Vengeance: Book 3 Mysterious Truth

Vengeance

Book 3 Mysterious Truth

All Rights Reserved © 2003 by LeRoy Powell III

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

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ISBN: 0-595-28184-2

ISBN: 978-1-4697-1523-0 (ebook)

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

A MESSAGE FROM LEROY

PREVIEWS

CHAPTER 1

The paramedics slipped past the hospital doors while they were still open. A pair of doctors joined them and the official turn over of the patient began.

Black female…well I guess, black slash Japanese female. Single gunshot to the chest. Heart stopped in transit…vitals all crashed. Johnson here wanted to dump her.

The blonde paramedic was the one reporting and her partner, the brunette-haired Johnson, shot an offended glare at her upon hearing her comment.

I didn’t mean it, Rogers!

You don’t think she’ll make it, Johnson? asked the younger of the two doctors.

Johnson shrugged. She’s already dead.

The other doctor begged to differ. I’ll be the judge of that.

They lifted the patient off of the gurney and onto an operating table. Her extra-long braids were still sitting on the rolling bed and had to be stuffed under her body to keep them out of the way. Her face was dry and had a serious frown on it, as if she had been concentrating on something before she blacked out. A little bit of blood had erupted from her mouth, but it appeared that most of her life-juice had escaped from her chest.

Nurses forced the paramedics back, hooking up probes and scanners, injecting needles, and setting up equipment. As they began working on her, a policeman stepped inside the operating room.

How’s she doing, Doctor Drove?

We can’t say yet. Why don’t you guys step out so we can work in peace?

Okay, but it’s important that you keep me updated on her condition.

Why? asked the younger doctor.

Concentrate on the job, Valentine, advised Doctor Drove.

Honoring Drove’s request, the paramedics and police officer went into the hall. None of the nurses had thought to close the blinds, so they could still observe the unknown patient’s treatment.

So, who is this girl? Rogers asked.

The policeman kept his eyes directed toward the operating room. I think I remember her from years ago. She used to run with that crip gang, the Intown Cs, when I worked their territory. She was just a kid then. I think I took her home once, after some big fight. But she’s different now…

Before he could explain, the younger doctor, Valentine, poked his head out through the doorway.

Where did you guys find her? he asked.

Johnson answered. Cops called us to a house out on a hundred and eighth. Said they found her inside, laying on the floor.

How long?

The policeman answered, She had to have been there at least two hours.

Valentine’s mouth dropped.

And she didn’t bleed out? He looked at the paramedics.

Johnson gave another of her shrugs.

Doctor Drove’s voice called from inside the operating room. Doctor Valentine, I need you in here!

The young doctor excused himself and returned to the patient.

Constant reports clashed with requests that had nothing to do with the acknowledged problem. More suction…five milliliters of this…10 of that…the bullet destroyed the left ventricle…start compressions…call the blood bank.

For 30 minutes, they did everything they could to save her. When they stopped, Doctor Drove made the final prognosis.

That’s all we can do. It’s up to her whether she wants to live or die.

CHAPTER 2

"All right man, what’s going on?" Quincy Steivers demanded. He glared straight ahead, but kept tabs on the two Locos that were trailing him.

Chill,black,Riconndo said.Everything is all right.It was the same thing he said every time Quincy asked him what was going on.

With a sigh, he continued to let himself be lead into the building. His blood was still pumping from his battle with Troy and his new friends. If Riconndo thought that he was going to surprise him with a sneak attack, he was sadly mistaken.

The Locos were the top gang in Beganning, California. Ever since their arch rivals, the Intown Cs, went underground, there was no one strong enough to oppose the Latino gang. Because Vengeances’ interests lay elsewhere, their conflict with the Locos was minimal.

Quincy went to school with their leader, Riconndo. The scars that used to provide an excuse for his unpleasant appearance were disappearing. Quincy’s first real encounter with the man was when the Locos attacked him and his friends in Pizzas Park. That was the day Veronica came to him and told him it was Tyrone Mills, leader of the Intown Cs, who had murdered his sister, Kay. After that, Quincy found plenty of other things to deal with, including his mother’s kidnapping, his father’s murder, multiple attempts on his own life, and, most recently, his close friend’s betrayal.

Most of the tragedies that happened to Quincy were inflicted by The Complot. After two years of investigating it, Quincy still didn’t know what it was. The Complot, as he understood it, was merely a title for some conspiracy against the government. The title was used to describe the actual conspiracy, the people behind it, even the investigation into it. What exactly this conspiracy involved, nobody seemed to know. Who was behind the conspiracy also remained unknown.

Originally, his father, Detective Leon Steivers, was assigned to the case. He was teamed with another cop from Iowa, and they set out to uncover the mystery of The Complot.

Adding a bizarre twist, both men brought their families to Beganning with them. The government, which had sponsored Steivers’ and the other detective’s recruitment, accommodated the families with a huge mansion, which they all lived in together.

