Vengeance: A Coming Together

CHAPTER 1

The brand new Bonneville cruised down the highway approaching seventy miles-per-hour. Troy Gen had his seat back on its last notch to keep his five-foot eleven body from becoming one giant cramp. His blue eyes were tranced to the monotonous road ahead; occasionally, the spell was broken by the alluring headlights of an oncoming vehicle. Attempting to break the tedious cycle, he stretched, grunted and tensed his mannish muscles.

Tired? his father asked, turning to for a second to glance at him.

Yeah, a little. Troy took a peek at the car’s clock. It read 3:23 A.M.

Why don’t you go ahead and get some sleep, his father suggested. I’ll wake you up so you can drive in the morning.

It is morning, Troy chuckled at his own joke.

You know what I mean, his father responded lightheartedly.

Sure you’ll be all right without me keeping you up? Troy asked. The man nodded.

Without further discussion, Troy combed his dark blonde hair with his left hand fingers and used his right hand to reclined his seat all the way back so that he could come as close as possible to laying down. He allowed the soothing melodies of the radio to replace what little discomfort he was feeling, trying to sleep in a moving car. The mellow rhythm and cool harmony intertwined with his current spirit. Of course, those soft tuned, ‘listen at work’ stations did that for him.

As he lay there, he thought about many things. One idea would spark another and that would remind him of something else, and so on. He considered his changing life and his old friends back home in Des Moines, Iowa. But Iowa was no longer home. Thanks to the death of his mother. He scorned himself for feeling his slight discomfort because he should have been even more uncomfortable in the back. A woman called ‘Mom’ was supposed to be were Troy was, helping drive, helping keep the driver awake, just bringing good cheer as she usually did. Of course, this whole trip would not have been necessary if she had not been murdered. His dad blamed her death on his latest investigation.

Detective John Gen had always kept Troy up to date on all of his cases, as best he could considering the security involved. But this last one was different. He was gone a lot, and when he was home, he was always busy working in his home office. It wasn’t until Jane Gen died that the father and son rekindled their close relationship.

Those memories, mixed with the mournful whines of a saxophone solo, were the last things in Troy’s mind before he drifted off into slumberland…

That last month preceding their departure from Iowa was a hectic one. Troy was excited that his junior year was about to end because that meant senior year was next up in line and then he could get out of that hell hole. Prom was the greatest. He still wondered how he had gotten Lindsey Andrews to go with him. Finals were tough, but he did pass everything. Not with the best of grades but he still had one more year to get a good GPA before applying to colleges. Maybe if he got lucky, he could pull a scholarship. Not likely, though: Blacks were the only ones who got them. His mother pointed that out, often.

The evening after the last day of school, Troy didn’t go out with his friends and party. Instead, he stayed home and whined down, watching television. Later he would regret not going out. If he hadn’t been home, then maybe his mother wouldn’t have gone to the hardware store…and then she wouldn’t have been shot.

Troy, His mom had called from some other room in the house. Since you’re here, come to the hardware store with me. I need some big strong muscles to help me with the wood for the deck. If your father wants to be too busy to at least go and get it, then I’ll have to get it myself.

Troy grunted as he rolled off of the couch that he had been lying on. He hastily put his shoes on and went out to meet her in the car.

The hardware store was in the outer section of ‘the hood,’. Not a lot of violence happened there but still, but Troy still hated that his dad did business there when there was a perfectly good hardware store farther west. Cheaper prices weren’t worth the risk of inner city violence.

He was helping one of the loaders secure the long, heavy wood strips onto the top of the car while his mom wrote the check. She was doing more talking than writing, as usual, but Troy was enjoying the little outing with her. Since he had gotten into his late teen status, he almost never spent any time with her.

His peace was disturbed when he noticed what looked like a gangster jalopy driving notably slow through the parking lot. It was a souped up van, decorated with more gold than an Aztec god idol. The boom of the power base rattled the windows of the building. Others were looking up, faces showing disgust, Troy’s mom one of them.

