Sins of a Siren

by Curtis L. Alcutt

  Trenda tapped her wallet against her palm. “I dunno…that price is a little rich for my blood. Especially since I only plan on stayin’ for one night.”

  Lollie stood and leaned on the counter. “Did you just get in town?”

  “Yeah. This is my first time here. I’m from Baltimore.”

  “Really?” Lollie’s eyes lit up. “My grandparents live by Druid Hill Park!”

  “No shit? I used to hang out there all the time when I was a kid. That was the spot!”

  After ten minutes of small talk, the women found they had a lot in common. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how did you get that cut on your face?”

  “My ex-boyfriend. He’s the reason I decided to get away so fast. He’s one of those jealous, controlling assholes.”

  Lollie crossed her arms across her chest and shook her head. “I can’t stand bastards like that.”

  They heard the sound of Jason’s dangling keys as he left the kitchen and crossed the lounge. Trenda yawned as Lollie walked back behind the counter. “Let me quit runnin’ my mouth so you can go get some sleep.”

  “I am tired, but I think I’m gonna have to find a cheaper place.” Jason entered the lobby and smiled at Lollie. “You okay? Want me to go get you something to eat?”

  She began typing and read the screen. “No thanks, Jason. Why don’t you go make sure that exit door on the third floor is closed tight? I found it open a few times last week.”

  He hitched up his utility belt. “Will do! I’ll be back in a few.” Once he was out of sight, Trenda chuckled. “You know his ass is sprung on you, right?”

  Lollie grinned as she finished typing. “Oh yeah, he’s been trying to take me out for the past six months. Even after I told him I’m not down with the swirl, he’s still tryin’.”

  “Don’t knock it; he might become your own personal ATM card.”

  They both laughed. “Shit! His broke ass can barely afford to put gas in his raggedy pickup truck.” Lollie stood, leaned over the counter and lowered her voice. “Check this out, if you are only gonna stay one night and can check out before eleven in the morning, I’ll let you stay for sixty dollars—cash.”

  Ohhhh, my girl is a straight hustler! Trenda recognized Lollie’s game. “I’m down with that. How you wanna do this?”

  Lollie looked at the clock on the wall. “Meet me by the ice machine down the hall in five minutes and I’ll let you in the room. I can’t give you a card key though, so you’ll have to prop the door open if you have to leave the room.”

  Trenda picked up her bag. “Cool.” She then walked outside. Across the street from the hotel, a line of cars played loud music in front of the movie theater. What’s that all about? She continued toward the ice machine as one of the cars—a yellow Mustang—pulled into the middle of the street and began burning rubber in a circular pattern while the crowd yelled and danced. Trenda stood captivated as she watched the spectacle.

  “Do the youngsters in Baltimore ‘go dumb’ like these fools?”

  Trenda jumped at the sound of Lollie’s voice. “No! What the hell are they doing?”

  Lollie opened the door of a room across from the ice machine. “They are starting up a ‘sideshow.’”

  “Sideshow? What’s that?”

  Lollie looked around, pushed the door open and waved Trenda in. “That’s when a bunch of knuckleheads, with nothing else to do, get together somewhere in the town and just start acting and driving crazy.”

  “Don’t they worry about the police?”

  “Shit no. The cops are too busy chasing murderers and dope dealers.” Lollie closed the door and turned on the lights. “As a matter of fact, the police station is only a few blocks up the street.”

  Trenda put her bag on the queen-sized bed, then sat down beside it. The well-designed and nicely insulated room muffled the loud sound of the sideshow revelers. She took her wallet out of her bag. “I really appreciate you hookin’ me up.”

  Lollie walked over and peeked out of the eggshell-colored drapes. “Don’t sweat it. All you have to do is make sure you don’t use the phone and leave before ten. As long as you do that, it’s all good. I have a housekeeper I work with that will clean it up, no questions asked, for a few bucks.”

  Trenda grinned, removed sixty dollars from her wallet and handed it to Lollie. “Thanks for the hook-up, girl. I’m likin’ Oakland already.”

