Fifty-Three
“What a cluster-fuck this is,” Attorney Dennis Wilcox, “the Fox,” said as he stood behind the layers of reporters in the airport. The slickness of how he got more than ninety percent of his clients off led to him being called “Wilcox the Fox.” It wasn’t always meant in a complimentary fashion.
Being the product of a German father and West Indian mother, it was sometimes hard for one to tell if the fair-skinned, wavyhaired, irritable man was black or white. Once Piper’s parents got wind that Trenda had been captured, they ran their asses to the media, just like I knew they would, and started this circus. And once those media vultures learned Officer Kain and his partner were being investigated by Baltimore P.D.’s Internal Affairs—for a case possibly involving their daughter—the sharks came to feast! A devious grin filled his face. “I do good work!”
Trenda paced the floor of the solitary cell she had just been stuffed into. This is crazy! I can’t believe that detective told me they had to lock me up by myself because of all the threats they received on my life. She sat down on the hard mattress of her bed and held her head in her hands. It’s bad enough Piper’s family wants me; but now with all this publicity, the Island Boys know where to find me. I’m sure all these gangsta-bitches in here are gonna be lookin’ to take me out for the contract they have on my head.
Minutes later, the sound of footsteps and jingling keys echoed in her ears. The sound stopped in front of her cell. She looked up into the brown eyes of a mean-looking female correctional officer. “All right, Ms. Fuqua, you have a visitor.”
“A visitor? Who?” Trenda asked as she sat up on the stiff bed.
The thick Latina woman signaled for the officer controlling the cell doors to open Trenda’s. “Your lawyer.”
Minutes later, Trenda was escorted into a small, concrete room containing a rectangular wooden table with four chairs around it. The fluorescent lighting did a poor job of brightening up the rain cloud-colored room. The Latina guard addressed the light-skinned man sitting across the table from them. “She’s all yours. I’ll be back in about thirty minutes. If you need me before then, ring the buzzer by the door.”
“Thank you, Officer Cortez.” He opened the alligator-skinned briefcase that sat in front of him on the table. “You have been very helpful as usual.”
She gave him a smirk and looked into gold, wire-rimmed glasses. “Anytime, Fox.”
Trenda took the seat across from him and waited for the officer to close the metal door. She slumped down in her chair, exhaled loudly. “You know I’m broke and can’t afford to pay you, right?”
His too-white smile almost blinded her. “Well, my friend, we’ll deal with that later. First, how are you doing? Are you feeling okay?”
She rolled the cuff of her too-big jumpsuit up a few inches. “I’m cool…just tired of this cat-shit they call food in here.”
Adjusting his blue-and-yellow power tie, Dennis shook his head and rustled papers in his briefcase. “Sorry to hear that, my friend.” His smile faded as he picked up a small stack of paper-clipped sheets of paper. “I’m going to do all I can to change that.”
Trenda didn’t like the lack of confidence in his voice. “How bad is my case lookin’?”
Taking off his glasses, he tucked them into the inside pocket of his expensive navy-blue suit coat and looked her in the eyes. “Here is what you are looking at; your parole officer is working hard to get you the maximum penalty for breaking your parole. The parents of your late-roommate Piper are pressuring the mayor to have you charged with the murder of their daughter—or at least as an accomplice.”
Trenda jumped up. “That’s bullshit! That broad tried to kill me!
Dennis didn’t miss a beat. “The Baltimore P.D. is looking to charge you with evading justice and aggravated assault against Ms. Langford—at a minimum.” He placed the stack of papers back in his briefcase and looked at the angry woman in silence for a moment. “All totaled, they intend to put you away for a minimum of fifteen to twenty years—that is if you don’t get found guilty of Piper’s murder. In that case it’s a wrap; life without the possibility of parole.”
Trenda seemed to shrink further into her over-sized clothing. She was too stunned to be angry. Her mouth moved; only one word escaped. “What?”
“Yes, my friend, they want you under the jail.”