I really hate those people. She said to the clerk. The mustached man smiled and nodded knowingly.

Troy and his mom had now switched places. He was back inside the store, fetching the last of the wood, his mom out at the car waiting for him. The gangster van had stopped in the far corner of the lot, its bass still bumping. No one could see who occupied it because of the tinted windows.

What happened next was like a dream dreaming itself. Gunfire cracked the air, muffled by the pounding bass and Troy looked on as his mother twitched while red blemishes splattered all over the car and street. The blood spewed from the bullet-to-flesh collisions like a hole infested water-balloon. He couldn’t really remember anything else; he was in too much shock, as was everyone else. No one could even recall the van speeding off.

Detective Gen headed the investigation, personally. Troy and the other witnesses were questioned, but the murderers were never found. After all hope of capturing the slime was gone, Troy’s father proposed that they leave Des Moines and start a new life in Beganning, California. Eager to escape the memorous pains that his hometown held, Troy agreed and the father and son took up their crosses and left Iowa to try it again.

That was all that Mister Sandman had for Troy tonight. The dream subtly faded away and Troy continued his slumber peacefully.

CHAPTER 2

The sky was cloudy, but the majestic sun tore open rifts in the smokish barrier to shine its glistening beams of radiance onto the Earth. A light, unrythmic shaking awakened Troy. As his eyes opened, the glimmer of the low-risen sun nearly blinded him.

Wake up, Troy, his father’s voice chased away any remaining weariness left in his body. We’re here!

What time is it? Troy asked grumpily.

Eight-forty! The detective’s voice was excited.

At that answer, Troy jumped up and stared at his father. You said that we would switch in the morning! Why didn’t you wake me? He continued to stare at his father wildly.

Well, you were sleeping so good, and I wasn’t tired, so I just let you get your rest. But never mind that, man, we’re here!

Still upset with his father, Troy took a look at his new home. His eyebrows shot up at the sight of the near economy-sized mansion. The roof had a kind of gothic styling, with flat spaces between the heaven-pointing towers. Painted a pretty light blue with wood framing, Troy noticed that there were no neighboring houses. They were completely surrounded by the forest. The hundred plus foot front yard was cut nice and clean with beautiful green grass and an occasional well groomed tree spared from the clearing of the area. From what he heard of California, this place was pretty much impossible to exist here, with tales of fires, smog, and over-population, but then again he had never heard of Beganning, California before his father proposed that they move there.

Kind of big for just two people, don’cha think? Troy eyeballed the house, hinting his curiosity of where his father could have gotten the money for such a place.

The detective puffed. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. We’re not the only people that will be living here. Detective Gen paused and waited for Troy’s response. We’re going to be sharing it with another family.

Who? Asked Troy, puzzled by the uncanny arrangement.

You’ll meet them in just a minute.

They pulled up close to the quad-car garage and Detective Gen honked a few times. Several people unfamiliar to Troy came out to greet them, the welcoming party consisted of a Black man, a Black woman (probably husband and wife), the couple’s two teenage children, and an Asian man. Detective Gen got out and embraced them as if they were old friends. Cautiously, Troy climbed out.

Detective Gen pulled Troy close to him after speaking to all of the strangers. This is my son, Troy. he said, hugging him bearishly.

The Black man stepped up to Troy and shook his hand with a strong grip. He looked like one of those not-so-old jazz musicians that Troy saw on TV, and after hearing him talk, he kind of sounded like him, too.

Heard a lot about you, Troy. the man said. I bet you and my oldest will get to be good friends. I’m Detective Leon Steivers, He drew the woman to his side and hugged her the same way Detective Gen had hugged Troy. This is my wife, Shanda.

Detective Steivers’ wife stood just a few inches shorter than he. Her dark complexion made Troy think of those slave movies, but she was prettier, and not ragged looking. In fact, she kind of looked like a Black actress he knew of. He couldn’t think of her name though. It was something like Angela Basket, or maybe Bassett. Anyway, she looked quite different than the Black women his mother had presented to him, was his whole point.

