Shetani's Sister

by Iceberg Slim

  That night, before taking the stable to the street, Petra took skag and a tray of food to Pee Wee.

  “Did he find Tuta?” she said as she stooped to take the tray that Petra shoved under the cell door.

  “No. He tried until late afternoon,” Petra said.

  Pee Wee turned away to place the tray on her steel-slab bed. She noticed the glassine bag containing a bit of skag and a syringe.

  “Thanks a lot, Petra,” Pee Wee said as she gripped the cell-door bars.

  “You’re welcome. This penitentiary practices humane treatment of convicts.”

  Pee Wee eye-swept the huge barren cell. “Hey, deputy warden, this is twice as bad as the worst joint I’ve been in.” They laughed mirthlessly.

  Petra said, “In a few minutes, the twins will bring all of your stuff, including bedding and a TV.” She paused to laugh sarcastically. “Daddy didn’t tell me he wanted you to suffer down here.”

  Pee Wee grunted. “How long do you think I’m in for?”

  Petra shrugged. “If you know where Tuta is, tell. He said you can get out when Tuta is back in the house.”

  Pee Wee sighed. “I don’t know where she is.” She riveted her eyes on Petra’s face. “He send that medicine?”

  Petra replied, “No. It’s my private stock. You must be needing.” She handed Pee Wee a book of matches from her robe pocket.

  “I’m all right for now. I snorted a taste that I had in my bosom.”

  Petra smiled. “I did my bit down here in darkness. I’ll leave you this candle. See you later.” Petra turned and went toward the stairs.

  “Thanks again, girl,” Pee Wee said. She went to sit on the steel bed. She put the tray on her lap and started to eat.

  —

  Around 9:00 p.m., in South Central L.A., Leon finally located Rucker at home. He told him that the street vine said that Shetani had lost Tuta and had searched the streets for her all day.

  Leon hung up and dressed for the street. His mother came out of the kitchen and followed him to the front door. Her seamed face was mock angry. She stepped in front of him and said sternly, “Jiver, you promised me you wouldn’t go out every night when you moved back home. Stay home and keep your mama company.”

  Leon bear-hugged her. “Mama, let’s play cards tomorrow night. I promised Rainbow I’d take him to North Hollywood.” He kissed her cheek. She opened the door.

  “I’m gonna lock up your clothes if you don’t stay home tomorrow night,” she said as he went down the walk.

  He got into his Caddie, parked in front of the house. He glanced at a rooming house across the street and blew the horn twice.

  A moment later, Rainbow came out of the house and got into the Caddie. Forty minutes later, they got out on a market parking lot to hustle slum.

  Five minutes later, they were rousted off the lot by a market security man. Leon drove toward West Hollywood. Bone-tired Rainbow catnapped on the Caddie’s rear seat.

  “Hey, bro, what’s happenin’?” Rainbow mumbled when Leon suddenly stopped the car.

  “Ain’t this a bitch?” Leon exclaimed as he stared at Crane and Petra leaving a motel room.

  They walked toward Crane’s undercover black Dodge. Petra turned back toward the room to retrieve her makeup kit.

  Rainbow lifted his head and glanced at the scene from his prone position. “Damn, bro, it ain’t big news when that ho catches a trick.”

  Leon said, “Bow, that dude with her is Crane, one of Sergeant Rucker’s ho-squad cops.”

  Rainbow coiled into a ball. “Well, she must of caught him and got a pass for some gash.”

  Leon eased the Caddie away. Crane snared him in the corner of an eye. His face was grim as he slid into the Dodge. He pulled out of the lot without Petra. He tailed Leon with a block between them in medium traffic.

  Leon was excited as he drove toward West Hollywood. He knew what Rucker was trying to find out, why the Shetani stable was immune to bust. He’d call the station. He’d leave Rucker the phone number of a bar where he hung out in the early a.m.

  He parked the Caddie on the street beside a darkened gas station. “I’m gonna call my mama,” he said as he left the car.

  Rainbow grunted from the rear seat. Leon went to enter a telephone booth in the corner of the station lot. He dropped a quarter and dialed Hollywood Station.

