Bishop's War (Bishop Series Book 1) (3 page)

“He can talk to me like that. You can’t,” he said to his former student and then hit Tucker with a crisp open hand slap across the face.

Felix heard the exchange and looked over. Bishop shook his head no, but Felix stared silently at Fletcher and Tucker for several tense moments.

Both John and Felix had looked up to Fletcher when they were kids and neither one had really forgiven him for turning into a dope fiend. He’d been a legend in the neighborhood and one of the greatest ball players they had ever seen before the drugs consumed him.

“You havin’ a fight with your girlfriend, Fletch?” Felix asked.

They both stood rock still with their backs against the wall, heads down, and sweat pouring off them. Tucker had tears of humiliation rolling down his checks from the slap.

“Uh, no Felix, just a misunderstanding,” Fletcher said.

“Don’t bring any drama up in here. You two kiss and make up,” he said, which brought nervous laughter from around the room. “Nice throw back. Tiny was the man back in his day, even if he was a Celtic. Those green shorts are a little over the top, but I respect the level of commitment to your costume.”

“Well, okay, uh, thanks Felix,” Fletcher said uncomfortably.

His yellow, unblinking eyes bore into them for another moment until both men exhaled slowly when he finally turned back to his conversation.

Felix was a wild and dangerous dude, but he loved to laugh and tell stories. He had fun wherever he went, jail or prison were no exception, and he was surrounded by four young guys that were hanging on his every word.

“Yo, you guys down with midgets?” Felix asked the group of youngsters.

“Say what?”

“Big titty midgets, man. You think about ‘em?”

Felix looked over at John and winked at him, and John smiled back momentarily. He’d heard Felix’s “little people” story before, and it was hilarious, but he drifted back to his own thoughts, rewinding the tape, trying to figure out how to explain this mess to his uncle. He’d started his day as far from jail as one could imagine, thousands of miles away, excited to see his family and begin a new life…

Chapter 3

Coming Home

Before leaving his
Combat Outpost (COP) in Afghanistan to start his long journey to a jail cell in NYC he said goodbye to his “family.” The Special Forces Operators on his A Team, Team Razor, were more like brothers than friends. The goodbyes had been hard, the packing was easy. After fourteen years of front-line combat duty the few items he cared about, including his parent’s wedding picture, all fit neatly into two duffle bags. The bags were light. It was the dead that weighed him down. The friends and family he’d held in his arms as they died and the many men he killed all traveled with him. Wherever he went, they were always there, lurking, moving about in the shadows. He knew his dead would follow him home.

The first leg of John’s trip was a military flight from Khost that took him to Hamburg, Germany. In Hamburg he read an e-mail from Felix giving him a heads up about the big welcome home celebration so he showered, shaved, and put on his dress uniform, probably for the last time. John knew he wouldn’t have time to change once he got home and he knew how disappointed his uncle would be if he showed up at the party in civilian clothes.

A military police jeep drove him to the private airfield where a luxury Gulfstream G200 was powered up and waiting. John was the only passenger and after settling into a soft leather recliner he was sound asleep before they reached cruising altitude and seven hours later Felix met him on the tarmac at JFK in a brand new Range Rover. After a long embrace they loaded up the bags, hopped in, and headed to the city. They didn’t say much until they crossed the Williamsburg Bridge into the Lower East Side of Manhattan. The locals call it LES (pronounced L.E.S.), or simply The Lower.

“Man, it’s good to be home, but everything looks different,” John said.

“My dude, you been gone so long you’re gonna need a tour guide. You’re right though, the neighborhood’s changed. Now it’s million dollar condos, yuppies, and wine bars.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nah, I’m serious. Rich people done bum rushed the hood, man.”

“That’s crazy. I remember when cabs wouldn’t come down here,” John said.

“Police neither.”

“True.”

John was stunned as they drove by all the new luxury buildings and high-end restaurants. There were still lots of rough edges, but it was fast becoming a very upscale part of the city. LES had always been an immigrant neighborhood where Italians, Ukrainians, European Jews, and many others came through the gates of Ellis Island and settled into the thousands of five story brownstones throughout the area. Then, in the 1950s and 60s a huge influx of Puerto Ricans and African Americans moved in along with John and Felix’s family who came from Panama. Black, Latino, Italian, Ukrainian and Polish populations all lived side by side, making LES a true melting pot that was one of the poorest and toughest neighborhoods in all of New York City.

Throughout his years at war he would dream of how things once were. Sleeping in jungles, deserts, or high in the mountains he would float back to the burnt-out ghetto of his youth. Even though everything looked different now it was still home, and the sights, the sounds, and scents of the neighborhood were like an electric current running through him as all the memories of his childhood came roaring back.

