Sins of a Siren (4 page)

Trenda paid for her meal, then took a window seat in a booth and waited for her food. The sun felt good on her face. As the scenery sped by, she daydreamed.
It feels damn good knowin' I ain't gotta deal wit' Darius no more.
She went into her purse and removed her compact mirror. She then studied the cut on her cheek.
Fuckin' Piper. The more I look at this cut, the more I hope that bitch is dead.

The cook rang the bell on the counter and announced, “Order number 114 is ready!”

Trenda woke out of her daze and retrieved her food. She added mustard and mayonnaise to her cheeseburger.
I sure hope this little money I have is enough to get me by until I get on my feet. I heard California is expensive as hell.
She opened her bag of Lays Potato Chips and poured them on her plate.
I'm gonna need a car, a place to stay and—

The sight of an Amtrak policeman and a conductor entering the dining car made Trenda squirt ketchup on her potato chips by mistake. They stopped four tables from her and asked the couple for their identification.
Oh shit! What the hell's goin' on?

She fished in her purse for her sunglasses in the hope they would hide her attention-grabbing eyes. The cop and conductor scanned the car, then went to a booth on the opposite side of the car.

Nervousness replaced her hunger as she nibbled on a ketchup-stained chip. A familiar face came into view. Box entered the dining car.
Hmmmm, he might come in handy; the cops would be lookin' for a woman travelin' alone if they were lookin' for me.
She smiled and waved at him. “It's about time you got here.”

Box gave her a confused smile as he walked past the conductor and cop. They were busy checking the ID's of a pair of collegeaged
kids. He wedged himself into the seat across from her. “I thought we were going to meet for breakfast?”

Trenda gave him a smile, glanced at the cop, then back to Box. “I like a late breakfast.”

Box adjusted his glasses as he smiled at his new friend. “I see.” He glanced at her plate. “I've never seen anyone eat potato chips with ketchup.”

She looked over his shoulder and watched the cop scan the car again. “That's how we do it in B-More.”

His eyes enjoyed how good she looked in pink. “Oh, is that where you're from?”

Trenda took a bite off the tip of her pickle spear. She noticed for the first time how wide his shoulders were. Even though he had a belly, it looked as though he'd worked out quite a bit back in the day. “Yup… Born and raised. Where you from?”

He turned his head after Trenda caught him looking at her breasts. “El Cerrito, California.”

She smiled and arched her back slightly, giving him a better view of her twins. “Is that by L.A.?”

He glanced at her titties, then scratched his forehead. “No, it's about fifteen minutes from Oakland.”

That's real good to know.
She watched the cop and conductor head their way. “I wonder what happened. Why you think that cop is checkin' folks?”

Box turned around and eyed the pair. “They're doing random ID checks. You can blame that on 9/11.”

She looked into his glasses. “What do you mean?”

“It's a part of heightened security. They like to know who you are…make sure you're not on their ‘Known Terrorist List.'”

She felt her heart crawling into her throat as the cop and conductor approached.
I sure hope he's right!

Box nodded and smiled at the officer as they checked the ID of the Korean couple across from them. “Do you need to see our ID's, too, Officer?”

Shut the fuck up!
Trenda yelled in her mind.
He wasn't even gonna check ours!
She then took a bite of her cheeseburger and gazed out the window, hoping to avoid eye contact with the cop.

The alabaster-colored officer glanced from Box to Trenda. “No, that won't be necessary. We're done here.”

Cool! Cool!
She took another bite of her burger.
I just hope Mr. Box can keep his damn mouth shut.

Box stood up. “I'm going to go get a sandwich. I'll be right back.”

She nodded as she chewed a mouthful of food.
He sure is a wide body.
She watched him walk toward the grill in his red polo shirt and black slacks. A pair of conservative black loafers adorned his large feet.
He dresses just like a white boy.

She watched the countryside rush past as she enjoyed her food. “Mya…Hey, Mya…can you hear me?”

Trenda happened to look his way as she took a sip of her soda.
Oh shit! I forgot what name I gave him!
“Yeah, sorry I was busy daydreamin'.”

He gave her a smile. “Do you want anything while I'm up here?”

She shook her head as she tossed a few chips into her mouth. Unfortunately, his pleated slacks concealed the slightest hint of his package size from her scrutiny. Once he returned with his tuna melt, the train pulled into the Chicago station. After pouring his Doritos onto his plate, she noticed he made sure none of the chips touched his sandwich. “So, what you doin' on this train, Box?”

He used his napkin as a bib. “I'm on my way home from a business conference in D.C.” He closed his eyes, lowered his head
and said a silent blessing. He then looked back at her. “Where are you on your way too or from?”

Trenda finished swallowing a bite of burger. “I'm relocatin' to California.”

He looked at her over his glasses as he held his sandwich. “Really? Job transfer?”

“You could say that. What do you do?” “I'm a systems analyst for a large retail company.”

She glanced at the invisible braces on his teeth. “What is that?”

He held up one finger and motioned for her to hold on as he swallowed a bite of food. “I make sure all the cash registers stay online. I also go out and set up the cash register and computer systems for new stores.”

“You ride around doin' that all the time?”

“Most of the time. Sometimes I telecommute from home.”

