Sins of a Siren (36 page)

He carried the papers to his desk, sat down and took a sip of his tepid coffee. While staring at Trenda's mugshot, he wondered,
could she have shot Piper, then had her car blown up as she was trying to get away?

“That makes no sense,” he said as he read Trenda's rap sheet. “There is a major piece of this puzzle missing.”

Dressed in black jeans and a tight, black blouse, Trenda stood in the bathroom of her motel room, putting in her new dark-brown contact lenses.
Damn, these things are uncomfortable as hell.
She ran her finger over the healing scar underneath her eye.
I hope I can hide this cut under my cover-up makeup.

Fifteen minutes later, the cut was nearly invisible. “Now for the final touch.” She went and picked the wig and her purse off the desk and carried them to the bathroom. After pulling the curly
wig on her head, she saw an entirely new person in the mirror.
Whoa! Is that me?

She opened her purse and removed Baby. She flicked the butterfly knife a few times. It worked flawlessly. “Now, let's see if I can hide my Baby.” Closing the knife, she slid it underneath the wig, on the right side of her head. She examined herself in the mirror again.
Cool…these curls cover up Baby just right.

“W
hat's wrong, baby?” Walter asked as he stopped kissing Lollie's navel. “This is the first time I have ever felt you not grab my head as I go for a clit meal.”

Rolling over on her side, she scooted back against him. “I'm sorry. But I can't stop worrying about Mya. I wonder why she ain't returning my calls. She didn't show up for work and today is payday. What if somebody kidnapped her?”

He draped his arm over her and kissed her bare, chocolate shoulder. “I know what you mean.” He paused to reflect on how nervous Mya seemed to be during their visit. The soft gong of the grandfather clock in his spacious living room chimed half past nine. The tone seemed to resonate throughout the silent, five-bedroom home. “Have you heard back from that Detective Winslow?”

Lollie breathed in bit of the sandalwood incense fragrance from the stick burning in Walter's fist-shaped incense holder on his expensive oak dresser. “I think he tried to call me today but the call dropped and I had to start my shift at work. I might try and call him back tomorrow.”

He moved a lock of her long, soft hair and kissed the back of her neck. “That's a good idea. Did she ever give you any indication she was in trouble?”

“Well, she did tell me she came out here to get away from her crazy ex-boyfriend. She said he's the one that gave her that cut under her eye…”

“If he's crazy enough to do that, he might be crazy enough to try and kill her.” He rolled Lollie over to face him. “I think you need to tell Detective Winslow about her boyfriend. No woman deserves to be treated like a fuckin' punching bag.”

The blooming feelings she had been growing for Walter blossomed when she saw the genuine care in his face. She pulled him onto her, between her warm thighs, rubbed the back of his neck and whispered, “Make love to me Walter, please?”

After leaving her motel room, Trenda walked southbound on San Pablo Avenue—toward Oakland. No one that knew Trenda would recognize her as she now appeared. The wig, eye contacts and slightly less sexy clothes than she normally wore transformed her into a different woman. A homicidal woman.

The slight ache in the small lump on her head and the uncomfortableness of the bandaged stitches on the wound nurse Gloria repaired for her helped fuel the growing rage inside her. With each step she took, she dove deeper into her old self; the hardcore, down-for-whatever, Trenda Fuqua.

Most of the East Coast underworld was aware of her no-nonsense attitude. She had learned her enhanced survival skills from the dangerous and ruthless criminals that orbited her world. Right then, as she inspected the vehicles she walked past, those skills were being put to the test.
I need transportation.

The fluorescent, red-and-white Albany Bowl sign glowed a block ahead of her. She picked up her pace and entered the overflow parking lot, half a block away from the bowling alley. She stopped at the darkest corner of the parking lot and walked over to a white, early-model Toyota Celica.
This will work.
After taking
a good look around, she removed Baby from under her wig, curled the closed knife in her fist—with about an inch of the knife handle sticking out—and slammed it into the driver's side window.

The window shattered, spilling hundreds of pieces of safety glass to the floor and the black driver's seat of the car. Trenda looked around, saw no one noticed her, unlocked the door and wiped glass off the driver's seat onto the floor and ground. She tossed her Travelin' Bag on the passenger seat and pulled Baby from under her wig. “I hope I don't break my fuckin' blade doing this; I usually use a screwdriver.” She flicked open Baby and jabbed it into the keyhole on the ignition switch. After a few minutes of twisting and turning the knife, the ignition switch popped out the steering column.

About fuckin' time,
she thought as she cut the ignition wires and searched for the two she needed to start the car.
I'm sure glad I paid attention when I was rollin' with that fool Danny-Boy back in the Bronx when I went with him to hustle stolen cars back in the day.

After the first two sets of wires failed to work, she found the right pair. “Yeah! There we go!” She closed Baby and tossed it into her bag. Shifting the car into reverse, she eased out of the parking spot, and checked to see if anyone noticed her. Once she was clear, she drove out of the parking lot and halfway down the block before she turned on the headlights.