“You remember the congas?” John asked. They grew up hearing calloused hands banging on drums night and day, giving LES a rhythmic sound and pulse as if the neighborhood were a living thing.

“Ba bum bum bada, ba bum bum bada,” Felix sang as he drummed on the steering wheel.

“How about the baseball and barbeques on the East River? Man I used to love those Sunday afternoons.”

“That we still do. Remember the basketball games at Tompkins Square?”

“Those were wars.”

“The run is garbage now. All one on five bullshit,” Felix said.

“What about the viejo who sharpened knives?” John asked. The old traveling knife sharpener worked a foot pedal to turn his large wheel shaped stone that gave knives a razor’s edge for a dollar.

“I can still hear that grinding sound.”

“There’d be twenty or thirty dudes on line waiting to get their blades shined right there in the street.”

“Sure was,” Felix said.

“Hide and seek in the abandoned buildings!”

“Running round in the dark with hundred pound rats and fifty pound junkies. Why would I wanna to forget that?”

“Then we’d all go up to fight on the roof and Auntie would have to cut the tar out of our hair.”

“Everyone would snap on us ‘cause we were walking round with holes in our heads!” Felix said, laughing.

“Man, we used to beat the shit out of each other.”

“Those were some good times, primo.”

“The best,” John said.

They were still reminiscing when Felix pulled up in front of Castillo’s restaurant on Rivington Street to get a quick bite. John’s mouth was watering when they walked in and inhaled the rich aroma of simmering beans and pork slow cooked with garlic and cilantro. The owner sent over rounds of beer and platters of food on the house, turning a snack into an hour-long meal that ended with John and Felix holding their bellies in satisfaction. They looked at each other and shrugged, both knowing without saying a word that their aunts had cooked a feast and they were going to have to eat again shortly.

When they left Castillo’s Felix threw him the car keys. “She yours,” Felix said. “And don’t bother sayin’ no. She’s signed, sealed, and
legal
, all in your name.”

After a long pause John smiled. “Gracias Felix, she’s a real beauty.”

“I was gonna put shoes on her. Make her even sexier with some chrome rims, but Tio said you wouldn’t like the flash. I did upgrade the sound system and added a radar detector in case you ever wanna put your foot on the gas.”

“I don’t know what to say, man. I can’t thank you enough.”

That was true. John could never thank his cousin Felix for what he’d done for him and the new SUV had nothing to do with it.

More brothers than cousins, they grew up doing everything together, and were once inseparable. That all ended on John’s eighteenth birthday after a long night of drinking and dancing when they were confronted by five big guys in the West Village.

It should have just been drunken teenagers having a fight, but things quickly got out of hand. After a few punches were thrown by each side one of the attackers snuck up behind Felix and smashed a bottle over his head. John rushed in to protect his stunned and bleeding cousin. He braced himself with feet spread apart for good balance, left foot forward, chin down, elbows tucked, and fists close together just like his father, and then later, his uncles had taught him. When the first kid came in range swinging wildly, John ducked the punches, faked with an overhand left and connected with a vicious right handed upper cut, pushing up with his legs. It was a knockout blow that literally had the dude out on his feet, swaying back and forth. Unconscious and tumbling backwards, he seemed to be falling in slow motion until his head smacked the fire hydrant on the curb. The impact was like a giant egg cracking. Everyone knew it was bad. Fight over. The guy’s friends went to help him and John and Felix took off running.

They almost made it past Avenue A, to Tompkins Square Park and into the safe zone of their home base when the cops caught up to them. They were both running flat out with John slightly ahead when Felix tripped and fell over a crack in the sidewalk. John stopped and turned back, but Felix waved him on.

“Go! Go tell Tio.”

From across the street John watched the police swarm on Felix. They formed a circle and hit him with their night sticks. One of the officers asked Felix if he liked killing college kids while he struck him again and again. That’s when John knew things were way past serious. The boy he hit was dead and cops were mercilessly beating his handcuffed cousin in the street.

The next day the papers were all over it. The boy who died was a Yale student and a rugby player from England and the story told by the New York press portrayed Felix as a vicious armed robber. They said he attacked the Ivy Leaguers without provocation and described how he pistol whipped the victim when he didn’t hand over his wallet fast enough. “Yale Honor Student Beaten to Death by Mugger,” was just one of the many headlines.

There was never any mention of an accomplice and Felix of course never said a word about John. In fact Felix never said anything at all, refusing to give a statement. His uncle was a powerful man who got him the best lawyers money could buy, but New York had so much racial tension at the time and the case received so much national attention that prison was inevitable.

John was with Felix, their uncle, and Felix’s parents when they got the bad news.

“Felix, they offered a deal,” his lawyer said.