  Crane drove the Dodge, with lights out, into the lot behind Leon. Crane drew his gun and went to the booth. He opened the door as Leon said, “I wanta leave a mess—”

  Leon spun to face Crane. Crane grinned hideously. “Excuse me, Leon, let’s have a heart-to-heart chat,” Crane said cheerfully as he cradled the receiver. He stepped back and waggled the .38 toward the adjoining alley.

  Leon’s lips flapped mutely. He shook from head to toe as he stumbled from the booth. “Please, Officer, sir. Don’t kill me! I ain’t gonna tell nobody about you and the lady.”

  Crane punched the gun into his back to force him into the alley. Leon’s feet made a scratchy noise against the alley pavement as he took off to escape.

  Crane leveled the gun with both hands on the back of Leon’s head.

  Leon was fifteen feet away when Crane exploded his head with two rapid rounds. He fell limply dead, like an elongated rag doll.

  Crane rushed back to the Dodge under the saucer eyes of Rainbow, alerted by the blast of the .38.

  Crane shot the Dodge away. Rainbow scrambled from the Caddie and disappeared into the night.

  —

  Crane was several minutes late when he walked into the briefing room. He took a seat beside Rucker.

  Rucker said, “Leo, a moment ago, I revealed that I received a tip on Tuta, who we all have tried to bust. She has left Shetani, and he is very upset about losing her. Also fortunately, yesterday an apparent Shetani neighbor called in to report a suspicious circumstance. She had noticed many of the girls from the Shetani residence hooking on Sunset Boulevard. A helicopter surveillance established the presence of the transport van and the twins, who had eluded numerous tails. Tuta’s statement as to quantity and location of heroin will facilitate a search warrant. Let’s find her and bring her in so I can talk to her. Let’s hope she’s sour enough to help us hang a pandering rap on him.”

  Rucker paused to take a sip of water. “Petra, Shetani’s straw boss, will be under twenty-four-hour surveillance, effective at noon tomorrow. She could be the drug courier for the stable. If we can bust her on possession, she might give us a case against him. That’s it, guys. Any questions?”

  After a momentary silence, Rucker said, “Sic ’em!” He handed the squad members the current list of undercover car licenses as they left the room. A list that Crane was given had a license-plate number that none of the others had. Rucker had set the first stage of the trap for Crane.

  The undercover cop who would drive the vehicle bearing the trap plate number had been briefed earlier. He was to concentrate on known Shetani girls pointed out to him by Rucker two nights before. If the cop failed to make any busts, Crane would be deep in the trap.

  On Crane’s shift the following night, Rucker would give him a list without the license number of a new undercover vehicle by a fresh cop. If this cop busted Shetani girls, then Rucker would be 100 percent certain of Crane’s guilt.

  Rucker was getting to his feet when the phone rang on the table beside him. He sank back into his chair and picked up. He caught his breath. “Thanks, Frank,” he said to the homicide detective who had called to tell him that Leon had been shot to death.

  Rucker cradled the receiver. He sat stunned for a long moment before he dialed Sadie, Leon’s mother.

  Crane drove directly to the Sunset drugstore that was used as a drop for the license list. He wrote a note warning Petra of the impending surveillance ordered by Rucker. He made a copy of the list on a store machine. He taped the copy and the note beneath the ledge of a store telephone. He mostly needed the list to know the current license numbers of regular vice undercover cars. This was to av
oid mistaking them for trick vehicles when hookers got into them.

  Fifteen minutes later, Petra walked into the store. She entered the phone booth and got the list and note. She made a half-dozen copies of the list.

  The twins drove her to three groups of five stable girls. They had halted work and gathered in Sunset sandwich shops to wait for the list. Petra gave each group copies of the list before she resumed work.

  In South Central L.A., Rucker comforted Leon’s distraught mother.

  “Sadie, please try to pull yourself together so you can help me,” Rucker said. He rubbed her heaving shoulders as he sat on a sofa beside the sobbing woman. Finally, she regained some control.

  He took out notebook and pen. “What time did Leon leave home, and did he say where he was going?”

  She stared up at the ceiling. “Oh Lord, this hurts so bad. Help me!”

  Rucker patted her hands, which were writhing in her lap. “Please, Sadie.”

  She switched her wet brown eyes to his face. “He left around nine, going to take Rainbow to North Hollywood,” she said raggedly.

