred to Philadelphia, where he was biding his time until he made deputy special agent in charge. He wouldn’t be content until he was in charge of his own major field office. He had been told that his promotion was in the works. The actual words were more along the lines of “It’s basically being a done deal.” All he had to do was sit tight. He, on the other hand, had other plans.
Josh knocked on the door of his boss’s office. His boss was none other than Special Agent in Charge Rudy Galvani. Galvani was a no-nonsense FBI agent through and through. Born in the Bensonhurst section of Brooklyn, Galvani had been raised on the mean streets of New York. He had watched his older brother, two uncles, and several of his cousins fall victim to gang and drug violence. It was after the funeral of his cousin Manuel that he promised his mother he would keep his shit clean, and he did. As a youngster, Galvani stuck his nose into his books, and for extracurricular activities, he played football and basketball and ran track. He was something of a high-school football star. He had led his traditionally horrid football team to a ten and three season, losing in the playoffs after meeting what was destined to be the state’s high-school football champions that year. So the team held its head up high, and Galvani, the star running back, was the pride of his community.
Academics took Galvani to Harvard on a scholarship. He was the first person in his family to go to college and he did it in a major way. Harvard Law followed graduation, and then an internship to a Supreme Court justice. A short stint with the Justice Department and a change of administrations found him transferring over to the Bureau. That was fifteen years ago, and now he was in charge of his own major field office. He was known in law enforcement circles as “The Hammer.” He would bust his own mother if he found her doing something illegal. His reputation for being an asshole was actually something that he was proud of. He gave no quarter, and he expected none in return. That was why his relationship with Josh was a curious one. Josh was Mr. Cut Corners, while Galvani was Mr. Straight and Narrow. How they even got along was a mystery to everyone in the Bureau. Agents in the office had taken to calling them oil and water. They simply did not mix.
“In!” Galvani shouted.
Galvani nodded toward the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”
Josh seated himself and started digging through the jar of candy on his boss’s desk.
“I got your report, Josh,” Galvani told him. “Do you really want to open up this can of worms? It’s going to cause a shitstorm.”
Josh shrugged. “I don’t care. This Cleaver guy is dirty, dirtier than a prostitute’s panties on a busy Saturday night.”
“He’s the cancer,” Josh continued. “He’s rotten at the core. He’s spreading his corruption throughout the department.”
“You can’t go after this guy with nothing more than a hunch.”
“I have more than a hunch, sir. He’s dirty, sir. Also, I had a peek into his file.”
Galvani leaned back in his chair. “You looked into his file? How did you get access to an Internal Affairs detective’s file?”
“I have this friend who works for . . .”
Galvani lifted his hand silencing him. He didn’t want to know. That way if the shit hit the fan, he could say he didn’t know and at least that would be the truth.
“Sir, something’s off, just hear me out. Cornell Cleaver has been reassigned, investigated, reprimanded, and transferred more than any officer in the history of the department. Someone just keeps sweeping his shit under the rug. That tells me that he’s probably got someone higher up looking out for him, probably just as corrupt.”
Galvani shook his head. “Keep it focused, Josh. Don’t worry about any higher-ups. We’ll just keep them out of the loop on this one. So, how do you plan on pursuing this one?”
“I don’t think going undercover is necessary.”
“You want me to get you assigned to a case with this guy?”
Josh nodded. “That would be great, sir. If you could do that, I could bring this asshole down. But in the meantime, I want to do a little snooping around. I noticed that he associates only with certain officers and only one from Internal Affairs. The others are from various other departments and precincts.”
“Well, it’s weird, sir. These Internal Affairs guys are pariahs. No one wants to hang with the guy charged with investigating them and possibly getting them fired or sent to prison. Yet, there’s a whole clique that he is rumored to be tight with, and they’re all detectives. These Internal Affairs guys usually hang together, because nobody else wants to hang with them.”
“Be careful on this one, Josh. No wild and loose stunts.”
Josh smiled. “I wouldn’t think of it.”
“I want to be kept in the loop, too. I want to know what you’re up to at all times.”
Josh nodded. “Will do. I’m just going to do a little snooping around and see what I can come up with.”
Galvani nodded. “Good luck and happy hunting.”
Josh rose. “I’m going to bag this crooked bastard and everybody down with him. You can bet your ass on this.”
Galvani nodded, and Josh exited the room.
It must have taken Gena three hours before she caught a cab. She realized she was definitely in the suburbs. The neighborhood was nothing but grass, trees, and monstrous million-dollar homes. I’ll never get a cab out here. Tired, hungry and still not 100 percent, she felt weak and faint standing on her feet. Every few minutes she would stop and rest by sitting on the curb or leaning against parked cars. Finally, she saw a cab heading up the street toward her. Thank God it stopped.
“Where to, lady?”
For a few seconds Gena didn’t know where she was going. She thought quickly and then gave the cabbie instructions. Gena had the cab drop her off at the corner of her old block, at Fifty-second and Chancellor Street. She wished she still had her old apartment, but wishing would get her nowhere. Had she not moved in with Quadir, her uncle Michael would still be renting the place for her. She walked down the block unnoticed and up the steps to Markita’s door. She rang the bell and waited.