  Lollie tucked the cash into her bra. “Don’t sweat it.” She checked her watch. “I gotta bet back inside before Jason thinks I’ve been kidnapped. If you’re not busy Wednesday night, you oughta go to Fats with me.”

  Trenda unzipped her jacket, revealing her white satin bra. “What’s Fats?”

  Lollie glanced at Trenda’s impressive breasts. “It’s the hottest club in the Bay Area. Wednesday nights is Ladies Night.”

  “I might just do that. You got a number?”

  Lollie walked over to the nightstand, picked up the complimentary notepad and wrote down her number. She handed it to Trenda. “Here you go. That’s my cell number. Give me a call about nine. I’ll pick you up.”

  “Thanks, I’ll holla at you.” Once Lollie was gone, Trenda stripped off her clothes, pulled back the covers, fell back on the comfy bed and burrowed under the covers. As her eyes tried to close, her cell phone rang. She rolled toward the nightstand where her phone lay. “Who the hell is this?” She picked up the phone and read the caller ID. “What the fuck Griff doin’ callin’ me this late at night?” She shut the phone off. “He can wait until tomorrow.”

  Fourteen

  As Trenda fell asleep, Darius and Tyrone sat in their unmarked patrol car going over the files on Piper Langford’s case. Tyrone shook his head as he read her medical reports. “Damn! Trenda fucked her up!”

  Darius took a swallow of his Dunkin Doughnuts coffee. “Yeah, Trenda hit her in the back of the head so hard, she gave her a small skull fracture. It messed up Piper’s vision…she’s gonna have to wear glasses from now on.”

  Tyrone stuck the reports back into the folder and placed it on the dashboard. “Her rich-ass daddy is raisin’ all kinds of hell. I heard he got his golf buddy, the mayor, involved.”

  “Yeah…I saw Captain Kelly and that evil Internal Affairs investigator, Mrs. King-Bey, walkin’ to his office together. I could tell they were talkin’ about me by the way they got all quiet when I passed them up.”

  Tyrone tossed his empty coffee cup out the window. “I heard they are gonna bring us in for questionin’ in a few days. Shit is gettin’ hot. If they find Trenda, we are done.”

  Darius picked up the folder off the dashboard and went through the papers. “I think I have a backup plan to make sure they don’t find her…did you read the psychological profile on Piper? She has some serious violence issues.”

  He handed Tyrone the three-page psychological profile he had managed to obtain on Piper. Tyrone scanned the sheets. “Damn… she tried to stab her third-grade teacher with a pencil, hit a girl in the head with a bat in seventh grade, tried to run over her boyfriend in her senior year of high school, and threatened to kill her college professor after he gave her a B-minus on a final. This Piper chick has issues.”

  Darius nodded. “She has issues and an influential family that kept her out of jail. I’m gonna make use of her ‘issues’ with your help.”

  “What you mean with my help?”

  “I’m gonna need you to pay a visit to Piper and give her some information on Trenda I’m sure she would love to have.”

  “Why you want me to go?”

  “Because, dumb-ass, she saw my picture in that video, remember? She might fuck around and come at me and I’ll have to hurt that crazy bitch. Besides, I have a plan.”

  Darius waited as Tyrone let that information simmer in his mind. He knew his partner didn’t have much choice. Tyrone exhaled loudly. “So, what’s this plan?”

  Trenda woke up refreshed a little after nine. The cut under her eye and her sore shin felt much better. The wound
on her shoulder still ached with vigor. Pissed that she had no clean clothes left, she showered and put on the pink sweatsuit she wore a few days ago. She stood in the mirror, combed her short afro and inspected her cut. At least it’s starting to scab over…please don’t leave a scar! She went to the nightstand, unplugged her phone and checked Griff’s message. “Trenda! That muthafucka, Darius, came by my place lookin’ for you. I dunno what kinda shit you in, but I don’t need you bringin’ me no mo’ heat. Do me a favor and stay the fuck away from here ’til you get yo’ shit straight.”

  Trenda rubbed her hand through her hair. I knew that cock-houndin’ bastard Darius was gonna start some shit. She then exhaled, packed up her stuff and left the room. Outside, the crisp morning air blowing off the estuary greeted her. The not unpleasant scent of salty sea air surrounded her. Halfway across the plaza, the aroma of eggs, bacon and toast rode the air. She followed her nose and entered Momma’s Café.