  “Does Rainbow live here?”

  She shook her head. “No. Across the street, in that rooming house.”

  Rucker stood. “Have you seen him since he left with Leon?”

  She put her palm across her mouth. “Mr. Rucker, don’t think Rainbow shot Leon. He ain’t the killin’ kind. He and my son was buddies.”

  Rucker walked toward the front door. “Sadie, I just want to talk to him.”

  She came to the door as he opened it. “He’s a good person, and we liked him…Maybe I was wrong to mention his name.”

  “Sadie, you were right to tell me about him. Rainbow may be able to help us find the trigger man…In the meantime, give me a confidential call if he contacts you.”

  She nodded. Rucker went down the walk. He crossed the street and rang the rooming-house bell.

  Rucker held his wallet with his badge pinned to an underside. A white-haired black man in a yellow bathrobe opened the door.

  “Hello, Officer. Can I help you?” he said with a wide smile.

  Rucker studied the man’s face. “I don’t recall meeting you. My name is Rucker. Who are you?” Rucker said as he slid his wallet into his jacket pocket.

  “I’m Clarence Hobbs, owner of this building. I was on my way to visit Sadie a while back, and you were leaving. Sadie told me you were her friend,” he said as he stepped aside.

  Rucker moved into a dimly lit hallway. He replayed the flash of Rainbow’s face that he had gotten when Leon pulled abreast of his Lincoln at a red light.

  “Mr. Hobbs, I want to talk to one of your tenants. He’s very dark-complexioned, with large eyes in a small face. He’s known as Rainbow.”

  Hobbs dipped his head toward a door behind Rucker. “He said his real name was Marvin Adams. That’s his room, but I think he’s out…What’s he done?”

  Rucker said, “Nothing,” as he turned to knock on the door. After a moment, Rucker said, “I want to talk to him as a possible witness to a crime. The murder of Sadie’s son, Leon, tonight. I would appreciate it if you opened his door.”

  Hobbs’s face was shocked. He took a ring of keys from his robe pocket and opened the door. An open closet bulging with an array of psychedelic clothing and pink luggage gave Rucker reason to think Rainbow could still be around.

  “Thanks, Mr. Hobbs. May I use your phone to make a local call?”

  Hobbs nodded and led him into his apartment, across the hall from Rainbow’s room. Hobbs went to the kitchen. Rucker sat down on a living-room couch and dialed Homicide. Within a minute, he had arranged for a stakeout of the rooming house to apprehend and hold Rainbow as a material witness.

  Rucker thanked Hobbs and went to his car. He moved the Lincoln from the front of Sadie’s house to a spot down the street. He sat with his eyes glued to the rooming house until a stakeout car arrived, forty minutes later. He pulled out and exchanged eye greetings with the officer who had parked in front of him.

  Rucker got back to Hollywood at the peak of the hooker rush. He cruised slowly down Sunset in a glut of john cars. The drivers’ eyes shopped the girls. He nodded to several undercover policewomen, decoying as hookers to jail johns for soliciting sex. He saw Petra cut down a side street. He turned into it. He parked and watched her get into a new Mercury sedan parked in the middle of the block. The driver doused his lights.

  Perhaps she would do a quickie in the car, Rucker thought as he watched the shadowy forms. A moment later, he tensed. He saw their silhouettes in what appeared to be a violent struggle.

  He shot the Lincoln down the street. He braked sharply beside the Mercury. The back of Petra’s head was jammed against the front passenger door. In the streetlight, her face was twisted with terror and her eyes were bulged out.

  Rucker saw the tee-shirted back of a man wedged between her feebly flailing legs. The husky blond man turned his softly featured face toward Rucker as he leapt from the Lincoln with gun drawn.

  “Police! Come out of there with your hands up,” Rucker ordered as he flung open the sedan door.

  Petra’s attacker scrambled over her and dived through the open window. He rolled to his feet and streaked down the sidewalk.

  Rucker ran to the sidewalk. “Halt!” he shouted, and fired two shots above the suspect’s head.

  Sneaker-shod, he blurred out of sight around a corner. Rucker lumbered to the corner. He saw no trace of the speedster.

