“You picked the wrong chick to like, mu’fucka.”
Treacherous spit in Tony’s face. As he rose up, he let off another round into Tony’s chest as an extra precaution.
“Babe, you a’ight?” Treacherous asked Baby as he stepped over Doug’s body. Baby dripped with perspiration despite the cool temperature of the crack house.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” she answered, wiping her brow. “I just feel a little lightheaded. That’s all. This place stinks like shit.”
“A’ight. Let’s get the hell outta here.”
To make his way out, Treacherous retraced his steps, but the loud thud behind him caused him to stop in his tracks. When he turned around, his heart skipped a beat at the sight of Baby lying on the floor.
Chapter 25
The pit of Detective Love’s stomach bubbled as soon as he stepped through the door of the gloomy residence. He didn’t know how long he would be able to hold his breakfast down. He thought he was going to be sick. Lately, bodies were popping up in the section of Richmond that Detective Love covered, and he dreaded the crime scenes. He had not been lucky enough to keep his lunch down at the scene of the other homicide case he was still working on. He had been investigating the deaths of a thirty-four-year-old man and a sixteen-year-old girl at a Super 8 motel when he received a call about two more homicides.
The smell of the two bodies made him hurl. After six years in homicide, he still had not gotten used to the smell of death. He pulled out his handkerchief and covered his nostrils and mouth to minimize the stench of the foul odor that smacked him in the face like the wife of a cheating husband. Not only had he been exposed to the stench of death at eight a.m. but also the combination of feces, urine, and bad hygiene. The room was flooded with officers who were collecting anything that could be considered evidence. He pulled out a pair of rubber gloves and walked over to one of the other detectives on the scene who was taking notes.
“What do we got, George?” Detective Love mumbled through his handkerchief.
“Hey, Art.” Detective George Parks turned and greeted him. “Two victims. One shot to the back of the head, execution style.” He pointed to the dead body lying on the floor. “This one,” he said, shifting back around and pointing to the body in front of him. “One entry shot through the mouth. A second shot in the chest. Judging by the way they were murdered, I’d say this one here was the intended victim and that guy back there was just a casualty, my theory,” Detective Parks concluded.
“Why would you think that?” Detective Love wanted to know.
“No sign of any struggle with that guy there. He was on his knees when the perp killed him. Found a pair of boot prints directly behind his body. He was kneeling before he fell forward from the shot, but this guy here,” Detective Parks said, and leaned in, “someone was upset with him. Look here.”
Detective Love moved in closer.
“You see how his two front teeth are chipped, and the boot prints come all the way up to the couch?”
“Yeah, which means the perp had to climb on top of the victim and shoved the gun in his mouth before he shot him,” Detective Love offered.
“Exactly!” Detective Parks chimed in. “And there was no need for a second shot because the first one had already done the job.”
“Makes sense,” Detective Love agreed.
“It gets better,” Detective Parks added. “I also found traces of dried saliva in the victim’s right eye, which means one of the perps had to have spat in the victim’s face. Now, it doesn’t get any more personal than that.”
Detective Parks threw up his hands as if he had just won a title match fight. Detective Love shook his head and smiled. By then, he was immune to the smell which had seeped through his handkerchief.
“You sent the saliva to ballistics?”
“It’s en route as we speak.”
“So, what were these guys? A couple of petty dealers or something?” Detective Love asked.
“The total opposite.”
“What do you mean?”
“They were addicts,” Detective Parks answered.
“Jeez! These kids can’t be no more than eighteen.”
“You hit it right on the head. Both of them.”
“Wow! So, some local dealers ran up in here and killed them for the couple of dollars they probably owed,” Detective Love surmised.
“Maybe.” Detective Parks shrugged.
“You ID ’em, yet?”
“Guy on the floor’s name is Douglas Smith. He’s been in and out of the system since thirteen, started out in juvie, caught a bunch of misdemeanors and a couple of felonies as an adult, few county bids, nothing serious.” Detective Parks paused. Then, he said, “This guy’s name is Anthony Morris; got nothing on him, though, as a juvenile or adult, other than being a fucking nutcase.” Detective Parks snickered.
“What do you mean by that?” a confused Detective Love asked.
“According to his file, he’s been in and out of mental hospitals since he was born.”
“For what?”
“Come on, Love. I’m a detective, not a damn doctor.” Detective Parks laughed. “I don’t remember that shit. I just know, based on what I was told, the kid was all screwed up in the head and was one sandwich short of a picnic basket.”
The statement was meant as a joke, but Detective Love found no humor in his colleague’s words. Instead, he thought about his own child and how she too had been in a mental hospital up until recently. He was still trying to digest the phone call he had gotten about his daughter killing a man and breaking out of the facility with another patient. He immediately removed the thought and refocused on the reason he was at the house in the first place.
“Let me know if you come up with anything else, and keep me posted on the results from ballistics.”
“Will do,” Detective Parks replied.
Detective Love turned and headed for the exit.
“Excuse me, Officer,” he said to one of his colleagues who was kneeling down, blocking the doorway.
“Oh, sorry about that, sir,” the officer said, looking back.
