Sins of a Siren (6 page)

A
t 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'!
”

Darius stood over Tim and watched as Tyrone walked over and looked behind the overgrown hedges that lined the back fence. Tyrone's flashlight beam bounced until it landed on a white plastic five-gallon bucket. Darius grinned as Tyrone carefully grabbed the handle of the bucket and walked back to the car. “Tim, it looks like we are gonna have to give you a little ‘act right' juice.”

Thin Tim rolled away from the cops and the bucket and sat with his back against the rear wheel of the patrol car. He watched as Darius cautiously removed the lid from the bucket. “What you doin' wit' that?”

Darius studied the contents of the bucket with the beam of his flashlight as he spoke. “I'm sure you heard about the drums of acid they found in the basement.” He turned his gaze to Thin Tim. “We saved a little for our own use.”

As Thin Tim tried to scoot away, Tyrone stomped on his leg. “You try to move again, and I'll shoot you in the ass!”

“Bring him over here,” Darius said as he stood over the bucket. “I think ol' Tim looks kinda thirsty.”

Thin Tim's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. “No! No! No! Help! Somebody help meeeeeeeeee!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Tyrone said as he dragged Thin Tim by the collar and shoved him in front of the bucket.

Darius said, “You got one more chance to answer my question before I give you the strongest drink you
ever
had.”

Thin Tim froze with terror, eyes locked on the bucket, as his bottom lip shivered. “I-I-I don't kn-kn-knoooooooow…”

Tyrone shined his light on the trembling man. “Think hard, Thin Man.”

This is takin' way too long
, Darius thought as he scanned the ground with his flashlight. His beam landed on the dead rat. He bent over and picked it up by its long skinny tail. “Hey, Tim, have you ever seen what acid does when it gets on you?”

The sheer horror of the question paralyzed Thin Tim's vocal chords. He sat bug-eyed watching Darius.

Both Tyrone and Thin Tim watched as Darius took the rat by the tail and dunked it halfway into the industrial-strength acid.

A minute later, Darius pulled the rat out. “Oh shit!” Tyrone yelled as the acid- soaked rat dissolved and smoked. “I'm gonna fuckin' throw up!”

Thin Tim shook with terror and slobber formed on the corners of his mouth as he watched the rat liquefy in front of his eyes. “P-p-please don't acid m-m-me,” he said in a terrified whimper.

Darius watched as the skull of the rat became visible. He then dropped the remains of the rodent into the bucket. “Okay. How about you take another look at the picture?”

Tyrone picked up the picture off the hood and handed it to Tim. “Take a
real
good look.”

Darius winked at his partner as he shined his light on the picture. “Tell me what you know, Tim.”

Thin Tim studied the picture for a full minute as his gin-fogged brain searched for information. Trenda's unforgettable green eyes jostled his memory. “I…I think I seen her before…I think I seen her at Griff's junk yard.”

Darius grinned. “
When?”

Tim licked his lips as he stared at the picture. “I was over there a couple nights ago lookin' for work. She was talkin' to Griff about her car…” He looked up at his captors. “I swear that's all I know, I
swear
!”

Darius's grin expanded as he put the lid back on the bucket. “See, Tim, that wasn't that bad, now was it?”

Thin Tim sat in silence with his back against the rear door of the car. “Can I go now?”

“Sure!” Darius wiped his gloved hands on Thin Tim's jacket. “Turn around so I can get the cuffs off.”

Tyrone made sure the lid was on securely, then took the bucket back to its hiding place. Once he returned, Darius handed him his cuffs. “Time to get back for shift change.”

Thin Tim stood and rubbed his wrist as the cops got into the car. “Ain't y'all gonna gimme a ride back?”

Tyrone looked at Tim as he started the car and turned on the headlights. “Sorry, I ain't got time.” He then went into his shirt pocket and pulled out the bag of crack and tossed it to Thin Tim. “Here you go. Have fun.”

Darius smiled as he took off his gloves and stuck them in the glove compartment. “Oh, yeah! That was
all
good! All we gotta do now is visit ol' Griff.” He tapped Tyrone on the shoulder with the back of his hand. “I'm gonna have to find another dead rat just in case we need to bring Griff out here for a ‘private' questioning.”

Tyrone laughed as he reversed out the driveway, then shifted to drive and headed for the freeway. “I gotta admit, I thought you was out ya damn mind when you told me about this crazy-ass plan with the rat and acid.”

“It's called ‘Rat Soup.' I got the idea from this old detective from the Bronx I met a few years ago. The hardest part was finding a big enough rat.”

Tyrone chuckled. “Shit, I bet you can find all the rats you want inside the ‘Lighthouse.'”

Darius continued to smile as he sat back in his seat. “I can't wait to visit ol' Griff tomorrow.”