  Petra was struggling to a sitting position when he rushed back to her. He unknotted the chiffon scarf around her throat that the attacker had used as a garrote.

  “Officer, I have to say I’m glad you showed,” she gasped as she stroked her throat.

  He assisted her into the double-parked Lincoln. He radioed in for a check on the Mercury’s license number and a description of the attacker. He moved the Lincoln to park in front of the Mercury. He waited for a tow unit to impound the vehicle.

  Rucker studied her face as she stared through the windshield. “You came close to thanking me. Perhaps, after the close call with that customer, an intelligent and attractive woman like you would give retirement some serious thought.”

  She turned to face him, emoting outrage at his implication. “He was no customer. I’m no hooker. I’m an heiress who loves to stroll at night.”

  Rucker snickered. “That’s a crock. I know you’re a hooker, among other things. You are at least acquainted with the attacker. What’s his name?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. You see, I’ve got a weakness for cute strangers who want to pick me up.” She opened the car door. “Officer, since I won’t press charges, nor will I identify that creep if arrested, may I finish my stroll?”

  He moved close to her. “You haven’t been searched.”

  She looked into his eyes and wiggled her rear end on the seat. “Here and now, Officer? You’ll be wasting your time. I’m clean.” She shoved her bosom toward him. “Go on. Touch me. Find where excitement is.”

  He thought about Crane and fought an impulse to punch her in the face. He smiled and moved back under the wheel. “You’re free to go.”

  She opened the door and stepped out into the street. She paused at the open window. “You could’ve become something wonderful. It’s too bad you ruined yourself and became a cop,” she said before she turned away.

  He watched her undulating curves in the rearview mirror until she disappeared down Sunset. A moment later, his radio informed him that the Mercury was on the hot list.

  He left the scene after a tow unit came to take it away. He went home to sleep fitfully. Crane’s situation dominated his thinking.

  At 6:30 a.m., he met the extra cop on his squad at a Melrose Avenue coffee shop.

  “Well, Sergeant, I struck out,” the lanky cop with the commonplace face said wearily as he took a stool at the counter beside Rucker.

  “Phil, I’m not surprised that you couldn’t bust any of the target hookers. Your effort was v
aluable to me and much appreciated.”

  Phil ordered coffee from a waitress. He said, “Sergeant, you can trust me. What the hell is going on?”

  Rucker said, “Phil, I’ve known you for close to fifteen years. I trust you enough to take you on as a squad replacement for an officer taking leave in a couple of days. Change your looks with a mustache or whatever. I’ll get you a different car. I predict you’ll bust Shetani girls tonight. For now, I can’t tell you anything else. Can I trust you not to say anything about our bit of intrigue?”

  Phil nodded and took a sip of coffee.

  The next morning, at 7 a.m., Rucker sat in his car on the station lot, waiting for Crane to sign out. Phil, in disguise and using an unlisted undercover car, had busted six Shetani girls before Petra pulled the stable off the track.

  Rucker felt tension encase him. He breathed deeply several times to relieve the pressure. He almost regretted that he hadn’t thrown Crane to the wolves of Internal Affairs. He could have spared himself the pain and risk of it all. He said a silent prayer that Crane wouldn’t do something crazy when confronted.

  Rucker’s hand trembled as he placed his service pistol between his legs for fast access. He stiffened at the sight of the nearly emaciated Crane leaving the station.

  Crane glanced at Rucker and threw up a hand as Rucker waved him to the Lincoln’s open passenger window.

  “Get in, Leo. I want to talk to you.”

  Crane shuffled his feet. “Russ, if it can wait, I…”

  Rucker leaned to push open the door. “Get in, Leo,” he ordered.

  “I’ve had a rough night,” Crane said as he got into the car.

  Rucker moved the Lincoln to a corner of the lot. He keyed off the engine. Crane recoiled from his cold blue eyes.

  “Russ, why are you looking at me like that?” Crane said in a near-whisper.

  “How am I supposed to look at a john with a badge? How could you cross me, the department, for a low-life hooker?”

  Crane’s breathing was noisy and spastic. “C’mon, Russ, that’s crazy. I wouldn’t—”

  Rucker cut him off. “Shut up! You weak bastard, I’ve got evidence to prove that you made our undercover car licenses available to Shetani’s stable.”