With his wife dragging beside him, Steivers moved over to the two young people.

These are our kids. This is Quincy. He slapped the oldest one on the back. And Kay. The young girl had an embarrassed smile on her face.

Troy shook hands with everyone, mentally printing their names into his memory banks. Later, he would have to talk to his dad about this. But how could explain that he just couldn’t live with a Black family that he didn’t even know without sounding like his mom?

There was one person that was not yet introduced. The Asian man, who seemed like an oddball in the picture.

I guess I have to ask who you are, myself. Troy looked him over, smiling politely.

The Asian man shed a half smirk, as if his face didn’t know how to form a complete smile. He stood a little taller than Troy, his eyes showed an aged wisdom, but his body displayed the exact opposite. He had no wrinkles, and wasn’t hunched over like an old person. There were a few gray hairs, but nothing for a man his possible age to be ashamed of.

I am Master Ken Long. his voice had a slight accent. I will be your trainer.

Trainer? Troy stumbled on the word.

Yup, Detective Steivers said excitedly. He seemed to have that same annoying enthusiasm that Troy’s father had. But in explaining the need for a trainer, he took on a more concerned position. You see, Troy, the situation that we’re in, ya’ll are in just as much danger as me and John. We wanted to make sure that you could take care of yourselves.

Troy was confused. He looked at his father for more explanation, but Detective Steivers continued the briefing, instead. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of folded paper. Handing it to Troy, he explained what it was.

Your dad and I each got this message about a two months ago. We didn’t really take it seriously at first, after what happened to your mom we found out just how serious whoever wrote this was.

The paper was the standard stuff that one could buy at any local department store and was typed in a funny print that he had never seen before. It looked like it had already been through numerous tests to find the culprit, but had obviously failed.

As he read it, the words made his heart scuttle into the front of his throat. His lips quivered and his lungs had to work four times as hard to take in a decent breath.

ABANDON YOUR CURRENT

INVESTIGATION OR

SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES…

you and your family.

CHAPTER 3

It seemed very much like boot camp. Master Long had Troy, Kay, and Quincy up early in the mornings running, jumping, flipping, climbing, getting into better shape than professional athletes. They had plenty to work with, too: A sixty foot swimming pool in the backyard, accompanied by a full sized basketball court, not to mention the surrounding forest. Often times, they wondered where the property officially ended.

Then there was the martial arts training. They started out learning the basics but before they knew it, Master Long was teaching them highly advanced styles that would rival those of the worlds greatest fighters. Daily, the students surprised themselves, performing feats only seen in Kung Fu movies.

All through these months, the supplies rolled in: food, cleaning junk, and other accessories the normal household would need. Cleaning crews would show up while they were training and make sure that the mansion was in sanitized order. When something broke down, a specialist would be in immediately to take care of the problem no matter what it was. They never charged anything and Troy and Quincy often wondered why but they never bothered to ask. Their days were supersaturated with training. Issues beyond that had to take a back seat.

Quincy Steivers rinsed the stinky sweat from his face. The cool water felt refreshing against his heated skin. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. A seventeen year old young man stared back at him. Dark, tan skin like an oven cooked turkey added to the low-cut hairstyle and the childish mustache not to mention a few whiskers under his chin (if one looked hard enough).

By now he had gotten used to training. Sometime during those two months he finally realized that there wasn’t really anything else for him to do besides sit around and be bored so he pulled himself together and intensified his efforts. Muscles which he didn’t even know he had began to make lumps and creases all over his body. He liked that. Smiling to himself, Quincy finished dressing and headed downstairs.

Troy Gen sat on the ground level deck, facing the sixty-foot swimming pool, chlorine allowing his nostrils to take in way too much air.

‘…Ya’ll are in just as much danger as me an John.’ Detective Steivers had said. It was obvious that the situation he was in was related to his mother’s death, but if he was in so much danger, why wasn’t he shot down as well when the gunman had the chance? Maybe the shooter was saving him for the next target. Somebody