TEARS OF RAGE

Chapter 22

When the strike of strife invades upon a person's life, the quest for happiness loses its relevance.

The pill of anguish becomes too much to swallow when darkness and despair steal the desire to face their future.

A guilty conscience can compel a person to lose interest in eating, breathing, and living...

The prospect of death suddenly seems more appealing when grief begins to overwhelm them.

Dressed in an orange jumpsuit, with DeKalb county stenciled on the back of the shirt, Broderick was escorted to the visitation area by two muscular deputies.

He was lead into an attorney/client visiting room, where two FBI agents sat awaiting his arrival.

An immediate shield of aloofness descended upon him.

His six-foot-three-inch frame was dwarfed by his two escorts, but Broderick had an imposing presence.

"Good afternoon Mr. Williams... Please, have a seat."

Broderick glanced at his escorts.

They gave a slight nod and stepped out of the room.

He was left alone with the two agents.

He took a seat across from them and remained silent.

" My name is Special Agent Anthony Price, and this is my partner Carl Wainwright. We would like to ask you a few questions..."

Broderick looked from one to the other.

His gaze settling on them long enough to make a brief assessment of his interrogators.

His expression was a blank mask of quiet hostility.

The room in which they had him in was an area of rooms, used to interview confidential informants.

His wariness piqued the moment he saw agents Price and Wainwright seated at a table, awaiting his arrival.

"What do you two clowns want..."

Broderick glared from one to the other.

"Whatever you think that I might know, I don't...And even if I did, I wouldn't tell you. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever."

"We understand that you have a cousin name, Johnny Parsons... Goes by the moniker: Pluto."

"If you're looking for some information concerning a cousin of mine, and I'm not saying that I even have a family member with that name or moniker... You need to be questioning them. Not me."

Agent Anthony Price folded his arms before him, projecting a calm and relaxed posture.

"We would have loved to have spoken with him before he was murdered, but he was already dead by the time we came across him."

He slid a series of crime scene photographs of Pluto, laid out across the train tracks, over to Broderick.

He tried to look away, but his gaze was drawn to the lifeless pose of his cousin.

His suspicions were rendered accurate.

Pluto had been murdered along the escape route, after successfully making it out of the bank with the money, Broderick thought; as tears began to well in his eyes.

"Maybe you made a mistake..."

he stated, his gaze avoiding the photographs like a plague.

Agent Price spread the collection of photographs across the table.

His expression was a hard look of disgust.

"Maybe," he stated." But, if it was my family who had been brutally murdered, I would not be trying to protect the bastards responsibly. You're looking at no less than a three-year stay in prison, for the felony possession of a firearm; along with the parole violation. Whoever killed your cousin will have disappeared by then..."

Agent Price pounded his fist against the table.

"Wouldn't you like to receive the twenty thousand dollar reward, and have an opportunity to touch the bastard that betrayed your cousin? Help us find him and we'll have his ass housed right here, in this facility."

Broderick bit down on his lower lip as if to strengthen his resolve to remain silent.

Tears began to stream from his eyes, but he remained quiet.

"Come on kid,"

agent Wainwright leaned in closer.

"You live and die by the code of the streets... An eye for an eye sounds fair to me. We're not your enemies on this. We're offering you an alliance. A chance to avenge your family."

When he said that, he tossed a series of crime scene photographs of his sister Shonda onto the table.

"I'm not a fuckin' rat!" Broderick bellowed before his gaze settled upon the photographs thrown toward him.

When his eyes shift to find a neutral place to park, without having to see Pluto stretched out across the tracks like garbage, Broderick's gaze settled upon the change of scenery in the pictures thrown at him.

The first thing that captured his attention was the inside decor of the building.

He had been inside of the Kennesaw Bank and Trust building enough times to recognize it immediately.

Once his gaze settled upon the first photograph displaying his sister, Broderick could not peel his eyes away from the image.

Time froze.

The world shifts off-kilter, leaving him suspended in a state of complete devastation.

What began as a series of whimpering pants escalated into a wild roar of rage, as Broderick went into a delirious rampage.

He flipped the table onto the agents and lunged from his seat.

It took both agents and the two deputies to subdue Broderick.

When the wave of hysteria ran its course, Broderick slumped across the floor and cried like a baby.

Special agent Anthony Price held him in his arms with a firm hold.

He was beyond the point of awareness.

The guilt that is built upon the backbone of a person's conscience can destroy all concepts of reason...

When agent Price whispered into his ear,

"Don't let the muthafuckers get away with this shit...

They murdered her in cold blood. Help us find them. They broke the code when they gunned down Shonda! And if you allow them to maintain your vow of silence, then you may as well walk back to your cell and slit your throat with a rusty razor."

Anthony Price paused, to let his words marinate on his mind.

The other men held their position but remained quiet.

The stillness within the room was like having a man wrapped in a rug...

It was intense and suffocating.

Every tick of time allowed Broderick to confront the elephant of guilt, that sat upon his shoulders.

With eyes devoid of doubt, uncertainty, or shame Broderick stared at agent Price.

"I want your word..." he demanded.

His features were a mask of hatred, rage, and misery.

Agent Price understood exactly what he was asking.

"You've got my word," he vowed.

"That's if they make it in alive..."

When something is understood amongst men it doesn't have to be repeated or explained.

"Kenny Mathis." Broderick muttered." His name is Kenny Mathis, but the streets know him as Kirkwood Kenny."