Something about his nonchalant attitude didn’t make sense to her. “How in the hell can they pin all that shit on me? I can see the parole violation, but I ain’t had nothin’ to do with that girl gettin’ killed. And aggravated assault? It was self defense!” She pointed to the scratch under her eye. “See this?” She then pulled her sleeve up and ripped off the bandage covering her stitches. “And this? This is where that crazy bitch cut me when I was tryin’ to get away!”
“Wow!” He put his glasses back on, got up, walked over and examined her wounds. “Did you tell any of the cops or your P.O. about this?”
She reapplied the bandage. “No…I ain’t told them shit.” Panic covered her as she began pacing the floor. “I can’t go back to jail for this, Denny, I can’t…” His well-known “Fox smirk” greeted her as she turned to him. “Why you ain’t sayin’ nothin’?”
Waving to her chair, he said, “Please, have a seat, my friend. I just wanted you to know what we are up against.”
Trenda could smell the makings of a caper wafting off him. Since he never did anything for free—luckily, her fierce fellatio game was all she had to pay him in the past—it had to be something big. “What are you not tellin’ me?”
Fifty-Four
“That tramp is a liar!” Darius screamed as he and his weeping wife watched the female reporter talking about his investigation on the six o’clock news. “I am gonna sue those fuckers for slander!”
Tears of anger and heartbreak rolled down her cheeks. “Please tell me this is not true, Darius…please…,” she whispered through her soft sobs.
Before he could answer, their phone rang—for the hundredth time. He checked the caller ID. “It’s your mother, again. You wanna talk to her?”
Beverly got up, wiping her eyes, and took the phone from him. “Hi, Mother…yes, I know…”
Her voice trailed off as she walked away from Darius, on her way upstairs. He kicked over their teakwood coffee table, littered with newspaper stories of his possible criminal and infidelity issues, in front of the TV. How could that bitch be so stupid as to get caught in a fuckin’ stolen car while she is on the run? The loss of control over the situation stressed him to the point of panic. And now I have to deal with this cryin’ bitch here. If she wouldn’t spend so much time reading those goddamn tabloid magazines, she wouldn’t be so quick to believe every fucking thing she reads.
It seemed that everyone on the planet had called him about the breaking news including his partner, Tyrone. I had better return his call before he freaks the hell out.
He glanced at his liquor cabinet. Fuck that; that’s the last thing I need. After canceling his “vacation” stay at the beach house a week early because of the news drama, peace of mind eluded him. His killing of Piper was far less troubling than the aspect of exposing the public to the not-so-perfect life his gigantic ego required. The prospect of doing time wasn’t very attractive to him either.
After grabbing his cell phone, he walked outside into the cool night air, the realization that he failed to tie up a loose string for the first time—Trenda Fuqua—cut a groove of fear in his icy heart. Let me call Tyrone back before he has a goddamned heart attack.
Ten days after her arraignment hearing, Trenda was still as hot as a .45 pistol that had been shot all night. This is some bullshit! she thought as she was escorted down the jail corridor to the same room where she spoke to Dennis when she was first locked up. A stone-like shell of bitterness, pain, hatred and desperation shrouded her. Her normal sexy walk had been replaced with a hardcore stride as she adjusted to her bleak surroundings. These muthafuckas are straight tryin’ to
do me, but fuck ‘em. I’m not about to let these fools break me. She allowed one of her father’s frequent sayings to stick in her brain:
So that we may boldly say, The Lord is my helper, and I will not fear what man shall do unto me.
—HEBREWS 13:6
“You know the routine, Fox; I’ll be back in thirty minutes,” Officer Cortez said after watching Trenda take a seat.
“Very good, Officer.” Dennis smiled. “That will be plenty of time.”
Trenda scratched her rapidly growing afro and watched Dennis set his briefcase on the table. “What’s crackin’?”
He straightened the gold and diamond tie clip on his silk burgundy tie. “Well, my friend, we made significant progress yesterday.”
Placing both hands flat on the table, she leaned forward with interest. “What you mean? Are you close to gettin’ me outta here?”
“I can’t promise you no jail time, but if we play our cards right, things could turn out quite favorably for you.”
