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While Berkley is playing with a mixed breed puppy, I decide that if I don’t ask the question, I’ll never get the answer. “Aris? What ever happened with that Angelica chick that nearly killed my brother? Why haven’t charges ever been brought on her?”
“Her lawyer refuses to let her answer any questions the police have for her. He’s used so many stall tactics that eventually, he’ll run out of excuses,” Aris answers, his tone tight and full of wrath.
“That doesn’t make sense, Aris. There were witnesses there. They saw what she did and heard her confess,” I argue.
“Hearsay,” he grinds out. “We’ve all signed witness affidavits, yet somehow, her case continues to get buried. They have associates in high places, Berlynn. It’s a disgrace to the penal system, but what it boils down to is politics.”
“That’s bullshit,” I spit out.
“Complete and utter bullshit,” he concurs. “Things are happening, Berlynn. I promise you, I will keep pestering everyone until I see some progress being made. It’s unfortunate that they’re happening slowly. I wish there was more I could do to make the wheels of justice turn faster. I just have to find the right hands to grease.”
“Karma will find her, Aris. Don’t do anything that could get you disbarred. I only wish I was the one dishing out a little payback.”
“Aris! Berlynn! Come play with Karma!” Aris and I look at one another, both of us wearing beaming smiles. If there was ever a hint or a clue at what’s to come for Angelica in the future, this would be it. She deserves every bad thing coming her way for what she did. Granted, for most people, it wouldn’t have been an issue, but unfortunately for her, she crushed that pill into someone’s drink who had a highly adverse reaction. And it breaks my damn heart that my brother may be chronologically the same age as I am, but he will never be there mentally. All that promise, gone as soon as she handed him that cup and he ingested the contents. There are probably some folks who feel he got what he deserved for taking it, but my response to that is they can go fuck themselves with a pitchfork. That hadn’t been the first time one of the guys accepted a drink from her at a party, so there were never any internal alarms sound off that she had spiked it with her prescription in order to help my brother ‘chill out’ and ‘relax’—medication that damn near tore his life from him.
I hate that woman on a molecular level that nobody will ever understand. If I weren’t the one solely responsible for his well-being, I’d go after her myself without any give a damns.
Aris and I sit Indian style beside Berkley, and spend the afternoon playing with Karma, making wishes that my brother will be forever this happy and carefree. Seeing him with this puppy makes me more determined to find us a home with a fenced in backyard where we can begin searching for his furry companion.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
ARIS
TWO WEEKS LATER
Injunctions have been filedand our investigator has been hard at work. Our little ploy to keep Marcus away from Berlynn and Berkley’s inheritance was a flop. If anything, he’s amped up his efforts. We had to place a bodyguard on Berkley since he was followed to the hospital during his time on the clock by a few of their dad’s partners and then harassed.
Threats were made by these depraved individuals, that have no morals or scruples, they terrorized Berkley and had him scared of his own shadow. He locked himself in his room for days, unwilling to come out. We had to set his meals outside of his door, knock three times, and step back before he’d open the door and drag the tray into his room.
Un-fucking-acceptable.
It set me on fire and made me livid to the point where I dipped into my savings and hired an agency that has advertisedthemselves as having one sole mission—protection for those who’ve been targeted by underground organizations.
This corporation is a mixture of ex-cons and retired military servicemen who believe in mutiny. They aren’t scared of the wars happening on our streets. What they do in the pretense of keeping those targeted by insipid beings safe goes outside of what’s deemed acceptable by law enforcement, but unfortunately, that’s what we need in order to keep Double B alive and safe.
Once Berk believed that he was untouchable because he had several big, burly men with him, he went back to his normal routine and found his smile again. Lucky for us, he knows one of the guys at his side, a man we went to school with, Kayson. He’s one of the founders of the militia group. Whereas Kayson normally works in the office bringing in new clientele and assigning jobs, he’s made it his personal mission to shadow Berkley and keep him guarded from coming face to face with Marcus and Lucinda.
Marcus McKinny has hurt a lot of people outside of his immediate family, and Kayson happens to be one of those individuals.
To this day, even if we can’t prove it, we believe that some documents were forged which caused Kayson’s father to lose everything—including his life.
We—Kayson, Dad, and I are of the like mind that these counterfeit records were made to cover up for Marcus’s misdeeds. He needed a fall guy for misappropriated funds, and Kayson Sr. was the perfect scapegoat. When a lot of families lose their fortunes, mobs are formed and in a string of unfortunateevents, Kayson Sr. was beaten to death on the street in front of his home, son, and wife.
Sadly, Marcus covered his tracks well, too well, and believing something and proving it are two different things. It’s as if he’s playing one ball game on two isolated fields with warring umpires.
One day I’ll come across the evidence needed to bring him down, but until that happens, my only goal is to keep him far away from those significant to me.
Reclining in my office chair, I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to clear the throbbing headache I can feel growing behind my blurry sockets. For every stride forward I make, I get yanked back three steps. A knock on the frame of my door has my head springing up to see who is disturbing me at this late hour. Dread courses through me when I see Berlynn standing there, tears pouring down her cheeks.
Since the meeting with Marcus and his companion at the gym, there’s been a series of unfortunate circumstances that have taken place there. We’re talking bomb threats, brawls in the parking lot, child endangerment picketers, punctured tires, shattered windshields, gang affiliated tags spray painted on the building—intimidation tactics. Some are insignificant, trivial acts, but some are more serious in nature.
“What happened this time?” I ask, wary of the answer as I take in her red, raw, and gritty eyes.
“DeMarius was accosted outside of the gym on the way to his car tonight,” she weakly says. “He was warned that if I continued my employment there, nobody would be safe.”
“Excuse me!” I roar. The volume of my voice raised has the shallow ache behind my temples amplifying until I’m nearly blinded by the burst of pain.
