Page 4 of Powerful Deception

Pushing down the ball of emotions that I have in my throat, I give him a nod and stand up, my eyes still never leaving the casket.

The two of us stand to the side as the men carry my father out of the cathedral and when Father John gives me the signal, I follow.

As I walk down the aisle of this old church, I can feel every single pair of eyes on me. I can feel as they stare at me and if pity was visible, I’m sure I would be able to feel that too.

But I ignore each and every one of them.

I ignore them until we reach the door of the church and step outside.

It’s a cloudy, yet humid September day in Chicago, it seems perfect for an event like this.

When the casket is walked through the threshold of the church, the bagpipes start to sound out. Police officers’ and first responders line the street and the sidewalks, standing in formation, all paying their respects to Detective Joseph Vitale.

I watch as Tommy and the rest of the men place my father just outside of the hearse and continue watching as the police commissioner and a few other officers approach it.

People start to congregate behind me and next to me. I can hear their whispers as we all watch the flag that was placed on top of the casket being folded up into a nice little triangle.

A flag for the fallen.

The whispers silence when the police commissioner, Commissioner Simmons, takes the flag and approaches me. With a solute and a bow of his head, he extends the piece of material to me.

I don’t want to reach over and take it, but I extend my hands nonetheless and take a piece of my father for safe keeping.

“I’m very sorry, Ari. I am very sorry that I couldn’t protect him.”

Yeah, I’m sorry too.

“Thank you, Commissioner.” I say giving him a small smile through the tears.

With one final solute, he takes his place again in formation.

The bagpipes seem to grow louder as my father’s body slides into the back of the vehicle.

But just because the bagpipes are loud doesn’t mean that I don't hear the whispers that start back up again.

I hear each and every word that these people, who are just here to save face, are saying.

“I heard he was involved with the Italian mod. That he crossed them, and that’s why they killed him.” One woman voices.

“Really? I heard it was the cartel.” Another woman says.

“Nope.” the first woman answers with a pop of her lips. “From what I hear, the devil himself called the hit. I guess Detective Vitale was digging a little too deep into things for his liking. So, he did away with him.”

“Wow. Unbelievable.”

Yeah, unbelievable, because it is.

My father would never get involved with something like that, and as much as I want to turn and slap these two bitches for saying my dad’s name in vain, I ignore them. They aren’t worth my time.

But this wasn’t the first time I was hearing that my father was involved with the Italian mafia.

The rumor has been going around ever since I found his body. Shit, I even heard it as the coroner was putting him in a body bag.

Yet, even though I knew who my dad was and the type of person he was every single day, there is doubt forming in the back of my mind as I see the hearse door close.

What if the rumors are true?

What if my dad was involved in something dark and death was the only way out?

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