After hearing he couldn’t promise to get her out, she sat back dejected and ignored the last half of his statement. “Damn, Denny, how long am I gonna be stuck in here? It’s so borin’ here in protective custody, I am tempted to ask them to put me in general population before I go stir crazy. And I am real tired of all these dyke-ass guards lookin’ like they wanna rape me.”
He shook his head. “No way…every gang in here has a hard-on to collect the bounty the Island Boys have on your head. A few days ago, I spoke to a member of the Island Boys I am defending on another case and told him, what you told me, about Darius and his partner robbing you. I hope that takes some of the heat off you.” He furrowed his eyebrows. “And there’s no telling how many crooked C.O.’s Darius could be connected to in here. That bastard allegedly has one hell of a network of ‘friends’ among the correctional officers.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised…that fool is crooked as a barrel of snakes.” Trenda scowled. “Oh, and good lookin’ out tellin’ your client what went down with Island Boys’ money.”
“Don’t thank me yet; I just hope they believe it. Speaking of Officer Kain,” he silenced his BlackBerry and tucked it back into the inside pocket of his gray suit coat, “he and his partner hired a very good lawyer—Arnold Medved. He is twice the asshole I am—and just as expensive.”
“I don’t get it; why the hell they need a lawyer?”
Dennis looked into Trenda’s face with a smile. “Well, my friend, it turns out that Baltimore P.D.’s Internal Affairs Department is investigating Officer Kain and Officer Dash for extortion, dereliction of duty, corruption, and felonious, aggravated sexual battery against one Trenda Fuqua.”
Standing, Trenda’s mouth hung open like the entrance to a cave before she could speak. “Are you bullshittin’?”
Opening his briefcase, he removed a sheet of paper and slid it across the table to her. “Here are the official court documents of the charges against them.”
Information overload made her dizzy. She eased back in her seat. “What the…fuck? How did I get mixed up in this?”
“It appears the P.D. found a video tape of Officer Kain allegedly forcing a young lady to have oral sex with him…on the same tape, they overhear him discussing extortion of said young lady and possibly admitting to other felonious crimes committed by he and his partner. They were really pissed to see all this took place when both officers were supposed to be on duty.” He smirked at her. “Sound familiar?”
Her eyes bulged with shock as she covered her mouth with her hand. Oh fuck! The tape! They must have found the tape I left at Piper’s the night we had the fight!
“Trenda? Are you okay?” he asked, rising from his chair.
She nodded. “Yeah…but…” She found she was still speechless.
“Let me further clarify. You, my friend, are in a very unique position. The D.A. and your P. O. both want to lock you up for violating your parole, crossing state lines and for assaulting Ms. Piper. The Baltimore P.D., on the other hand, needs your testimony in order to get alleged corrupt Officer Kain off the streets and behind bars.”
Trenda let anger replace the shock on her face. “Let’s do it! I’ll testify against that muthafucka right now!”
He raised his hand and shook his head. “Not so fast, my friend. We have to be smart about this. I’m sure you are aware this is an election year for the mayor and the city is in financial distress.”
“Yeah, so? I don’t give a fuck about this city or the mayor.”
“You might want to…you see, if we can prove the allegations of sexual battery charges against Officer Kain are true, the city can be held responsible for its employee. Meaning they could be sued for a substantial amount.”
The hustler wheels in Trenda’s mind began to turn, helping clear her head. “No shit, huh?”
His face became a bit more serious. “It won’t be easy; Darius has loaded up with fellow officers and some of his late grandfather’s friends who are very respected in the community as well as on the force.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “They are going to go all out to make you out to be a worthless criminal that belongs behind bars. His lawyer, Medved, is well known for his ability to exploit any flaw in a witness he can find. And let’s face it, with your record, and the situation with you and the mayor’s friend’s dead daughter, they have plenty of ammunition.”
Her lantern of hope dimmed. “Fuck…I knew shit was too good to be true…”
Fifty-Five
“So you say you just got in town a week ago? No wonder I ain’t ran across you on my patrol,” Tyrone said to the tall, thick, fine, coconut-shell-colored hooker named “Cakes” that leaned against his Lexus. “That sexy accent is off the chain! Where you say you from?”
