Sins of a Siren

by Curtis L. Alcutt

  She watched with an amused grin on her face as he shut down and packed up his laptop with light speed. “You want me to carry your DVD case?”

  He stood and placed the strap of his black laptop case on his shoulder. He then picked up the black leather DVD case. “No, I’ve got it.”

  Her top rode up, revealing her flat stomach as she slid across the bench seat and stood. Damn, that cut on my shoulder still hurts. After catching him eying her, she stretched and yawned again, giving him a good look at her abs. After adjusting her clothes, she said, “Let’s go before I fall asleep on you.”

  After following Box to his room, he stopped before opening the door. “Ummmm, can you wait out here for a minute? I want to make sure the place is presentable.”

  She crossed her arms over her breasts, cut her eyes at him and chuckled. “What? I already know you got a woman. You ain’t gotta hide the picture of her you have on the nightstand.”

  He laughed as he unlocked the door to his room. “You should be on the Dave Chappelle show with all the jokes you have!”

  He opened the door just wide enough for him to slip inside. “Don’t have me waitin’ out here all night.”

  He stepped inside. “Just give me a minute.”

  She smirked, checked her watch and nodded her head as he closed the door.

  Moments later, he opened the door, stepped aside and let her inside. “Sorry about the wait.”

  “You must of had a whole lotta pictures to hide as long as it took you.” She eyeballed his spacious room. It looked to be twice the size of her roomette. “Why do you have a room this big if you’re travelin’ alone?”

  She took a seat on the sofa next to the window. “I got lucky; this was the only room available at the time my trip was booked.”

  “Yeah, right.” She gave him a smirk, peeled back the curtain and looked out the window. The glowing lights of an unknown city flashed by as the train sped westward.

  “What you want to watch now?” Box asked as he set up his laptop on the table across from them.

  She took her eyes off the moon as it chased the train. “Do you have any scary movies?”

  He opened his DVD case and rifled through his collection. He stopped and removed a DVD. “Have you ever seen Jeepers Creepers?”

  She shook her head, closed the curtain and sat back on the sofa. “No…but I hope it’s not one of those fake-ass Jason movies.”

  He chuckled, pressed play and sat down beside Trenda. “It’s better than that.”

  As the movie began, she pointed at the wall-mounted light. “Why don’t you turn that off so we can see the screen better?” He stood and turned off the light. Damn, he got a big ol’ booty!

  As the first killing took place in the movie, she felt her eyelids getting heavy. A continuous loop of dull pain from her injuries coursed through her body. Moments later, the sound of her inner voice replaced the sound of the movie dialogue. Worries of where she was going to live in California, for how long and if Piper was still alive ran through her mind like a track star.

  Box gently elbowed her in the side. “Mya…Mya, wake up.”

  She opened her eyes and tried to focus on the screen. “I’m awake…I was just restin’.”

  He grinned. “It sounded more like you were pretending to be a buzz saw.”

  She rolled her eyes as she pulled down her top, which had rode up above her navel. She noticed his eyes were riveted to her exposed flesh. “I know you’re trippin’. I don’t hardly snore.”

  He blinked and quickly took his eyes off her sexy stomach. “If you say so; besides, I guess I wouldn’t really know without spending the night with you.”

  She looked out the corner of her eye into his glasses. She read his desire to fuck her like a billboard on his face. “Are you askin’ me to spend the night here with you?”

  He avoided her gaze. “That’s not what I meant by my comment, but you would be more than welcome to stay here tonight.”

  She gave a slight grin as she watched the movie reflect off his glasses. “C’mon now. Do you think I’m the kinda girl that would sleep with a stranger I met on a train a couple of days ago?”

  “You wouldn’t have to sleep in the same bed as me.” He pointed up at a rectangular-shaped section of the wall above their heads. “That folds down to another bed.”

  You sure give up easy. She contemplated his offer. “Okay, that’ll work, but I wanna be on top.”

  Her innuendo-filled reply made him grin. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  She yawned and stretched in her seat. “I’m too tired to finish watchin’ the movie. I’m ready to go to sleep.”

  He stood up, turned on the light and walked over to the laptop.

