He may have lost his unit, but he’d never stopped living for them. Living for Ackerman. Until this day, he still hadn’t chased a man that could out-run him. It took him three years to heal fully, but he did it.
“Why’d you call me here, onu? Not only to your office but to Atlanta.” Steele stared out the tall window, looking down on the parking lot full of official vehicles.
“Because I believe you need new surroundings. Because I believe if you stay in Oakland, you won’t stop digging into Ramos’ death. They’ll never admit to stalling on the call, Edwin, and neither you nor I have any way to prove it.”
“I can beat them until they confess.”
“Now you’ve answered your own question.” His uncle stood next to him, his firm hand resting on his shoulder.
“Ramos had a family. A husband, children, aunts, uncles, nieces, and nephews who loved him. Now he’s gone. Why? Because he chose to have a husband instead of a goddamn wife. He was a good cop. He didn’t deserve it.”
“That type of hate is never deserved, vennapoeg. But I can’t have you blaming yourself for it all. He was off duty. He tried to stop a store robbery. He lost his life, but he saved two others before he did. He did his job, and it wasn’t your fault, Edwin.”
“I’m still done,” Steele repeated. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince his uncle or still trying to convince himself.
“Oh, you’re far from done. Joseph told me what you did when he was pulling up to get you. Your instincts, your reactions, your need to do good is in here, vennapoeg.” His uncle held his shoulder and placed his other hand over his heart. “There’s no quitting in here. There’s no quitting who you are. You’ll fight until your last breath, and that’s a long time from now. What do you think you’re going to do without your shield or a platoon? Become a Walmart greeter? Or become an alcoholic?”
His uncle’s gray eyes hardened and blazed with anger, his voice a menacing snarl. “Drowning yourself in the bottom of a bottle is beneath you. You will not disgrace your father… my brother. I won’t allow it. You are not tired, you’re not weak. It’s impossible,” he hissed, close to Steele’s face. “Your last name is Raud. Iron… steel. You think your great grandfather changed the meaning of our family surname… he only translated it to English. You are unbreakable. And I demand you act like it.”
Steele didn’t speak. His uncle was right. He’d let hurt and injustice control his actions.
“Believe me. I understand loss. I’ve experienced my fair share. My biggest hurt was losing my brother. He was a part of me, a part I’ll be without from here on. But I’ll work hard every day to continue fighting for what he believed in. He believed in this country, Edwin. Keep fighting, son. You just need a team you can fight with.”
Steele snorted. “Yeah, right. Who the hell can handle my shit, onu?”
His uncle smiled that crooked grin, the same way his father used to whenever Steele’d fall into his trap. “I think I know someone. Come over here and sit down. I want to show you something.”
Steele sat on the low back suede couch in the sitting area in his uncle’s large office while he turned on a flat screen television sitting atop a cherry oak TV stand. Immediately, a black and white grainy video began playing. His uncle didn’t watch the screen, instead, he watched for Steele’s reaction.
He saw a column of big SUVs lined up in a row and men – firearms drawn – getting into position for something big. As he watched the video play out, his jaw ticked and his eyes narrowed. He didn’t understand what this was. An execution first… then maybe a hit. Twenty or so men – gangsters – were firing in one direction. “What the hell is this, uncle?”
“Just keep watching.”
Steele wanted to pull out another little cigar but he knew better. Instead, he stroked the rough stubble on his jaw, looking like he wanted this footage to stop until he saw a huge garbage truck roar up the narrow street and mow down the men that were shooting. “Jesus Christ.” He watched a man appear from the back like Houdini, firing machine guns like he was in Desert Storm. It was two of them. They moved as a synchronistic unit like they could read each other’s thoughts. Quickly and efficiently, they took out every thug they aimed their weapons at.
His uncle pushed a button on the remote. “This is film taken from the back side, at another angle that was caught by a chopper. It’s pieced together, but check this out.” The image flickered a few times before another feed began. “This is the rear view. The gangsters that we just saw were in the front; this is the back of that house.”