Vigilante Angels Book II: The Cop: Vigilante Angels, #2

By Billy DeCarlo

Tommy is a dying vigilante who finds himself under investigation by a racist, corrupt detective. When the detective crosses a line and involves Tommy's family, he decides to hunt the hunter. He partners with a one-eyed Korean martial arts expert and a black motorcycle gang to seek his revenge. Will justice be served, and upon whom?

Book two in the Vigilante Angels trilogy. A dark, gritty, noir crime novel series, available in paperback, ebook, and audiobook.

If you were going to die, who would you kill?

Tommy, a retired cop and former Marine, has cancer. He realizes he can kill without consequences, and he's got a list.

Pedophile priest, corrupt cop, fascist political candidate—where to start? He enlists the help of an unlikely cast of unusual fellow patients to target his hit list.

The hardest battles, the ones he hadn't counted on, are right in his own home: an alcoholic, unfaithful wife and bringing himself to accept his son's sexuality.

In book two of this trilogy, Tommy finds himself under investigation by a racist, corrupt cop who torments Tommy and his family until the unthinkable happens. Tommy partners with a one-eyed Korean martial-arts expert and a black motorcycle gang to seek revenge.

Will justice be served?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wild Lake Press, Inc
• Release date: Jan 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9780997219661

Billy DeCarlo

Billy DeCarlo is an American author of novels and short stories. He grew up camped out at the corner newsstand, reading as many comic books as he could before the owner would throw him out. He writes out of love and in hope to change the world, or at least a few minds.  He still believes there are superheroes, and sees evidence of them sometimes on the news. And villains, lots of villains. The most rewarding thing a writer can receive is a review from those who enjoyed the work. The most constructive thing a writer can receive is a private message with anything that can help to improve his or her work. Please sign up for the newsletter at the website so you hear about future books, editions, and other news. Reviews are the currency of the craft. If you enjoyed this book, please take time to write a review. Other Books by Billy DeCarlo Road Warrior (sequel to Farawayer) coming in 2023! DroidMesh Trilogy (All Ages Sci-Fi) Sped-Bot Love-Bot War-Bot DroidMesh Trilogy Boxed Set Vigilante Angels (Noir Crime Fiction) The Priest The Cop The Candidate Vigilante Angels Boxed Set Stand-alone Works Farawayer (Literary Travel Fiction) Rambles and Daydreams (Short Stories) Thank you for reading!

Book preview

Vigilante Angels

Book II: The Cop

A Novel

by

Billy DeCarlo

Wild Lake Press, Inc.

Wilmington, DE

Copyright © 2017 by Billy DeCarlo

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

Billy DeCarlo/Wild Lake Press, Inc

P.O. Box 7045

Hackettstown, NJ 07840

billydecarlo.com (blog, newsletter signup)

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Cover by Archangel Ink http://archangelink.com/

Editing by WordVagabond https://wordvagabond.com/

Vigilante Angels Book II: The Cop/Billy DeCarlo.—1st ed.

ISBN 978-0-9972196-6-1

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To all who have suffered through disease or at the hands of others.

They have sunk deep into corruption, as in the days of Gibeah. God will remember their wickedness and punish them for their sins.

― Hosea 9:9

Contents

1 Carson

2 Rough Rider

3 Medical Event

4 Lovers

5 Lesions

6 Interrogation

7 Visitors

8 Reconciliation

9 Lawyer Up

10 Chemo

11 Impromptu Dojo

12 Cowboy Carson

13 Purse Snatchers

14 Recruitment

15 Carson’s Folly

16 Suspect

17 Dinner at Home

18 Private Eye

19 Job Offer

20 Blues Jam

21 Moving In

22 Dysfunction

23 Air-in-Line

24 Stakeout

25 The Wolf

26 Comatose

27 Date Night

28 Trials

29 Balloons

30 The Fight

31 Meetings

32 The Setup

33 Revenge

34 Exit

35 Arrival

Preview: Book III: The Candidate

A Note to My Readers

1 Carson

Brad Carson enjoyed his image in the full-length locker room mirror, adjusting his holster to the angle he preferred—low on his hip like an Old West gunslinger. Despite making detective, he often still preferred his crisply pressed black tactical uniform. He pulled his service semi-automatic from the holster and assumed a firing stance, aiming for his own forehead, then replaced it, laughing.

It’s a good day to bust some bad hombres. You ready to roll, Jackson? he asked.

Locked and loaded. Let’s hit the Batmobile. I’m in the mood to crack some skulls. Off the record, of course.

The two men left the locker room and walked through the cacophony of the station-house.

Make way, losers, Carson announced to the room. "Two bad-ass po-lice officers coming through. Feel free to admire us, but please don’t touch. It’s okay to take notes, take pictures. This is what you should strive to become."

He paused at a female officer’s desk, struck a pose, and said, Yeah, I’m busy, but try again another time. I’m very booked up. Maybe I’ll squeeze you in—or squeeze into you if you catch my drift.

