Chapter Twenty-Two
Prince rode himself hard, pushing himself and his bike beyond the limits. His physical limits. The speed limit. The city limit. He headed back to the bar where he'd first confronted Roman and his crew. It was lunchtime, and the bar was empty of bikes. Prince cursed as he sped out of the parking lot, spewing gravel as his wheel turned. He wanted to punch something.
It had been all he could do not to launch himself at Roman's smug face as those elevator doors closed. He wanted to hurl words of betrayal at Kemi for standing on the wrong side of the issue. He wanted to tip over Dawson's tiny desk, letting all his carefully constructed paperwork spill on the floor.
This was not what he signed up for when he came on to the Hate Crimes division. He'd dedicated his life to protecting the weak and powerless with the balanced certainty of the law. But what good was the law if it allowed people to get hurt based on technicalities?
This was no longer a matter of legalities. It had nothing to do with free speech or expression. When Roman and his Henchmen painted that hateful sign on their racecar, on their bikes, and on their jackets in this diverse community that worked hard to show respect and tolerance to others, they had declared war in a land of peace. In war there were rules of engagement; circumstances and conditions under which you used force. Roman knew that when he attacked Crow on the track. He'd made a calculated decision. One way or another, he was going to pay.
Maybe Prince should let it play out in the streets like he knew it would. Prince knew Hawk and the brothers of the Watchers Crew were bidding their time. The Baztards, too. Prince knew both clubs would move in on Roman at the most opportune time and a battle would wage across the city.
Even if Prince had been able to get a legal conviction, it wouldn't stop that eventual showdown. He knew that people couldn't erase hate from someone else's heart. They could only try to protect themselves and those they loved from the rages of war.
Prince pulled his bike over to the side of the road. He crested to a hilltop that overlooked the city. Fluffy green leaves poked out between red brick buildings. A yellow bridge extended over crystal blue waters as cars made their way to and fro in an orderly fashion. Prince's palm itched for his Rubik's cube, for a problem with a predictable process that would lead to a clear solution. But his cube was back at home.
His shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes to the scenery. He'd gone into law enforcement because he'd needed a process that would bring conflicts to an end. Street justice and vigilantism kept all parties in a continual loop of righting what someone else thought was wrong. The law was meant to close that door after due process. But the law had failed all parties and the wound would fester, then scab over after some time, only to be ripped open in the future.
He wanted out of the damn loop. All Prince wanted to do was to take Gabby in his arms and get lost. Over the last couple of days, he realized that whenever he was with her everything settled and he didn't have a care in the world. It had always been that way between them. Now he could take refuge in that haven for the rest of his life.
He pulled out his phone preparing to hit her number. But when he looked down, he saw that there were a dozen missed calls. All from Chief. The last notification was a text message.
Prince's eyes zeroed in on the words "hospital" and "Sully."
Prince lowered his visor and took off at full speed. His haven would have to wait while he went to check on his brother. Prince couldn't imagine what could have happened to put his friend in the hospital. Sully had become a recluse after his last tour and kept to himself.
The first person he saw when he entered the sliding doors of the Emergency Room was Nurse Cleo.
"I'll take you to him," she said, taking his arm and guiding him along the maze of hallways.
"What happened?" Prince said as he followed her lead.
"He was beat badly just outside the vet building," she said. "He's been in and out of consciousness. He keeps calling for Gabby."
That surprised Prince. "He and Gabby were close. She wrote to him while he was away on tour."
They came to Sully's room and Prince's knees nearly gave out. His friend was black and blue wherever skin was showing; beneath his eyes, his chin, his shoulder, even one of his hands was badly bruised. A nun dressed from head-to-toe in a white habit and coif, stood over him at the end of the bed. It couldn't be that bad.
Prince turned to the corner where Chief sat slouched over in a chair. His normal healthy tan was pale in the waning afternoon sunlight. His blue eyes were the darkest of storm clouds. He wrung his hands and bounced the heel of his right foot on the linoleum floor.
"This is Sister Ruth," said Cleo. "She's been taking care of Mr. Abdelrahim."
"He's Muslim." Prince's voice came out raspy as though it had been bruised. "If it's bad enough to have clergy, we'll need an Imam."
The nun shook her head. Her voice, when she spoke, reminded Prince of the sad song Gabby had played on her cello a few days ago. It was just as soft and resonating.
"He's going to pull through, God willing," Sister Ruth said. "It's going to be a tough road, but it looks as though he has family and friends to help him along."
Sully opened his eyes. His head swiveled and his gaze found the speaker. He blinked once, then twice as he took in Sister Ruth. He reached his bruised hand up to her. It shook like a brittle leaf in the wind.
Sister Ruth caught his hand, gently, inside hers and guided it back down to the mattress. With his hand in hers, Sully seemed to settle. He closed his eyes and exhaled.
"It's all right, Mr. Abdelrahim," said Sister Ruth. "Look who's come to visit."
Sully struggled to open his eyes. This time he found Prince. Sully's eyes widened when he saw his friend. He struggled to sit up but Sister Ruth and then Nurse Cleo were on him, coaxing him back down.
"Gabby," Sully managed. "Gabby."
"I'll call her right now, brother." Prince pulled out his cell phone. "She'll be right over."
"No," said Sully. "Took her. Took Gabby."
Ice ran down Prince's back. The phone felt like a heavy weight in his hands. His thumb felt too big to press the small symbols on the phone. But finally he managed. He pressed the phone to his ear and heard a sound that stopped his heart.
It rang. Over and over again, the phone simply rang. Gabby always answered his calls before the first ring had completed.
"Who?" Prince said. "Who took Gabby?"
"Nazi." Sully struggled to get the words out. "Young. White hair."
Sister Ruth's eyes widened and her hand trembled as she reached out for Sully.
"Where?" Prince demanded.
But Sully was seized with a coughing fit.
"I'm sorry," said the nun. "But you're going to have to leave. He's not well enough yet and I need to get the doctor in here."
Prince's mind reeled as he was backed out of the room. Roman had Gabby? That was impossible. Gabby was at home. Wasn't she?
He hit redial, but again, the phone rang and rang. He switched tactics and rang Diniece's phone.
"Gabby dropped me off this morning at the courthouse," she said when she came on the line. "Why? What's wrong?"
Prince didn't respond. He hung up the phone. There were three pieces of this puzzle and the jagged edges fit together. Roman had left the Attorney General's office that morning. Sully had been found at the vet building, beaten, bruised, and left for dead. And Gabby had dropped Diniece off at the courthouse.
Prince staggered against the wall. But he didn't fall to the floor like his legs wanted to. Chief caught him and pulled him back up.
"Do you know where the Henchmen's club house is?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I do." Chief was already tapping at his phone. "I'm calling everybody. The Baztards will meet us there."
"I'm calling her brother," said Prince.
Any thought of the law and balance and justice went out the window. If they hurt her, he would kill each and every one of them.