“Whatcha got there?” Detective Love asked.
“That’s what I was trying to figure out,” the officer replied. “Judging by the looks of these footprints and this clear spot, it looks like another body could have been lying here or something and may have been carried out.”
Detective Love kneeled beside the officer and took a closer look. He could see how the officer could have drawn his conclusion. “You might be right, Officer,” he agreed as he studied the patterns on the floor.
“Parks, I think we got something,” he yelled behind him. “Good work, Bronson,” he said, scanning the officer’s name tag. “Damn good work.”
Chapter 26
Treacherous entered their room carrying a tray and made his way over to where Baby lay. Baby’s face glistened with perspiration as she slept. Treacherous stood over her and stared in admiration as she tossed and turned in her sleep the way she had been doing for the past week. He respected the fact that she had been fighting off the medication she had been taking at the asylum before they left. It never dawned on him until then that she was addicted to the drugs they had been feeding her. For him, it was different because he had only taken a mild med, but, for Baby, it was a little more difficult because she had been prescribed something much stronger.
For the first couple of days, Treacherous tried numerous times to persuade her to take some over-the-counter pills, but she refused. He felt helpless as he watched her body shut down. Each day, she grew sicker and sicker. It took all of his being to obey her wishes and not force some painkillers down her throat after she had gone into convulsions and collapsed in the bathroom. She begged him to trust her, and he did. For days, Treacherous watched as her body went through withdrawal. After a few days, her radiant complexion was replaced with a dull beige color, and she had become so weak that he had to feed her broth every day because it was the only thing she
could keep on her stomach without vomiting. He could literally smell the medication seeping through her pores.
Treacherous sat next to Baby on the bed and gently dabbed her forehead with a cool, damp rag. He noticed that her skin color was returning to its normal tone. Baby’s eyes opened, and a smile appeared across her face the way it always did when she saw Treacherous sitting next to her.
“How you feelin’?”
“Better,” she whispered.
“You’re lookin’ better,” Treacherous complimented her as he moved the rag down to her neck.
His words caused Baby’s eyes to match the smile she had already had on her face. She raised her arm and placed her hand on top of his. She looked into Treacherous’s eyes.
“You ready to eat?” Treacherous asked, breaking the stare. He didn’t know why, but he always became nervous whenever Baby looked at him the way she just had.
Baby sat up.
“I bought your favorite: tomato.” He flashed a half of a grin as she frowned. He knew she was tired of eating soup, so he always made the same joke to soften her disdain for the liquid food.
Treacherous raised the spoon and blew on the hot soup. Then, he placed his hand underneath it and put it to Baby’s mouth.
“I can do it,” Baby announced as she took the first spoonful of soup in.
“You sure?”
He had become accustomed to feeding her but was pleased to hear that she felt strong enough to feed herself. Baby nodded her head. Treacherous took the tray and laid it across her lap as Baby held the spoon. For a second, she just stared into the bowl.
“Babe, you sure you got it?” Treacherous asked with uncertainty in his voice.
Baby looked up at him and rolled her eyes. His doubt became her motivation. All in one motion, she raised the spoon and shoved it in her mouth.
“Fuck!” she cried out, dropping the spoon. The soup had burned her tongue.
“That’s what you get for tryin’a be all tough and fast.” Treacherous chuckled.
“Forget you.” She tried to give Treacherous attitude, but the smile wanting to burst through would not allow it.
“I’m glad you’re getting better.”
“It’s good to be feelin’ better. Now, take this fuckin’ soup and bring me a damn cheeseburger.”
For the first time in over a week, the two of them shared a good laugh together.
Chapter 27
Like any other day of the week, Thursday afternoon at the Richmond City precinct on Broad Street was in full throttle. The telephones rang off the hook while every law breaker from prostitutes to drug dealers was hauled to the back in handcuffs, and officers’ booking chairs possessed bodies who either had a complaint or had broken the law. To the average person, the police station would have appeared to be a human zoo, but, to Richmond’s finest, it was just another day on the job.
“May I help you?” the desk sergeant asked the approaching figure.
“Yes, I’m looking for Detective Love,” he replied.
“Is this a civil or criminal matter?” the sergeant inquired.
“More like a personal one,” the man clarified. He handed the desk sergeant his credentials.
“This here’s expired, mister.”
“Yes, I know, but, if you’ll allow me to explain—”
“Explain it to Detective Love. He’s right over there in that office,” the desk sergeant said as he pointed. “Just knock on the door and tell ’im Sergeant Wright gave you permission.”
“Thanks, Sergeant.”
Moments later, Andre Randle entered Detective Love’s office per his permission.
“Good afternoon, Detective, my name is Andre Randle. I am the ex-chief of police out in Norfolk.”
“Pleased to meet you, Chief.” Detective Love stood and extended his hand, addressing Andre Randle respectfully. “Sit,” he offered.
“Thanks.”
“So, what can I do for you, Chief?” Detective Love asked, sitting back down and leaning back.
“It’s more like what can we do for each other,” Andre Randle answered, rephrasing his question.