  The hole-in-the-wall eatery had a reputation for having the most massive and tasty omelets in the city. After being seated and ordering a Denver Omelet, Trenda sat back and admired the quaint café. Copper pots and kettles hung from the rafters of the rustic-style restaurant. Pictures of the mothers of many of the happy patrons adorned the walls. One would think a woman ran Momma’s Café, but the owner was actually a giant black man named Jesse Martin who served as owner and head chef. His recipes, handed down from his Lake Charles, Louisiana-bred mother, had won numerous awards.

  So busy looking at the decorations, Trenda failed to notice the admiring stares of a middle-aged man across the room from her. After reading a plaque on the wall from the mayor, Trenda’s eyes met her admirer’s eyes. She gave the walnut-colored man a glint of her emerald eyes and white smile. Hmmmm…sexy black man…I love a man with a little gray hair on his temples.

  The mid-sized man adjusted the color of his charcoal gray suit, folded his copy of the Oakland Post, stood and walked over to Trenda’s booth. “Hello, lady.” He extended his manicured hand to her. “Please excuse my staring at you, but didn’t we meet at the Guitars and Sax’s jazz concert last month in Sacramento?”

  Trenda smirked and shook his hand. The game don’t change; just the date and location. “No, handsome…I just got in town last night.”

  He was genuinely shocked. “Really? I mean…it would be impossible to mistake those eyes.” He dropped his stare. “My name’s Walter Secrease…and you?”

  She noticed the lack of a ring on his ring finger. “I’m Mya.” She favored the scent of his cologne. His diction told her he was an educated man. She sat back and watched him adjust his burgundy tie. “So, how was the concert?”

  He gave her a puzzled look. “Hmmm? Concert?”

  “Yes…the concert you claim you saw me at.”

  “Ohhh…that concert…well…” He took a deep breath and smiled. “You got me. I used that as a line to get your attention.”

  She took a sip of her water, folded her hands on the table and looked in his ebony eyes. “Well, it didn’t work…but your cute dimples did.”

  His smile expanded. “That’s good to hear! I was hoping I wouldn’t have to take off my jacket and flex for you.”

  “Don’t assume…I might just ask you to do that.” The waitress arrived with her meal. Walter stood aside as Trenda’s food was served. She sprinkled hot sauce on her omelet. “Did you already eat, Dimples?”

  “Yes. I was getting ready to leave until I saw you.”

  She chewed a small bit of her omelet. “Am I holding you up or are you gonna sit down and keep me company?”

  He beamed. “You must be a mind reader.” He walked over to his table, got his paper and briefcase, returned and sat across from her. “So, what brings you to Oakland, Mya?”

  “I needed a change from the D.C. lifestyle so I hopped a train and here I am.”

  “Are you always that spontaneous?”

  She sipped her orange juice and licked her lips. “When it comes to most things, I am…why do you ask?”

  He sat back, laced his fingers and placed them in his lap. “I asked because I’m in a spontaneous mood.”

  She read a twinkle of devilment in his eyes. “You gotta be more specific, Dimples…what is it you want?”

  He checked his watch and grinned. “I had a meeting to attend this morning but I’ve decided I’m not going. I’d rather take you for a ride and work on our relationship.”

  She cocked her head. “Relationship? I heard you brothas in Cali were different but damn! You movin’ waaaay too fast for me.”

  He laughed. “I don’t believe in beating around the bush—I like the direct approach.”

  She watched him laugh as she added jelly to her toast. “I’m serious…what do you think my boyfriend would say if he heard you talkin’ like that?”

  He shook his head. “I know you don’t have a man…no way would he let you come way out here by yourself. You might have had a man, but I’ll bet my first born you are single.”

  “I see…what’s your first-born’s name?”

  “I have no idea. He/she hasn’t arrived yet.”

  “You tryin’ to tell me, that a man your age, and as handsome as you are, has no kids?”