  “That’s cool. Maybe we can finish watching it together one day.”

  She rubbed her eyes as he shutdown the laptop. “Now how are we gonna do that with you livin’ with ya woman?”

  He chuckled as he placed the laptop in its black leather case. “I told you I had a woman; I didn’t say I lived with a woman.”

  She paused as she processed this new information. She knew a possible meal ticket when she saw one. “Bullshit! How long y’all been together?”

  He glanced over at Trenda as she bent over to untie her white Adidas tennis shoes. “We’ve been together for three years now.”

  Trenda kicked off her shoes and wiggled her unpainted, pretty toes. “Now, how y’all go that long without one of y’all movin’ in with the other?”

  Box walked over to the closet and placed his laptop inside. “We agreed to not move in together until we were really ready for it.”

  Trenda picked up her shoes, stood and put them against the wall, under the window. She nearly lost her balance as the train ran over a particularly bouncy stretch of tracks. “I’m not tryin’ to be all in your business, but don’t you think three years is long enough to know whether or not y’all are ready?”

  For the first time, Box showed her an emotion other than lust and bashfulness. “I’m pretty sure I’m ready, but Meagan…” He paused, took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled. “She decided she wants to finish school first. She’s at U.C. Berkeley working on her masters in molecular and biochemical nutrition.”

  Damn, she sounds like one real boring bitch. And with a name like Meagan I bet she a white girl. She watched Box fold down the upper bunk. “What is molecular whatever-the-hell you said?”

  Box walked over to the closet and removed the spare blankets and pillows for Trenda. “It’s the study of the effects of nutrition on diseases such as cancer, diabetes, etcetera.”

  Trenda yawned. “Okay, enough. You makin’ my head hurt.” Box nearly went into cardiac arrest as he watched Trenda unzip her pink velour top. “Well, I’m going to bed. Talk to you in the morning.”

  For a moment, his mouth moved like a fish trying to breathe air. “Uhhh…wow…okay.” The sight of her pink lace bra-covered cleavage made his balls tickle and his dick straighten out. He turned and looked out of the window in order to conceal his condition. “I guess I’ll turn in, too.”

  I knew you’d like that. She watched him attempt to hide his stiffness. She then walked over to the bed. “Can you help me up?”

  He whipped his head around. “Huh?”

  She pointed at the upper bed with her thumb. “How am I supposed to get up there?”

  Box walked over to the end of the bed. “You climb up here by standing on the edge of the bottom bed and pulling yourself up.”

  Trenda yawned. “I’m too tired to do all that. Come over here and lift me up.”

  He fought to hide a smile as he scratched his forehead. “Okay.”

  As he walked over, Trenda turned toward the bed and placed her hands on top. “Grab me by the waist and lift.”

  Both his pulse and breathing quickened as he wrapped his big hands around her small waist. Once she was halfway up, he had to push her up the rest of the way by placing his hand on her soft ass. That treat left his palms sweaty
with a yearning to pull those pink pants off her. “Are you going to be okay up there? Are those two blankets enough?”

  Trenda leaned over the bed. “Yes. I’m gonna be all right.” She then kissed him lightly on the lips, then tucked herself in. “I had fun tonight.”

  Box slowly opened his eyes after the soft kiss. After a quiet moment, he grinned. “It was my pleasure…believe me.”

  After Box turned off the lights and climbed into his bed, Trenda lay on her side listening to the clickety-clack of the train. I just might be able to get ol’ Box to let me stay at his place for a minute until I get myself together, if I can figure out a way to deal with his girlfriend issue. Trenda then drifted in and out of troubled sleep as stress-filled thoughts of her dilemma refused to let her rest.

  An hour later, after tossing and turning, Trenda’s eyes fluttered open. What the hell is that? She lifted her head off the pillow and listened. Below the sound of the train clacking on the tracks and the intermittent blows of the train whistle, Trenda heard a low grunting sound and covers rustling. She then quietly leaned her head over the edge of the bed and looked. In the dim light of the city the train rolled past, she caught a brief glimpse of Box, on his back with his eyes closed, stroking his dick underneath his covers. Oh shit! She then quickly and silently lay back down. I can’t believe he’s down there jackin’ off!