“I’m from the Motherland, honey. The other girls told me how things work here on the Baltimore track.” She flashed him a sweet smile as she stood and rubbed his chest. The light from the street lamp on the corner reflected on her pretty smile. “I’m ready for you, Daddy…ready for you and your partner, Darius.” She pulled a set of car keys out of her purse. “I’ll meet you at that place you were tellin’ me about—the Lighthouse—in thirty minutes.” Cakes showed him the tip of her tongue. “Don’t keep me waiting, baby.”
“You ain’t gotta worry, sexy.” As he watched her walk away, his disposable cell phone rang. “Wassup?”
“Hey! I got your message. Where you at? We need to hook up so we can talk about our situation. We only have two days before the trial starts; I wanna make sure we are on point. I talked to Medved today and he told me that after he gets finished grillin’ Trenda, ain’t a jury in the world gonna care about her.”
“Yeah! That’s what I’m talkin’ about! I’m out here by the Harbor. Let’s meet up at the Lighthouse.” His dick trembled as Cakes and her jiggling ass turned the corner. A lusty smile crossed his lips. “You might wanna get in on this; I have a hottie right here that is ready to be ‘initiated’ into the game. After that, we can talk shop. Meet me there in thirty minutes.”
He understood Tyrone’s code for breaking in a new prostitute well. The idea of busting a nut in a new piece of ass felt just like the stress relief Darius needed. “I’m on my way.”
“That fool is late as usual,” Darius said as he pulled up to the gate at the Lighthouse. He saw an extremely sexy, tall, woman rise from one of the Lighthouse steps she was sitting on. “But I see our guest of honor is already here.”
Dressed in the same short red mini skirt, red stilettos and tight red half-top that got Tyrone’s attention, she proved to Darius that arousal was not one of his many problems. She sashayed up to his car door. “Hi, Mr. Officer,” she said, wiping back the flowing black hair of her cute wig. “I hope you have a taste for a piece of ‘Cake.’”
Reaching out of his car window, he rubbed her large, round ass. “As soon as I open this gate, I’m gonna break me off a big chunk of this cake, baby.”
She backed out of his grip, smiled and wa
lked to the gate. “I got it. Bring your fine ass in here so we can do this.”
If it weren’t for the stress he was under—and his horniness—he might have noticed the gate was unlocked as she pushed it open. He and Tyrone always locked the gate. Always. He pulled his Escalade all the way up the driveway and into the large backyard. He then saw Tyrone’s car parked near the fence, a few yards ahead of him. I wonder why she didn’t tell me Tyrone was already here?
As soon as he stepped out of his car, watching Cakes pull on a pair of gloves as she walked up the driveway toward him, he felt a strong arm wrap around his neck and a cold piece of steel against the side of his head. “Quit movin’ or me blow hole in you head, blood clot,” a voice whispered to him.
Terror chilled his blood as three ski-masked men emerged from the dark bushes and joined the man currently holding him. Cakes walked up and stood in front of the stunned cop. “I heard you and your partner robbed one of the Island Boys’ associates a few weeks back.” One of the men handed her a long, blood-stained machete. She held it inches from his face. “They hired me to get it back. Where is the money?”
For the first time he noticed her foreign accent. She had done a remarkable job of hiding it to this point. “I don’t know what the fuck you talkin’ about!”
“You mean you don’t recall stealing a quarter-million dollars from my employer’s transporter?”
Flashbacks surfaced of how he had talked Tyrone into pulling over Trenda and robbing her. He had been tipped off that she was hauling a large sum of cash for a client. After finding the duffle bag of money in her SUV, they took it anyway, even after she told him the money belonged to the Island Boys. Tyrone used most of his share to pay off the $65,000 in back child support he owed the mother of his daughter in Savannah, Georgia and to another baby-mama in Virginia. Darius was also aware that Tyrone blew most of the rest trying to keep up with his extravagant lifestyle. “Hell naw that wasn’t me! Look, let me go now and I’ll overlook this…I’ll call it a case of mistaken identity.”
Sins of a Siren Page 27
