Angel's Revenge

CHAPTER TWO

Delores Murphy clicked the power button to her television and heard the reporter confirm her son’s demise.

“Thank you,” she whispered, grateful that it was finally over.

Delores had silently witnessed the rise of her only child from a petty car thief to a vicious drug lord. Now, she was too numb to cry. Pain and a sense of relief mingled in her soul, and for the first time, Delores questioned herself.

Where did I go wrong?

She had tried to raise Bernard like any other single black mother in the grip of poverty. She tried to instill in him the basic moral principles of love, honesty, and a belief in God. She had also tried to teach him the value of his freedom, of his black manhood, and of his own self-worth in a society that wanted to brainwash the black man into believing that he was worthless.

Materially, Delores never spoiled Dutch, but she always tried to give him the best, just like any mother would. But Delores still felt that she had gone wrong somewhere. She felt that the hate and rage she carried against the system in her youth had somehow seeped into her son.

She wondered if hate so deep could be genetically inherited.

She also wondered if every lesson she had taught Dutch had been filtered through her own bitterness and resentment. And maybe her very own breast milk had contaminated his soul.

“Nigga, go on out there and take back what them people took from you!”

Delores remembered preaching those words when Dutch came home from prison. He had gone away a man-child and returned a man. Had her words somehow unlocked the fury trapped inside him and unleashed her son’s demons onto the streets?

As Dutch emptied the book bag on Delores’s worn kitchen table, stacks upon stacks of rubber-banded rolls of money landed with soft thuds.

“Ma, we movin’,” Dutch announced proudly, wearing his father’s smile like it was his own.

Delores’s eyes widened. She was weary from working two jobs, and her son, not even a year out of prison, had brought home more money than she’d seen in her entire life.

“Bernard, where did you…”

Dutch’s soft kiss on her quivering cheek cut her off.

“It’s what the world owes us, Ma. And I won’t take no for an answer. Not even from you.”

Her silence became her approval. She knew all about the Month of Murder. She also knew that her son was called Dutch, the black gangsta the mob feared. But she had never said a word. What would she have said? The truth was that a large part of her was proud of him, and she wasn’t mad at all.

Now he was gone. He left a wicked memory on the streets and a tragic memory in her mind that joined the memories of his father to this day. Not a single day went by without her recalling her only love’s luscious kisses and calloused caresses, and the feeling of his manhood deep inside her followed by the mellow croon of his baritone in her ears.

I love you, Delores.

I love you, Bernard.

If she ever needed his embrace, it was now. She had had other men in her life after Bernard, other friends, other lovers, but none had managed to touch her heart like Bernard had. She never married, refusing two proposals in her lifetime, because she believed in her heart that he’d come back to her one day. But he never returned. Now, the last thing she possessed of his was also gone. Just as she lost him to the Vietnam War so long ago, she had lost his son to a war that unfortunately raged right outside her front door.

Delores felt all alone. The only thought that consoled her was the one that was now in her imagination-Dutch going out like his father, guns blazing, fighting for freedom.

She didn’t know how right she was.

The ringing phone brought her back to reality. Delores slowly stood up and picked up the receiver.

“Hello?” her frail voice answered softly.

“Is this the Murphy residence?” a male voice questioned.

“It is.”

“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.