  Ten

  At 2:00 a.m., back in Baltimore, as Trenda lay in her bunk fascinated by the power of her pussy, Darius—with Tyrone riding shotgun—slowly cruised down Pratt Street in search of their best informant, “Thin Tim.”

  “What makes you think Tim’s tweaked-out ass is gonna have any info?” Tyrone asked as he and Darius cruised the areas Thin Tim was known to frequent.

  Darius slowed for a red light, then sped through it once he saw no approaching vehicles. “If anybody knows how to find a dope-runnin’ bitch, it’s Tim’s dirty ass.” He looked over at his partner as they bounced through a deep pothole. “Did you forget the reason why we don’t lock him up?”

  Tyrone let his right arm dangle out the window as they drove through the Harbor area. “I know he’s been in the streets longer than I can remember and knows every thug, pimp, ho and dope dealer in the city, but half the time he’s too fucked up to get any useful information—”

  Darius silenced Tyrone with a wave of his hand as he mashed on the gas pedal. “Ahhhh, there’s that nappy-headed bastard!” Darius exclaimed as he turned on the red beacon in the grill of their unmarked patrol car and swooped up to the curb.

  Tyrone jumped out of the car and stood in the path of the tall, lanky, bright-skinned, fifty-something, dreadlock-sporting, paranoid man. “Awwww, shit. What the hell I do, now?” Thin Tim yelled as he turned around and automatically placed his hands on top of his matted hair.

  “Now who said you did anything?” Darius asked as he walked around the front of the patrol car while pulling on his tight, black leather gloves. “We just wanted to stop by and make sure you’re okay.”

  The smell of body odor, gin, and hopelessness wafted off Thin Tim and into Tyrone’s nose as he patted down their snitch. The lint and naps in Tim’s unkempt beard made Tyrone nauseous. “Goddamn! When’s the last time you took a bath?”

  Tim looked over the collar of his filthy navy pea coat. “Why you always tryin’ to clown somebody?”

  “Shut the fuck up and stand still!” Tyrone shouted as he stood behind Thin Tim and placed him in handcuffs. Tyrone then looked over at Darius. Darius gave him a slow head nod. Tyrone stealthily reached into his pocket and removed a small plastic bag containing six crack rocks. He then reached into the left pocket of Tim’s jacket. “Uh-oh! What’s this?”

  “What’s what?” Tim asked in a bewildered tone.

  “What you got there, Tyrone?” Darius asked as he walked over and examined the dope in his partner’s hand.

  “It looks like about twenty years’ worth of jail time for our parolee friend,” Tyrone said as he placed the bag of crack on the roof of the car.

  A few onlookers, mostly vagrants, standing in front of the ESPN Zone stopped to gawk at the scene. Panic stricken, Thin Tim looked across the street at the small crowd and yelled, “Hey! Hey y’all! These cops is tryin’ to set me up!”

  “That was the wrong move,” Darius said as he opened the back door of the patrol car and shoved Tim into the backseat. Thin Tim cringed as Darius leaned inside and glared at him. “Now we have to take you somewhere private and question you.”

  Fear flooded into Thin Tim’s dirty face. The last time the two cops took him to a private place, he found himself coughing up blood as the dirty duo took turns kicking him in the stomach. “I’m sorry, man! I’m sorry! I was scared, man! We ain’t gotta go nowhere! We can talk right here! C’mon, Darius, C’mon, man!”

  Darius gave him an evil grin as he backed out of the car. “Too late, son.” He then slammed the door, looked at Tyrone, pointed at the baggie on the roof of the car and said loud enough for the crowd to hear, “Yo, Tyrone. Grab that evidence so we can take him in.”

  “Got it,” Tyrone replied as he grabbed the dope and put it in the left breast pocket of his shirt. He then entered the car and looked at his partner. “Where we gonna take him?”

  Darius started the car and pulled from the curb. “We’re gonna take him to the ‘Lighthouse.’”

  After hearing where the cops were taking him, Thin Tim quickly sat up and put his face inches from the metal screen that separated him from the officers. The “Lighthouse” was the name given to an abandoned two-story house in West Baltimore. After being taken over by drug addicts, homeless people and dope dealers, it was transformed into the biggest crackhouse in the city.