The woman lurched from her chair at him as if to attack, but stopped short.

Carson didn’t flinch and laughed at her attempt to faze him.

Fuck you, Carson, she said.

He moved along and stopped at another desk. Jesus Christ. Bobby Borata, I do believe you get fatter every time I walk past you. Do you have a desk drawer full of donuts, Bobby?

A thin wave of laughter wafted through the room, and Carson soaked up the attention. The officer didn’t respond, so he tried again. You’ve got to shape up, Borata. Square that sloppy uniform away. It looks like you slept in it. Wasn’t your old man a Marine? Didn’t he teach you anything?

Bobby looked at him. Keep my old man out of this, Carson.

Hard to do, Borata. I’m looking at him hard for this priest murder. Conspiracy and all that. Him and his buddy Moses, who is, shall we say, no longer with us.

Leave my father alone, Carson, Bobby cautioned again.

He’ll be alone in the joint; except for when he’s getting it in the can from his cellmate.

Bobby came out from behind his desk awkwardly and tried to grab Carson, but was expertly placed in a chokehold, his head directed down toward Carson’s crotch.

Do me, Bobby! Carson yelled as he jerked Bobby’s head up and down.

The room erupted in laughter, and a door burst open as Chief of Detectives Patterson emerged. "What the fuck is going on here? Knock this shit off and get your asses to work. Carson, let go of him. Now. You’re out of line. Again. I need to speak to you about it."

Carson released his grip and whispered to Bobby. You best get back to your martial-arts training, Borata. It’ll never top my cage skills, though. If you want to be a cop, get your ass in shape. Get out from behind that desk once in a while. He turned to Patterson. Sure thing, Chief. I’ll pop in as soon as Jackson and I get back from this run. We have a date with a snitch. Can’t blow it by being late.

Patterson shook his head. Don’t forget. By the end of your shift.

Carson and Jackson made their way out of the building to their unmarked car in the parking lot. You drive. I’ll ride shotgun today, Carson said.

Jackson started the engine as they strapped in and prepared to leave. Where to first? Jackson asked.

Head on to the ’hood. Back to the Taylor place. I want to shake that nephew down, see if he’ll talk to me. Maybe he’s ready to say what he knows about old man Borata’s involvement with his uncle when he killed the priest.

You want me to plant a bag on him? Jackson asked. That’ll give you some leverage.

Yeah, in fact, that might work. I have to get this investigation moving if I’m gonna get promoted next cycle.

Jackson slowed down as they drove through the city’s blighted section. They both lowered their windows and stared menacingly at the people on the street, who froze in place at the sight of them. Movement and conversations stopped until they had moved past. I love this shit, Carson said. I love to intimidate. Call me The Intimidator. That’ll be my superhero name.

They pulled up next to a strapping, overly-made up woman with a large afro, wearing a short dress standing at a corner. Hello, honey, Carson greeted her. Haven’t seen you in town before. Got stuck working the early shift today, huh?

She looked around uncomfortably—as if searching for an escape route.

Don’t be nervous, Carson added. "You know your boss, Charlie the pimp? Well, we’re kind of his boss. So it’s all cool. Except we might need some favors occasionally from you, understand?"

She nodded, and they moved on.

I believe I’ll get me some of that black sugar, Carson said.

You do know that was a dude, right, Carson? Jackson asked.

The hell it was, Carson replied. His face reddened with embarrassment. These street women are rough, that’s all.

Nah, that was a dude. You just hit on a dude. Maybe you have some latent homosexual tendencies there, Carson.

Carson flew into a rage. Shut the fuck up, Jackson. Of course I knew it. I was just fucking around, you understand? Nothing more. Don’t think about embarrassing me with any shit like that around the station, you understand?

Alright, alright. Calm down. Jesus.

Carson continued to fume as they approached a bodega. A large man was leaning against the building, smoking a cigarette. Hold on, Jackson, Carson said.

They stopped, and Carson got out of the car and approached the man. What’s up, brother-man? You causing trouble? he asked.

The man looked at him uneasily. I’m not doing anything wrong. Not holding, not soliciting. Just got off my shift. Graveyard.

You’re loitering though, right? Stay where you are, Carson ordered. He opened the door to the store and summoned the clerk. The Asian woman came outside.

Didn’t you call in about some guy shoplifting? Carson asked her.

Wait a minute, what is this? the man objected.

Shut up, or you’re going down, Carson responded sharply.

The clerk looked confused, appearing to wonder if she’d heard him correctly. No. Nobody cause trouble today. Quiet day so far.

Go back inside, Carson ordered her. She eagerly complied.

Jackson got out of the vehicle and walked over. Is this man resisting arrest, Detective Carson? he asked.

He might be in a minute. Let’s see. Carson grabbed the man and spun him, pushing him up against the wall.

Come on, I ain’t doing nothin’, the man complained.

