DEADLY VEILS BOOK ONE: SHATTERING TRUTHS – EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE 

“A Soldier’s Burden” 

(The night Tommy died.) 

I 

 tailed them to Newfield Park. They were still living in Bridgeport. Phil had a place near Beardsley Park, on the North End. Sergio lived in an apartment on Wilmot Avenue, not far from the park where they dealt their drugs—thirtysomething guys hanging around dealing to kids. I considered setting them up for a sting. 

When I dropped Gianni’s name, my worth shot up a hundred feet. 

“Gianni Bonafacio, no shit,” Phil said. “You must be Tommy Cat.” 

I doubted they knew Gianni was on the road to being a cop. 

That Sergio clown bragged that he ripped off some rich snob from Westport. 

I told them I had a girlfriend—some gorgeous seventeen-year-old with a bodacious bod who lived all the way up in Glastonbury. I could tell that got their attention. I went on about how she was a wreck about something that had happened to her over the summer, and how I wished she’d tell me, because if I knew who fucked her over, I’d call in every favor to fuck them up. I’d track ‘em down with backup close behind. Their eyes were bulging. Jaws were hanging. I’m willing to bet they were thinking, I hope he doesn’t find out it was us. I’m sure they were thinking that … freakin’ airheads. 

That was two weeks ago. I racked my brain trying to decide what to do to them, who to involve. I figured I could at least scare the shit out of them so they’d leave Dani alone. 

I headed for the East End in my truck now, passing a lot of factories and old warehouses. Friend of mine got knifed here a while back. It was dark. I drove past the park, didn’t see ‘em. I went to Orange Street, near the turnpike, a rundown area where they said they hung out a lot. It looked abandoned. I headed back toward the park and spotted them coming out of one of the brownstones. These two scumbags seemed joined at the hip. At least, now they were. I’m sure they shared a lot of creepy secrets. I could imagine what else they were hiding. 

They didn’t notice me in my souped-up Ford F-150, but as soon as they got in their car, I followed them. I was listening to Metallica—“Master of Puppets.” I revved up to scare them, give them a taste of my loud custom pipes—a thing I didn’t do without a reason—and they accelerated. I laughed. I knew the moment they saw me, they figured out my agenda. And they freaked the fuck out. Someone knew their dirty secret, someone connected to people they didn’t want to mess with. Well, what other reason was there for them to speed up? They didn’t just speed up, either. They sped recklessly toward a dangerous intersection—CT Route 127 at Barnum—then careened into a utility pole. 

Oh, snap. It was all I could say. I didn’t expect that. 

I got a gas station attendee to call 911 then drove slowly ahead and pulled off the road. I turned on my emergency flashers. A transformer blew, and it was like a bomb. My mind was back in the Sahara—sand dunes, camels, sunrises, sunsets over the Mediterranean. I could hear bomb after bomb, feel fleas in the sand. Place was like another planet—just brutal. At times, more in the beginning, I thought I’d blown up and passed on to where I could see what was going on from another plane. It felt like that now. 

I got out of the car and walked as close to the scene as I could. The utility pole had snapped at its base and landed on the hood of their car. That had to be just before an oncoming Chevy Suburban hit them in the rear. The Suburban must have spun around, causing the Cutlass to overturn. The Cutlass was in flames. I never saw anything so bizarre. There was glass everywhere and smoke. The passengers in the Suburban crossed to the other side. I checked on them. They were fine, but said they doubted the people in the Cutlass were alive. I’d seen people crash into poles, get airlifted to a hospital, and survive with minor injuries, but I swear to God, this wreck seemed orchestrated by Satan. Phil and Sergio had to be wasted. 

I helped redirect traffic. Cops came, fire trucks, ambulances. They had to figure out how to extricate those two from the vehicle, but I could see the heads shaking. Those bastards were dead. It was beyond horrific, and I felt bad, but I was sure I’d get over it—faster than Dani would get over what they did to her. 

It got me thinking about Ximena Alvarez. She flew tankers with her fresh face and pouty lips, had a smile that often kept me from walking away, and these big Bambi eyes that said so much with a glance. She was wise and tough, as full of joy as she was fearless. I would have said nothing could break her. It wasn’t easy for the women there. Me and my buddies tried to make it better by treating them right or trying to shut someone up who got out of line. A senior officer we all hated raped Ximena. She was devastated. I didn’t know what to do. I felt helpless to do anything. There I was, a well-trained, highly skilled, skydiving soldier who couldn’t do shit. I wanted to. She was scared to say anything or to have me stand up for her, like Dani. I prayed for Ximena and then for Dani, but I’m not sure what good it did. I came from a praying family of which I was the lone survivor, given the honor of witnessing more and more shitheads still walking around. And I don’t believe in coincidences. It’s just a matter of time before things catch up. It would be true for me, too. 

I liked to remember Ximena, the times we were laughing together like school kids, when she shared brownies with me from a tin can. I kept her picture. 

There would always be a part of me that wanted to fix things, make it right, get any scum off the street. Ha! I should have picked the cop route, like Gianni. For the time being, I’d be satisfied that Dani never had to hear from Phil or Sergio again, never had to see them. They meted out their own justice, good riddance to them both. They’d never hurt anyone else. 

Not going to say I was a saint or have ever been. I shot dope for the first time after Libya, then a few times here and there. My bros weren’t into that. They talked me into quitting, but I started again in the fall. This winter it was more often, but I hid it. Temptation was an uphill battle, the temptation to be sedated whenever it got to be too much or too lonely. There was an addict in me who felt lonely all the time and crazy. It would get to a point where it was hard to give a fuck anymore. I promised my bros I’d stop. I promised my dear friend Liz. I loved them all to death. They were my family now. I’d always have their backs, and Dani’s—Farran’s, too, if she’d just stop playing people. 

I drove home under a canopy of wretchedness and with an overpowering need for relief. 

The End 

Thank you for reading Shattering Truths. The book will be available on this site for a couple of more weeks for anyone wishing to catch up. If you enjoyed the book, please consider leaving a review at this link. Thanks again!

Deadly Veils Book One: Shattering Truths was originally published as Deadly Veils: Book One: Provenance of Bondage copyright © October 2015 by Kyrian Lyndon. The revised edition, Deadly Veils: Book One: Shattering Truths was published in December 2016. Cover design by KH Koehler Design.