Eye for an Eye: Retribution

 

The next day, Gavin joined me at my place to go through the files. He found the initials ‘R.G.’ on the back of some documents on a drug bust.

“I guess having a fresh pair of eyes does help,” I said, wondering what it meant. And then it came to me: “Ralph Gordon!”

“What? Chief Gordon? Are you nuts?”

“I know it sounds ridiculous, but the chief did question me about the reasons behind me digging into my father’s case files.”

“Maybe he was just being the chief.”

“I know it’s crazy, but I feel it in my gut.”

“Alright, what do we do? Should we report him to internal affairs?”

“No, we have no proof. The initials could be anyone’s. We need to dig deep into the chief’s finances.”

“Nat, if the chief is involved, the fact that you’re digging into this case may put you in danger.”

“That did cross my mind, and that’s exactly why I didn’t want to involve you.”

“Well, that’s why you need all the help you can get.”

“Let’s try to go through as much as possible. You can sleep in the guest room tonight.”

 “Are you inviting me to stay over?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Don’t get any ideas. I just don’t want you to fall asleep on the wheel while driving home after helping me,” I said. Seconds later, the power went off.

“Grab your gun and phone,” I said, grabbing mine.

We hid, leaning against the wall as the front door was kicked down. In came five men with assault rifles and opened fire on us. We fired back, and eventually, they all went down. They got a few shots themselves: Gavin was shot in the shoulder, and I in the arm. All but one was left breathing. He lived long enough to give me the name of the person who put out the hit on us: it was the chief. With that confession, he pulled his last breath.

The paramedics arrived soon with cops and took us to the hospital. Gavin wanted to tell the captain about the chief’s involvement, but I advised against it. I didn’t want him to use red tape to get out of this one. I didn’t get admitted. I knew of the chief's extra-curricular activities; everyone in the department did. I lay in wait for him, hiding in his car as he left his mistresses’ house. As he entered the vehicle, I kept my gun to his head and made him drive to the cemetery where my parents were buried. Once there, I asked if there was anyone else involved in my parents’ death. He said no.

“Why did you have them killed? Is it because of the drug deals?”

“You’ve got it all wrong! I tried to save him, but he wouldn’t listen!”

“You mean like not doing his job? He was your friend! It mortifies me to think that someone like you gets to wear a badge!”

“I know you’re mad, but I had no choice. I worked for 25 years in the force and for what? I could barely afford to send my kids to a good school,” he said, sighing heavily, “I didn’t come from money like your parents; I had to work hard for every penny I made. So when I was approached by the cartel, I took the opportunity.”

“It helped me put my children in a private school. I thought it would be a one-time gig, but I couldn’t get out: the longer it took, the harder it was to go back. Your father threatened to inform internal affairs unless I came clean. I agreed, but I had to think of my family, so I did what I had to do. Then recently, you started poking around. Knowing how much of a good cop you are, I knew you’d put it all together. So I informed my dealers.”

“So they kill me and you get to walk free? What about cap? Is he involved in this, too?”

“No, he’s clean.”

“Well, I wish I could say it was nice knowing you,” I said as I emptied my clip into his chest. I dropped to my knees, feeling as if a great weight had been released from within me. It was finally over—I had wreaked my vengeance for my parents.