Detective Love raised his eyebrows and asked, “How so?”
Andre Randle scratched his head. Then, he took a deep breath and said, “Well, the other night while I was watching the news . . .”
As soon as he mentioned the news, Detective Love clenched his teeth. He knew the conversation had something to do with what had taken place at the mental hospital and the possible connection to the murder of one of the ex-patients.
“I’m sorry, Chief, but, unless you’ve been assigned to this case, I’m not at liberty to discuss any of the particulars. In fact, I’m actually not even on the case as you probably may already know.” Detective Love could feel his blood pressure rising.
Andre Randle also caught it. He tried to smooth things over when he said, “Detective, I apologize if I’ve offended you. That was not my intent. Let me be clear, so you can understand what I was getting at. A few years ago, back in Norfolk on Interstate 264, a woman was gunned down after her and an accomplice, who was her child’s grandfather, fled the scene of an armored car heist.”
Detective Love ran through his mental Rolodex to see if he had any recollection of the incident as he listened to Andre Randle.
“Prior to that, the woman was released from federal prison after the Supreme Court overturned her conviction for a bank robbery and a slew of murders she was alleged to have committed with her deceased boyfriend. That woman’s name was Teflon Jackson. Her boyfriend’s name was Treacherous Freeman, who was also the father of her son.”
Detective Love looked up at the ceiling as if the answer were there. The stories Andre Randle had just disclosed to him had sounded vaguely familiar. He was trying to place where he had heard the names before.
“One of the names may ring a bell to you because it is the same name of the young man in the photo they are flashing all over the television alongside your daughter’s picture,” Andre Randle stated.
Detective Love rummaged through some papers on his desk until he found what he was looking for. On the back of the photo was the name TREACHEROUS FREEMAN, JR. Detective Love shook his desktop mouse and woke the screen of his computer. He typed in one of the names Andre Randle had mentioned into the Google search engine. The first thing that popped up instantly refreshed his memory. The link for an article titled BONNIE & CLYDE OF THE NEW MILLENNIUM took Detective Love back to the time when he was fresh out of the academy. The reign of terror the couple had caused swept through the police forces of the entire State of Virginia. He remembered the story being a constant topic in the morning role call for cautionary purposes.
Detective Love continued to scroll down. He found the link of the story Andre Randle had told him about the mother of the kid his daughter had become a fugitive of justice with and clicked on it.
He looked at Andre Randle. Then, he looked back at the screen’s monitor.
“Is that you?” Detective Love asked as he leaned in closer to view the picture in the article.
“Yes,” Andre Randle replied.
“Jeez,” Detective Love said. After he had read the first few lines of the article, he asked, “What the hell happened out there?” The detective was full of curiosity.
“She had a gun pointed to her son’s head and was about to pull the trigger. I had to take the shot,” Andre Randle stated simply. His answer left a bad taste in his mouth.
“The same son who is now wanted for questioning in a murder?”
“Exactly,” Andre Randle replied.
“And the plot thickens.” Detective Love shook his head.
“Do you want to go grab a cup of coffee, so I can fill you in on all the other details?” Andre Randle suggested.
“Sounds like a good idea,” Detective Love said, accepting the invitation. “I’ve got a feeling this is going to be a long day.”
Detective Love stood and grabbed his suit jacket off the back of his chair. He c
ouldn’t help but wonder where he had gone wrong as a father as he and Andre Randle exited his office.
Chapter 28
The sound of Virginia Beach’s ocean waves were like music to Treacherous’s and Baby’s ears when they killed the engines to their bikes and pulled off their helmets. It was the first time in over a week that the two had been out of their apartment since Baby had recovered from her withdrawal. It was also the first time the two had ever been to a beach.
Treacherous had been planning to visit the Atlantic Avenue strip where the beach was located ever since he had read about it in his mother’s journals. Baby had never had the urge to go by herself and didn’t have anyone she ever wanted to go with. Treacherous thought a day by the water would be perfect, so he suggested they shoot out to the beach in one of the Seven Cities. He climbed off his R1.
“Come on.”
He held out his hand for Baby, who was still sitting on the stolen Honda Interceptor. Treacherous took hold of Baby’s hand and guided her to the beach. He stared out into the ocean. From where he stood, he could see that the sun had just about faded behind the sea, but it was showing just enough to blanket the water like a glistening coat.
“We gonna chill here,” he said as he sat down in the sand.
Baby sat beside him. “Thank you.” She leaned in and kissed Treacherous on the cheek. She flashed Treacherous a smile to camouflage the tears she was fighting back. As of midnight, that day was a special day for Baby, and Treacherous was making it even more special for her. It had been awhile since anyone had shown her that they cared, and Baby was more than appreciative. There was no other place she could have seen herself being and no other person she could have imagined being with at that moment. Everything felt so right to Baby.
“For what?” Treacherous asked, already having an idea.
“Just for being you and for being here with me on my birthday.”
He looked at his watch and playfully remarked, “Oh, yeah! It is your birthday. How old are you now? Sixteen?”
Carl Weber Presents Ride or Die Chick 3 Page 10
