The Innocents by Nathan Senthil (autobiographies to read .TXT) 📕

“Take a left, Detect— um… Agent Chase,” Bill said.

Gabriel hadn’t stopped paying attention to the dashboard GPS, but he understood Bill’s need to chip in.

Glancing at the side mirror, Gabriel pushed the turn signal and twisted the wheel. The car swerved, its tail almost swiping a lamp post.

Their destination was a hundred meters ahead, which he covered in under five seconds, skidding Bill’s car to a halt.

Gabriel stared at the building across. It had an unlit neon sign on top reading ‘Calabria’. It was closed.

Gabriel stepped down with the crutch, before carefully helping his friend climb out. Bill’s femur, cracked by a cannibalistic psychopath they caught last month, hadn’t had enough time to heal. But Bill wouldn’t stay home.

They had selected a hotel opposite Calabria for their stay, and Gabriel had picked his room carefully on their website.

While inside, he nodded at the receptionist. “Reservations for Chase and Lamb.”

Consulting her PC, she said, “That’d be 203 and 204.” From the board hanging on the back wall, she unhooked two keys and handed them over.

As they waited for the elevator, Gabriel’s mind jumped to the case.

Joshua had been shot with a Desert Eagle, the type of gun Lolly used. But to be one hundred percent sure, additional tests were needed. The FBI had made a request to the DPD, and the recovered slugs were now on their way to Quantico. But it would take time. Time that Gabriel’s burgeoning desire for vengeance couldn’t afford.

The bell chimed, derailing his train of thought; they got in and rode the elevator. When it stopped at the second floor, Gabriel and Bill went to their respective rooms in silence.

Chapter 28

May 10, 2019. 07:11 A.M.

Cold water from the shower caressed Gabriel’s body. One particular horrible image repeatedly flashed behind his eyelids: Joshua on a gurney with a grisly hole in his face.

Rage that had been simmering inside since he saw that photo seeped out. As his fingers curled into fists, tears of wrath flowed down his neck, their warmth a stark distinction from the cold water. Gabriel tried to stop crying, cupping his mouth with both hands. It was extremely difficult to tame the agony pulsating at the threshold of his throat.

Gabriel never had anyone except Joshua. He had not been just a dad, but also a role-model, a mentor. More than all, a mom. Gabriel couldn’t believe that Joshua was not here anymore.

It was unfair. To have lived a life of community service, dedicating his time to people who were wronged and in need of justice, only to be gunned down and discarded like garbage, left to the mercy of fish and flies.

Thinking this, picturing this, another fit of rage exploded within.

This time, Gabriel’s strong hands couldn’t contain the misery.

He squatted and plunged his head inside a bucket. The raw pain shot from the pit of his stomach and ousted into cold water.

Half a minute had gone by before he stopped bawling and resurfaced. But he quickly drew air in and dived again, not caring about his voice box bursting or some vein in his brain rupturing.

When he eventually ran out of air, he opened his eyes and looked through the water. As the tears made their presence known by warmly touching his skin, he pledged, again, that no one involved in his dad’s death would live. Lolly’s gang for pulling the trigger, the Detroit Alliance for enabling them years ago.

Gabriel tied a fluffy towel around his waist. Turning the doorknob, he half expected to see hotel staff or Bill waiting for him, probably rattled by the animalistic screeches.

But the room was empty.

His improvised muffler of a bucket of water had apparently worked. He sat on the bed’s edge and went over his plan, letting the draft of air from the ceiling fan dry his skin.

How’d you kill two groups of violent murderers? Pit them against each other, of course. And it wouldn’t be a problem because Lolly’s gang and the Detroit Alliance hated each other, Joshua had written.

Adequately dry, Gabriel got off the bed and dressed in his usual attire. A white shirt, jeans, and a brown jacket. Then he dragged a chair to a window overlooking the street.

Calabria was now open, and people were going in. Twenty minutes later, a black Land Rover arrived. The number plate read 80085, prompting Gabriel to roll his eyes. Two tough-looking guys, twins with ponytails, got out and went inside the bar. By observing the crowd thus far, he had surmised that the bar attracted only the types whose faces would be picture perfect for mugshots.

Another fifteen minutes later, a white Chrysler pulled over. A fat man in a loose-fitting Miami shirt and looser chinos clambered down, followed by a bodyguard. The fatso had a crutch and the unmistakable white-blond hair his dad mentioned in the notebook.

Gabriel left his post and exited the room hastily. Time to make the first move.

Gabriel crossed the street, jogging towards the bar’s entrance. When he reached it, the bodyguard tried to stop him. Bad move.

In the blink of an eye, he grabbed the man’s arm, turned him around, and folded it. If Gabriel applied more force, it would pop out of the socket.

The bodyguard shouted, “Ah! My arm!”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Gabriel said, then addressed the big man. “We need to talk.”

“Who are you?” Roman asked, his eyes just a pair of slits.

“I’m Gabriel Chase.” He glowered at Roman. “And I’ve come too far to take no for an answer.”

Something in Roman’s face changed, and he did an almost inconspicuous double take.

“Alright, fine,” Roman said.

Gabriel pushed the bodyguard at the front door who threw it open and stumbled in. After fumbling behind his back, he pulled out a tiny