  The term, “lighthouse,” came from all the tweaked-out crack-heads walking around with their eyes wide open, or in street terms, having their “high beams” on. Not only was it a den for tweakers and dope dealers, it was also a place one could dispose of a dead body—permanently. After Darius, Tyrone and a squad of officers raided the place eighteen months ago, they discovered four of the original six fifty-five gallon drums of hydrochloric acid that the dope dealers keep in the basement. They used the acid to destroy evidence in case of a raid or to make enemies disappear. A week before the raid, Tyrone suggested to Darius they confiscate two of the drums for their personal use. Darius agreed. They rented a U-Haul, rolled the drums into it and stashed them until it was safe to bring them back.

  It was rumored in the streets that even though the “Lighthouse” had been boarded up and the acid removed, Darius used the house to beat information out of informants and perform clandestine and illegal transactions.

  “Not the ‘Lighthouse’! I heard what y’all do to folks in there!” Thin Tim yelled as his spittle sprayed through the metal screen.

  Tyrone slammed his left fist against the barrier. “Shut the fuck up before I roll your stankin’ ass out on the freeway!”

  Ten minutes later, they pulled up to the cyclone fence that surrounded the Lighthouse. It stood in the middle of four other abandoned homes. Darius looked in the rearview mirror and watched as Tim rocked back and forth in his seat, mumbling to himself. He then looked over his shoulder at his prisoner. “You have a couple of choices to make, Thin Man. I need to find somebody and I’m sure you know where I can find her.” He stopped at the driveway entrance. “Tyrone, get out and open the gate.”

  Panic consumed Tim as he watched Tyrone open the gate. “What you want from me, man? I don’t know shit!”

  After Tyrone waved him through the fence, Darius drove over the broken glass-strewn, dark driveway and around to the back of the house. He then killed the engine and looked over his shoulder at a now terrified Thin Tim. “I’m not in the mood for games or your usual bullshit.” He looked out the back window and saw Tyrone’s silhouette approaching. “I’m looking for a female drug runner and I’m sure a dope smoker like you knows where I can find her.”

  As Tyrone opened the back door, Tim blurted out, “Man
, I don’t smoke no mo’! I just drank, now. Man, I don’t know nothin’!

  Tyrone grabbed him by the arm and pulled the frail drug addict out the car. “Get out and stand still.”

  Darius got out of the car and walked over to the rear door to the house. The tattered remains of yellow and black crime scene tape flapped in the mild, chilly breeze. A sign warning not to enter the condemned property was barely readable in the lightless area where they stood. A pair of two-by-fours nailed over the door, prevented entry. He then removed his heavy black flashlight and shined it in Thin Tim’s face. “If I have to go through all the trouble of finding something to pry these boards off, I’m gonna be mad as hell.”

  Thin Tim licked his chapped lips as he fought to avoid the glare of the light. “Man, why we even out here? What y’all want from me?”

  Darius walked over to the car, reached in, and removed a manila envelope from the front seat. He then looked at Tyrone. “Here, hold the light for me.”

  Tyrone took Darius’s flashlight and shined it on the envelope. Tim mumbled to himself as he watched Darius reach into the envelope. From the envelope, Darius pulled out a blown-up print of a mugshot. “You know who this is? Her name is Trenda.”

  Tim barely glanced at the photo before shaking his head. “Naw, I ain’t never seen her before.”

  Darius exhaled loudly, then grabbed a fistful of Thin Tim’s hair. “Look again, muthafucka!” He jammed the photo in Thin Tim’s face. “Take a real good look; your health depends on it.”

  Thin Tim wailed as Darius pulled his hair tighter. “I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know, man!”

  Frustrated, Darius tossed the picture on the hood of the car and looked at Tyrone. “Go get the bucket.”

  Tyrone smirked. “Aw shit, Tim. You done pissed him off now.”

  Thin Tim slid to the ground and whined as Darius let go of his hair. He quickly rolled over after nearly landing on a huge dead rat. “I’m tellin’ you, I don’t know nothin’! Nothin’!”