“It’s me, Gena.”
“Gena, girl, everybody and they momma been calling here looking for you. Where the hell have you been? Something done happened to your grandma. They said some man attacked her and shot Gary up and he’s in critical condition.”
“What?” asked Gena, confused.
“Girl, it’s bad; it’s been on the news and everything. The police are looking for the man and everything; they got a bulletin out and his picture. You know how they do the drawings? You better call somebody. You better call home.”
Gena picked up the receiver of Markita’s phone and dialed her cousin Bria’s cell phone. There was no answer, so Gena hung up and dialed again. On the second ring Bria answered the phone.
“Bria, it’s me, Gena. What’s going on?”
“Gena, some man came up in Gah Git’s house looking for you. But Gah Git told him she ain’t know where you was and he beat her and Gary tried to stop him, but he beat Gary then shot him in the stomach and then he . . .” her voice faded out and Gena couldn’t hear her.
“And then what, what happened?”
“Then he raped Gah Git.”
“What? Oh my God,” said Gena, as she began to unravel.
“She’s in the hospital at Temple and Gary’s there too. Gena, it’s bad. Aunt Paula, Uncle Michael, and Aunt Gwendolyn are all at the hospital, and they saying Gary’s not gonna make it. He’s on life support, Gena,” said Bria as she started crying.
“Okay, okay, I’m on my way. I’m on my way!” said Gena, before placing the phone in its cradle.
“What happened?” Markita asked.
“It’s just like you said, Gah Git and Gary is in the hospital. Some man went to Gah Git’s house looking for me. He beat Gary and shot him and beat Gah Git and raped her.”
“Oh, my God, Gena, no!”
“That’s just the half of it,” said Gena, thinking of Quadir. She wished she could tell her friend, but she knew that would just make matters worse. Instead, she decided to keep the news of Quadir to herself. She bent her head and began to cry. Her entire world was falling apart and there was nothing she could do to make it better.
Markita placed her hand on Gena’s head and tried to comfort her friend.
“Come on, it’s gonna be okay. Come on, I’ll go with you to the hospital.”
Monkey See, Monkey Do
Gena stood just outside the hospital door, afraid to open it, afraid to step inside, afraid to see her grandmother. She blamed herself for what happened to Gah Git. If only I had been there, then maybe none of this would have happened. Oh, Gah Git, I’m so sorry. Gena couldn’t help but think that all this had something to do with Quadir’s money. Since she had taken the money from Quadir’s hidden apartment, her entire world had begun to go downhill. Nothing was right anymore. I wish I had never found that apartment or that money. Even though the attacker didn’t ask for money, and only asked for her, it didn’t matter. Gena had heard the saying “money is the root of all evil,” and she was beginning to take the saying seriously. What kind of monster would rape an old woman? Who is he? What does he want with me? Nothing good, that’s for sure. He probably would have done the same to me or worse. Gena started to think about everything that had happened. Like a bolt of lighting it hit her. Quadir, oh, my God. He wants his money! He sent that guy to find me and look what he did. She reached down and felt her stomach. Why would that guy do that to Gah Git? She had so many unanswered questions; nothing made sense. But here she was today, standing outside a hospital room, scared to see her grandmother.
Gena slowly pushed open the door to the room and stepped inside. Gah Git was lying in bed with tubes protruding from various parts of her body. She was bandaged and bruised all over. Because of her age, the doctors were uncertain about the full extent of her recovery or if she would ever fully recover at all. As a result of being beaten and raped, Gah Git had required four separate surgeries to stop her intern
The doctors and the police had done the best they could to keep the incident out of the media, because an assault on an old woman would draw unbelievable media coverage, and perhaps cause even more deaths. These types of crimes often caused a chain reaction. Copycat killers sometimes come out of the woodwork on cases such as these. However, the efforts were worthless. The news spread through the city like wildfire. Other elderly people barricaded themselves indoors behind locks and chains, some refusing to go out even to get medical attention. Crimes like this reverberated across the community for months. And even though the detectives were upset about how the case was being handled in the media, they refused to comment. Their main reason was clear; they all had grandmothers and mothers, and something like this was inconceivable, inhuman even. A crime like this was done out of pure evil. Brutally beating and raping an old woman . . . no, they were going to lay this sick bastard to rest. When they caught him, his judge, his jury, and his sentence would be given to him inside a holding cell in a precinct house.
Gena approached her grandmother. She looked as though she had aged ten years since the last time Gena saw her. Gena bent down, kissed her forehead, and began to caress her arm softly, causing Gah Git to open her eyes.
She smiled at Gena.
“Hey, Gah Git,” Gena said, barely audible. “How you feeling?”
Gah Git lifted an eyebrow, telling Gena how stupid her question was.
Tears fell from Gena’s eyes. “Gah Git, I am so sorry! I don’t know why someone would do something like this. I’m so, so, sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.”
Barely able to speak, Gah Git whispered, “I’m not mad at you,” then reached up to wipe Gena’s tears away. She placed her hand on top of Gena’s gently, too weak to do much else. She looked into Gena’s eyes and silently said everything would be okay without saying a word.
True to the Game III by Teri Woods / History & Fiction have rating 4 out of 5 / Based on32 votes