Whereas Quincy, his mother Shanda, and his sister brought a whole family to Detective Steivers’ lot, the other detective had only his son. While the detectives worked The Complot case, Quincy, his sister, and the other detective’s son were forced to train in self-defense under Master Long. In the strangest detail of all, the middle aged Asian man also lived in the mansion, carrying out the sole task of preparing the detectives’ children for the unthinkable.

It didn’t take long to confirm the necessity of the training. Quincy’s sister was brutally murdered, and even though it appeared to be gang retaliation for Quincy’s whooping of the Intown Cs’ leader, further revelations suggested that The Complot had worked behind the scenes to target the young girl.

Afraid for her own life, Quincy’s mother left. But the separation from her husband didn’t stop The Complot from kidnapping her over a year later. Hope wasn’t completely gone, but it had been so long that the chances of her being alive were now shallow.

Lastly, Detective Steivers himself fell victim to The Complot. Quincy’s father lost his life in a death trap, and the investigation was almost doomed. And then a tip came, implying that following the Locos would lead to The Complot. The latest action that they had taken—rescuing Quincy from someone he thought was his friend—gave weight to the implications.

They had already gone down five flights of stairs. The echo of gunfire was long gone, but another sound soon replaced it. Music. At first it was only a faint beat. The thud of bass and the tap of a snare drum. Once Riconndo opened the sub-basement door, the volume doubled. He recognized the rhymes of Kid Frost blasting from the hidden stereo system.

Quincy scanned the environment with the keen observation of a policeman’s son: Two desks of computers, most of which were occupied by thuggish looking Latino gang members. Various guns lied about like chips and dip at a house party.

So what’s going on here? He expected a dismissive response but, for a change, Riconndo actually answered.

Welcome to the Locos Headquarters.

Headquarters, huh?

Yup. You thought we was just a bunch of Mexican gangbangers, didn’t you? If you didn’t, then we ain’t been doing too good a job of fronting.

So just what are ya’ll up to?

We’re here to watch your back.

Vengeance? Quincy wanted to be sure.

Yeah. We’ve been keeping tabs on the whole team since you guys got together.

A man greeted Riconndo and they conversed for a moment in Spanish. Unable to understand their language, Quincy realized how funny he felt being the only black man in a room full of Latinos. Before joining Vengeance, Quincy didn’t have many encounters with Latinos. Only after getting involved with The Complot investigation did he really find himself interacting with people of different races. Regardless of all the pain that this case had brought upon him, befriending certain people he’d met had been the greatest experience of his life.

While patiently waiting for Riconndo and his associate to finish gossiping, Quincy considered how ragged he must have looked. He had suffered a few punches, but his body was so well-conditioned that he was not likely to display any signs of battery. If not for his athletic shave, his hair would have been a mess. As it was, he had been so busy lately that he wasn’t able to keep it groomed (and a brush was also in demand). His mustache and goatee, too, were in need of shaping.

After their talk was over, Riconndo gestured for Quincy to follow him again.

They grouped around a computer at the end of the closest table, and the man who had been talking to Riconndo sat in front of it. In English, he explained what he was doing.

I think Troy hooking up with those Ku Klux Klan guys surprised everybody. We knew that he was involved with them for a long time, and even though we didn’t know what he was doing with them, we did-n’t think that he would join them to try to kill you.

Who are they? Quincy wanted to know.

They call themselves White Rule. Pretty self-explanatory, I guess. While everybody else was out saving you, I was looking into them. They don’t have a web page like those other White power groups, but they recruit a lot of people out there. I got into some chat rooms from the White Knights and met some people who are going to transfer over to White Rule. Nobody knows any of the higher-ups, but I just started researching, so I’ll have more information in a few days.

"Cool. Gracias, Edwardo," said Riconndo.

They left Edwardo to his work, and Riconndo offered Quincy a 7-Up from a nearby cooler. Seeing the can made Quincy realize that he did want to wet his whistle.

We’ll wait for Edwardo to get some more information before we tackle Troy, Riconndo declared as he opened his can. You better get home and tell Vengeance what’s going down. What were you doing out there anyway? You know Death Alley is Loco territory.

Quincy took several long gulps before answering. You mean you don’t know? You’re supposed to be watching us. Damn black, it ain’t like we got your house bugged! Riconndo chuckled. Quincy understood. I was out looking for Veronica. The CV? What would she be doing out here? She would know better than you not to come to Death Alley. Quincy hadn’t heard anyone use Veronica’s old gang nickname in a long time. I guess that means you didn’t see her. Riconndo shook his head, no. Hmm, Quincy grunted. Where could she be?

CHAPTER 3

Once upon a time, there was a young man named Troy Gen. His father, John Gen, was a successful detective living in Des Moines, Iowa. His mother, Jane Gen, was a happy housewife. Troy was happy, too—going to school, hanging with his friends. Then his mother was killed.