Carson kicked his legs apart and yanked his hands behind him, cuffing them tightly. He jammed his elbow into the center of the man’s back and pushed his face into the wall. Hold still, he shouted. Carson turned to enjoy the attention from the passing traffic as cars slowed to watch what was happening. He patted the man down, yanking bills, change, cigarettes, and a lighter out and onto the sidewalk.

Jackson picked up the pack of cigarettes and ripped the top open, dumping them onto the street. He examined them to see if any were joints. All clear, he said.

Carson removed the cuffs and spun the man back around. His face was bleeding, and he wore an angry scowl.

Police brutality. You should be ashamed of yourselves, he said.

Carson laughed as they got back into their car. Have a nice day, buddy. Stay outta trouble. He picked up a few of the larger bills. And thanks for the tip. As they pulled away, he watched the man bend to pick up his belongings. I love this job.

We’re just keeping the streets safe for the citizens, in our own special way, Jackson added. You know, too bad he was clean. The more of them we put into cages, the cleaner and safer my city becomes.

We need a bigger zoo, Carson laughed. There they are, just up ahead, dancing in the street like a bunch of goddamn monkeys. Hold up here and let’s watch for a few minutes. Maybe they’ll fire up a joint. Then park as close to those bikes as you can, block them in. Call our location in to the station while we wait.

2 Rough Rider

Lukas Taylor stood and stretched, bending backward with his hands on his hips. The early spring sunrise crested the decaying apartment buildings nearby, bathing the group and their motorcycles in warm light. Damn, it’s hard getting anything done with these busted-up old tools and junkyard parts, he complained to the group around him.

I keep saying it don’t pay to be honest, Gary said. I keep telling you. We ain’t getting out of this ’hood working our shit-paying jobs. We got to hustle. We can barely put gas in our tanks, Lukas. I don’t want to break bad, my man, but this poverty is gettin’ old. After those motherfuckers took the towers down a few years ago, we should’ve all signed up for the military. We’d be out soon and all set with GI benefits.

Lukas slapped him on the back and gripped his shoulder. You can’t get me down, brother. Sun’s shining. Let’s finish these repairs and ride.

He reached over to a boom box on the curb, punching a few buttons and turning a knob to bring it to life. Take a break, Black Eagles, he told them. Easy old-school ghetto morning music. As the first strains of Marvin Gaye’s Sexual Healing began, he looked up and pointed one of the two tire irons in his hands at a closed window above. This one’s for you, Uncle Mos. Rest in peace! he declared.

The other Eagles, five men and a woman, paused to watch as Lukas began a practiced choreography, flipping the steel irons high in the sunlight, twirling them, grabbing them from the air, and relaunching them. He folded his muscular body lower and lower, until he morphed the routine into a break dance, spinning his body on the cardboard sheets they’d laid out on the street for their repairs.

Go on, kick it, Luke, Tass said above the music. She dismounted her bike, sauntered over to him, and began dancing. Her lithe body moved in sync with Lukas and the music, with just the faintest traces of sweat beginning to show on her tight-fitting ribbed tank top.

The other Eagles rose from their milk crates and bikes and joined in, filling the sidewalk with their writhing bodies, laughing and clapping to the beat. The sun fully revealed itself and bathed them in its glow, erasing the dullness of the surrounding concrete and steel.

As the song wound to its finish, a voice came from a fire escape above. You all either drunk or crazy. It’s too damn early on a Sunday to be acting foolish. People got to rest.

Lukas looked up, smiling. Aw, come on, Miz’ Irving. Take that robe and headscarf off and let your beautiful ‘fro fly free. Come on down and dance with the Eagles on this sunny day. Ain’t nobody drinking. We’re good Eagles, can’t drink and fly... He motioned to the bikes.

Huh. If you ain’t drunk, I’m going with crazy. You all be careful on those damn bikes. She pulled her bathrobe sash tight and went back into her apartment.

Uncle Mos would’ve liked the tribute, Luke, Tass said.

Lukas put the tire irons into a long toolbox and looked back up at the window to his uncle’s former apartment. Yeah. I sure miss him sticking his big-ass head outta that window to lecture us.

He was the boss, Gary said solemnly. "Boss Mos. Now there’s a man who didn’t go out quietly. Took his stand and took him out some evil when he killed that child-molesting priest. I hope nobody ever rents that place up there again. That man deserves a shrine."

Yeah, Lukas replied. Remember him and that crazy white man Tommy? Couple of old cancer vigilantes. If I got the big C, I think I might do the same. Why not? He paused to reflect. Remember the first day Tommy came around, driving that big-ass Buick?

A few of them laughed at the thought. I heard on the news that the cops are talking to him about how the priest died, asking if he had anything to do with helping Moses, Tass said.

They won’t find anything, Lukas answered. Uncle Mos did what he did on his own. He left that letter explaining it, and that’s that. He spoke with a tone of finality to subtly remind the group that the topic was off-limits. I saw Tommy a while back, he continued. "He said the cops are still hassling him, though. He’s still fighting the cancer—wasn’t looking too good at all. Uncle