Fifteen minutes later, she entered the crowed parking lot of Fats. A surge of adrenaline shot through her body like a bolt of electricity. “I knew his bitch-ass would be here,” she said after spotting King Gee's convertible Saab parked next to a gold Mercedes. Since the parking lot was packed, she ended up parking around the corner.

Squads of women—as well as horny men—headed for the club to attend Fats' Monday amateur exotic dancer night. After watching
what the women were wearing, Trenda went into her bag and swapped her white Adidas for her only other pair of shoes; a pair of black pumps.
This should be enough to get me inside.

Using the inside trunk release, she popped the trunk and tossed her bag inside, next to a large, black, bowling ball bag. Before going inside the club, she pulled Baby out of the bag and tucked it back under her wig. As she walked toward the entrance, she saw a familiar face; it was the thug, Peanut, whom she had checked into the Waters Edge Hotel a week ago. She had a hunch he was the one that informed King Gee where she worked.
I wonder if this fool is gonna recognize me.

Standing next to the same “thugged-out” Buick he had driven to the hotel, his eyes went from her face to her tits with light speed. “Hey, sexy! Come holla at a playa!”

“I wish I had the time, baby,” she said with a forced smile and well-practiced Southern drawl. After successfully fooling Peanut, she moved to the end of the admission line. She studied how the bouncers were scanning the incoming guests.
Cool; they are still just barely waving the metal detectors on the women.

The husky, West Indian bouncer smiled as she approached. “How you doin', sista?”

She returned his smile. “I'm real good.”

He let the metal detection wand dangle at his side. “Are you here for the dance contest?” His long dreads danced as he nodded to a group of women in a shorter line to her right. “If so, you need to take your fine self over to that line.”

“No, I'm just here to kick it and have a drink.”

“Too bad.” He lazily waved the wand over her tits and waist-line. “I have no doubt you would bring the house down.”

“Thanks, baby.”

“Where you from? Texas? I'm diggin' that country accent,” he said as she attempted to walk past him.

“
No, Suga; I'm from Jacksonville, Florida.”

He stepped aside, smiling. “Is that right? I didn't know they grew 'em sexy like you down there!”

Whew! Made it!
After giving him a wink, she entered the packed club. It only took three minutes for her to spot her prey. There tossing back a shot of brown alcohol at the bar was King Gee. The overwhelming urge to draw Baby, run over and slit his throat was awful hard to resist.
Calm down, girl…stick to your plan.

I'm glad he finally took his scary-ass home
, Darius thought as he watched Tyrone get in his car and leave. He flopped down on the overstuffed bronze sofa and finished off his fifth beer, leaned his head back and watched the ceiling fan overhead spin.
I can't afford to let this shit drag on any further. It's time to up the stakes.

He got up, staggered over to the octagon-shaped mahogany kitchen table and picked up the disposable cell phone he used to communicate with Tyrone.
I'll get that bitch's attention.
He burped, then called Trenda's cell phone number. “Look here, you no-good ho, I'm through playin' games with you. Unless you want me to do your parents like I did that fool Diamond and your crazy roommate, I suggest you return this call by tomorrow, noon. I am pretty damn tired of you ignoring my calls. Remember; I better hear from or see you by noon. Bitch.” After tagging the call as
urgent,
he sent the message and hung up. A drunken grin filled his face. “Ignore me now and see what happens!”

T
he ratio of men to women in Fats had to be at least three-to-one. The turnout for their amateur pole dancer contest was always standing room only. Trenda bounced off numerous people as she worked her way to the far end of the bar King Gee was leaning on.

The men howled and whistled as the DJ introduced the first amateur dancer of the night. As the tall, ebony Amazon wrapped her luscious legs around the pole, Trenda beckoned the bulky Asian bartender with her finger. “What can I get you?”

Over the cranked-up sound of
“
Siempre Hay Esperanza” by Sade—a stripper national anthem—Trenda leaned in so the bartender could hear her request. “Can you tell me what that sexy man in the pinstripe suit is drinkin'?”

The bartender smirked. “Oh, you mean King Gee? He is drinking his usual; Remy Martin, Louis the XIII cognac.”

Trenda fished her bankroll out of her pocket, smiled and winked at the bartender. “Send him a double shot on me.”

Sometimes she was surprised by her own coolness under pressure. It was a survival skill she honed by living constantly on the edge of danger. The bartender went to the top shelf for the bottle of Louis the XIII. She plastered a fake smile on her face as the bartender tapped King Gee on the shoulder, handed him the glass and pointed her way.
That's right, muthafucka. Bring your ass down here so we can handle our business.

After taking a sip of his drink, King Gee grinned, tapped one of his homeboys on the shoulder and whispered something in his
ear. His friend gazed at Trenda, nodded his head, returned King Gee's grin and bumped fists with him. He adjusted the lapel of his “look-at-me” suit and made his way to Trenda. “The King is pleased by your gift, princess,” he said as he took her hand and kissed it. “How did I earn this, sexy?”