On the surface, it looked like a random gang shooting, but Detective Gen knew that it was related to his latest case. He was investigating something called The Complot, and the people behind it threatened to stop the investigation. His wife’s murder was the official warning.

Accepting an offer from the government to sponsor his investigation, Detective Gen and his son were moved to Beganning, California. They were stationed in a huge mansion that they shared with another detective’s family. As horrible as his mother’s death was, Troy was relieved that she was not around to be a part of this union. The other family was black.

Mrs. Gen was an outspoken racist. She hated black people. She hated Latinos. She hated Asians. She hated anybody who wasn’t descended from Europe. Troy loved his mother very much, but her racist assessment of the world didn’t rub off on him. Detective Gen was thankful for this.

Troy found that he had a lot in common with the other detective’s son. Both were already very skilled in the martial arts, which helped in their training with Master Long. They were both close to their families. And both their lives were in danger because of their fathers’ investigation.

In the two years since they had been brought together, they had shared joys and pains. Forming Vengeance was the best thing that had ever happened to Troy. The worst thing was his father’s demise in a death trap set by The Complot.

His friends were supportive, but their obsession with uncovering The Complot started to annoy Troy. Most of the others had formed bonds and cliques within the group but Troy, being the only blonde-haired, blue-eyed white guy on the team, felt out of place.

Oddly, he found himself more comfortable with White Rule. When he first stumbled upon the organization, he wanted to bring Vengeance in and quickly put them down. But then he started to get the impression that White Rule was bigger than it appeared to be. Vengeance was too busy with The Complot to go the distance with another investigation, so Troy went undercover alone, and kept it secret from his teammates.

He let White Rule think that they had drawn him in with a promise to find the supposed gang members who had killed his mother. The surprise came when they actually followed through. Directed by the group’s leader, Christian Fun, White Rule’s resources took them all the way to Troy’s original Iowa home. So meticulous was Fun’s work that he discovered The Complot. He found out about the government recruiting Troy’s father. He found out about Vengeance. He found out something else, too. Something that nobody else had been able to uncover. He found out who was behind The Complot.

Learning that people whom he loved and trusted were really his enemies hurt him deeply. Vengeance’s teacher, Master Long. Blake Hodges, the man who was supposed to be in charge of The Complot investigation. Death Rivers and Shanda Steivers, two people who had supposedly been kidnapped by The Complot. These four people were the leaders of The Complot.

The last piece of information was even more shocking. Fun revealed Quincy Steivers, the other detective’s son. The man whom Troy had bonded with was secretly working for his mother, Shanda Steivers, in The Complot. He had shot Troy’s mother.

An attempt to extract revenge from Quincy had already failed. It was such a disaster that Troy and some White Rule colleagues had to check into a hospital following their retreat. Without the pointy hoods, the secret militia members looked like strangely dressed young men, but not suspicious ones. The doctors treated them all night. Gunshot wounds, cosmetic injuries from brawling. Having gone through this dozens of times before, White Rule was able to avoid police reports. Doctors and nurses were easy to dupe.

Although his minor wounds had been dealt with hours ago, Troy stayed at the hospital to learn the fate of the others. In the dark tradition of hospital visitation, waiting without knowing was the supreme activity. Troy used the long hours to evaluate the disaster.

It wasn’t his intention to watch television as he reviewed the previous night, but the TV was on and Troy’s mind allowed him to pay attention to both. In training, Master Long had made Troy spar with two opponents while watching an hour-long TV show. The objective was for Troy to win the sixty-minute fight and, afterwards, give a detailed account of the program he had watched. Regular shows turned out to be easy, but news programs took a lot of practice. Before he was able to master the practice, he had learned to hate anchorman Rob Dyson. The bright but authoritative voice, typical for an anchorman, stayed in Troy’s head for a month. When the early news broadcast started, Troy shuttered upon learning that Rob was filling in for the regular morning lady.

Topping local news, a forest fire has started in the outskirts of the city. The source appears to be a burning mansion built deep within the woodlands. No word on who lives there, but the structure was completely destroyed. Luckily, no one was home at the time.

As soon as Rob said forest fire, Troy abandoned his contemplation and focused on the television screen. The cameras captured images of firemen venturing into the smoke-conquered woodlands. The scene came from the police barricade, blocking the road leading into the forest. Things must have been so hot in there that the media wasn’t allowed to observe any of the action.

Vengeance’s mansion was the only one out there. It was destroyed, but no one was at home, so Troy wondered where the others were. Rob’s lack of information wasn’t a surprise. To get the full story, Troy was going to have to investigate himself.

Right now, though, he had other things to deal with.

So, you made it out of there! Justin Minor said when he spotted Troy in the lobby. He was one of the White Rulers who had helped Troy hunt down Quincy.

That was a pretty rough ambush. I hear Smithers and a couple of others didn’t make it, Troy replied. He spoke quietly even though the room was empty.

Justin nodded, not