  He stroked his salt-and-pepper goatee. “Not all fifty-year-old men have kids, no matter what your favorite talk shows have you thinking.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Fifty! I was thinking that maybe you were in your late thirties!”

  “You can thank my gym membership, no smoking, no drugs and my daily jog around Lake Merritt for that.”

  She finished her hash browns. “Okay, Dimples. So let’s say I agree to go with you. What would be on our agenda?”

  He hunched his shoulders. “I have no idea…we could start by getting in my car and driving. See where we end up.”

  Her pussy senses were tingling. Something about Dimple’s confidence made her clit wiggle. She pushed her half-eaten omelet away from her. “Okay, Dimples. Let’s take a ride.” She stealthily eased her butterfly knife out of her bag and slipped it in her pocket. He might be a little charmin’ but I’ll be damned if I let him get me somewhere way out and try and rape me.

  Trenda got her wallet and summoned the waitress. Once she arrived, Walter handed her a twenty. “Keep the change.”

  They exited the café and he walked her across the street. Among the many cars parked along the curb, she mentally tried to guess which one was his. She spotted a new-ish, silver, convertible BMW with a license frame that read: Secrease Funeral Homes. (510) 555-8888. He slowed his pace as they approached the car. “Let me put your bag in the trunk.”

  “Death business must be good these days.”

  He gave her a curious look as he closed the trunk. “What?”

  She pointed at the license plate frame. “Is that where you work?”

  He looked at the license plate. “You could say that. My brother and sister help me run the family business.” He walked her to the passenger side, clicked the electronic keypad, unlocked the door and opened it for her. “What do you do for a living?”

  She eased into the supple gray leather seat. “I used to do hair back in D.C.”

  He grinned and rubbed his short haircut. “Cool! I was looking for some new hands to put in my hair!”

  “Yeah, well, first I have to find a salon that’s hirin’.”

  “I see…” He closed the door, walked to the driver’s side and entered the car. “There’s plenty of hair salons out here in the Bay Area.”

  After he started the car, she lowered her window. “Before I find me a job, first I have to find a place to live.”

  He removed a pair of dark shades from inside his jacket pocket and put them on. “Damn…you really did just up and leave, didn’t you?”

  Her mind flashed back to the image of Piper sprawled on the floor of her kitchen, twitching. “Yeah, I seriously needed a change in my life.”

  He lowered the convertible top, then removed a cell phone from his hip. “Let me make a qu
ick call; then we are out of here.”

  She listened as he called someone named Byron and informed him to have the meeting without him and he would check in later. She lowered the visor mirror and checked her face. She fingered the cut on her face. It looks a hell of a lot better than it did a few days ago. She closed the visor as he wrapped up his call. “Where are we goin’, Dimples?”

  “Let’s see. Since you are new in town, I feel obligated to help you get yourself settled. How about we go find you a place to stay?”

  She looked at him out the corner of her eye. “Hold up, Mr. Man. I didn’t say I needed you to take care of me…I can find a room on my own.”

  He smiled, looked over his left shoulder and pulled into traffic. “Relax, my red-headed friend. I don’t do this for every fine woman I see in a café. I just happen to be in a very good mood after closing a big deal.”

  “Oh really? What kinda deal?”

  “We just finalized a deal to open up two more funeral homes in Los Angeles and one in San Francisco today. That’s what the meeting I was supposed to attend is about, closing the loose ends.”

  She could almost smell money on him. “That’s all good. How many funeral homes do you have?”

  He drove them north on Broadway, into the heart of downtown Oakland. “We now have five. I run the combination funeral home and crematorium here in Oakland and the other funeral home in San Jose. My brother and sister are going to run the two new locations in L.A.”

  While sitting at a red light, an AC Transit bus pulled next to them. The burly driver looked into the convertible, made eye contact with Trenda and gave her a wink. She smiled, then turned to face Walter. “Okay, Dimples, where is the woman that helps you spend all ya cheese?”

  He laughed aloud. “You are the epitome of a hardcore, East Coast sista. I’m going to have to teach you how to mellow out.”

  They drove past several blocks lined with car dealerships. “Don’t give me that shit. Quit tryin’ to change the subject. Where is yo’ woman?”