“How much time?” Felix was still swollen, bruised and battered. Even though he spoke softly the big split in his bottom lip opened up and began bleeding from asking the simple three word question.

“Ten years, but you’ll be out in less than half that,” the lawyer stated, handing over a handkerchief that Felix used to gingerly dab at the blood running down his chin.

“You don’t have to take the deal, but the DA will come after the family if you don’t,” Gonzalo said. “It’s the press. If they weren’t college kids and the case wasn’t in the news we could make this go away, but they’re all over us on this. Still, the decision is yours Felix. It’s up to you if you want a trial.”

“No Tio. I’d lose anyway, and the family has to be kept out of this. I’ll do the years,” Felix said.

“Wait a minute! Just wait a fuckin’ minute here! He’s innocent!” John shouted. “We all know I did it. Go tell the DA and let me take the deal.”

“Felix has already been convicted in the papers and identified by three of the four witnesses. Unfortunately, he’s going to prison whether or not you turn yourself in. If you want to keep him company that’s your choice, but we don’t recommend it,” said the lead counsel.

“No Johnny, I don’t want you with me,” Felix said.

“Felix, we can protect each other… We can… You’re innocent God damn it! I can’t let you do time for something I did.”

“Like the man said, I’m getting jacked regardless. It’s okay primo, I’m good with it. Go home Johnny. Just go home. Tio, make the deal.”

And so it was. Felix served four and half years in Elmira, a maximum security prison known as “The Hill” in upstate New York.

They had never really talked about it, but in his heart John knew that Felix had done those years for him and he’d never forgiven himself for letting his cousin, his brother, take the fall alone. The day Felix was processed and sent upstate to start serving out his sentence John walked into the Army recruiting station in Times Square and signed up.

It pained them both that things were never the same after that fateful night. John was overseas when Felix was released from prison and they had seen each other only a few times during his infrequent visits home. They still loved each other deeply, yet neither knew how to say what needed to be said, and now there was a distance and an awkward tension between them that neither wanted to be there.

As John drove them north on Essex Street Felix pulled out a big bottle of Hennessy, cracked it and raised it up.

“Here’s to you primo, welcome home.” He took a deep pull and passed it over.

Stopped at a red light, John looked over. He grabbed the bottle and took a long drink himself before handing it back.

“I wish I had been here for
your
homecoming.” He paused and went on. “We’ve never really talked about what happened. How you took all those years for something I did. I feel ashamed… I feel like a coward and I owe you a debt I can’t ever repay.”

Felix looked at him unblinking for a moment, thinking deep before he said anything.

“America’s most decorated soldier feels like a coward? Come on, man.” Then in a softer voice he continued. “Look cuz, the only thing that would’ve happened is that you would’ve been stacking’ time with me, and that would’ve been bad. Real bad. You being the pretty boy that you are, I would’ve spent all my time protecting your sorry ass and the family honor. Make sure they didn’t change your name to Juanita.”

They both laughed and Felix went on.

“Listen J, we’re brothers, and I know you would’ve done the same for me. They say misery loves company and prison’s a miserable place to be, but believe me when I say it, there was never,
ever
, even a single day I wished you were there with me. That’s the truth, man.”

Felix took another sip.

“Besides, I got to spend those years with uncle Nestor, and he’s got his own army in there.”

“Isn’t he getting out soon?” John asked.

“Between us, I hope he never gets out. He’s our uncle, but the streets just ain’t ready for that man.”

“He’s been inside for almost thirty years. That’s a lot of time. People change.”

“Not uncle Nes. He went away for one body, but he’s killed more than twenty dudes since he’s been in.”

“Come on.”

“For real. He did at least five on his own, and ordered dozens more. Nes points his finger at someone and they’re just gone, man. He’s a real scary dude J.”

“Alright, we can talk about uncle Nes later. Right now there’s something I’ve gotta say.”

“You don’t have to. We’re good, bro.”

“Cat, I know your cool with it, but I’m not. I still feel like shit, and I’m so sorry. I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” John said staring straight ahead, his eyes tearing up. Then he turned to look directly at his cousin.

“I love you, Felix.”

Felix smiled and said, “Don’t guilt yourself over that night. I’m happy in my life and you’re a fuckin’ war hero. We’re two bad-ass homies from LES. LES for life baby, and don’t you forget it! Oh yeah, and I love you too… John!”

The last line was followed by a swift punch to John’s right arm that left him numb. The fact that the light had changed and John had pressed the gas a little too hard as a reaction to the unexpected blow started the chain of unfortunate events. The traffic ahead came to a sudden halt halfway through the intersection, and John’s lightning quick reflexes weren’t fast enough to stop the Range Rover from slamming into the rear bumper of the car in front of them. The impact jarred the open bottle out of Felix’s hand and spilled cognac over both of them.