She took a sip of soda. “Why are you on the train? Wouldn't it be quicker if you flew?”

He gave her a bashful grin as he rubbed his forehead. “I don't like to fly…I hate it.”

She smiled at his boyish manner. “Oh…so you scared to fly.”

He picked up a chip and nibbled it. “I wouldn't call it
scared
. I'd say I have an aversion to riding inside a flying coffin.”

She laughed. “A big ol' man like you scared of flyin'. That's funny!”

He blushed and opened his can of root beer. “Say what you will, but remember; there are no emergency lanes in the sky to pull over into if something goes wrong.”

For a moment, she forgot her worries and enjoyed their banter. “You must be damn good at your job if they gonna let you catch a train instead of fly. If I was your boss, I'd want your ass on the job as quick as possible.”

He grinned. “Well, I guess I'm lucky you're
not
my boss!”

She bit her pickle spear. “You still didn't answer my question. You must be one of the best at your job.”

He sipped his soda, then wiped his lips. “I'm pretty good.”

She let her eyes rest on his wrist.
I bet you gettin' paid real good if you can afford that Bvlgari watch.
“I bet your wife is real happy when you hand her over your paycheck.”

He choked on his mouthful of sandwich. After composing himself he replied, “Excuse me?”

She grinned as she wiped potato chip crumbs off her breasts, drawing his attention to her sexy rack. “Dang, don't die on me, baby!”

“I thought I heard you say something about me having a wife.”

Trenda glanced at his ring-less fingers, then back into his face. “I did.”

Box peeled the bread crust off his sandwich. “The only Mrs. Bockman close to me is my mom. I don't have a wife, and if I did, she'd have to be a true goddess to have me hand her over my cash like that.”

Trenda placed her elbows on the table and leaned over her plate, giving the big man a magnificent view of her cleavage. “And why no wife, Mr. Box?”

He blinked his eyes and looked away from her chest. “A lot of reasons.” He focused on the scratch on her face instead of her luscious breasts. “But it may happen one day.”

I bet if I pulled one of my tits out, you'd gimme everything you got
. She gave him a flirtatious smile. “I know a big, fine man like you has got a girlfriend.”

“You could say that.”

Trenda took a swallow of her soda. “Does she travel with you?”

“No. I usually travel alone or with co-workers.” He sat back in his seat. “My turn; are you married? Attached?”

She pushed her shades up on her nose. “I ain't got no man. I'm free, single and able to mingle.”

Even though the train's air conditioning was on, Box had to wipe a bead of sweat off the side of his face. He looked into her shades. “I bet you left a lot of broken hearts back in Baltimore.”

She chuckled as she let her foot brush against his shin under the table. “I plead the fifth.”

Box flinched as though she'd rubbed his left nut. To get his mind off the dancing dong in his pants, he changed the subject. “What do you do for a living, Heartbreaker?”

She looked out the window as Middle America's landscape whizzed by. “I do hair and stuff.”

He removed the napkin from his shirt, balled it up and tossed it on his plate of scraps. “Oh, you're a cosmetologist. Did you go to school for it in Baltimore?”

She continued to stare at the passing scenery. “Yeah, I went a few years ago.” Thoughts of how she dropped out of cosmetology school three months in, after finding out she could do hair better than her teachers, played in her mind.

Box stood and pointed at Trenda's tray. “Are you done?”

She looked past him and did a double-take.
Oh shit, there goes the cop again.
She then drained the last of her soda and placed the empty cup on her tray. “Yeah, I'm done, thanks.”

He placed her tray on top of his. “Can I ask you a question?”

She watched as the cop walked toward them. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“How did you get that scratch on your face?

Trenda gently touched her slightly swollen cut. “I was fake boxin' with my nephew and he scratched me by accident with his watch.”

He leaned in for a closer look. “You don't want it to get infected. Did you put any kind of ointment on it?”

The cop stopped at the counter and ordered a soda. “Yeah…as
a matter of fact, I gotta get back to my room and put some more on it.”

He smiled at his reflection in her dark shades as he picked up their trays. “Okay, well, if you get bored, I have a DVD player in my laptop and a bunch of movies to watch.”

“I'll think about it.” She let her eyes fall on the cop as he paid for his drink. “Where can I find you later?”

He nodded toward the front of the train. “I'm in room D-12, two cars that way.”

She slid across the blue vinyl bench seat, stood up and gave him a sly grin. “Oh, you think you're slick; you're tryin' to get me in your room. I almost fell for ya ‘innocent teddy bear' act.”

He shook his head. “I assure you that's not what I meant. As a matter of fact, if you wish, we can watch the movies up here.”

She studied his backside as he turned and took their empty trays and placed them on the grill counter. Something about his mannerisms and thickness intrigued and warmed her. She then looked away from his behind and caught sight of the cop looking at her as he turned his can of Coke up and finished it. “Hey, I gotta go. Do you have a cell phone?”

He turned from the counter after he and the cop exchanged a glance. “Yes I do.”

She pulled a pen out of her purse and removed a napkin from the dispenser on the table. “Lemme have it in case I decide to call you later about the movie thing.”

“510.555.9656. What time should I expect your call?”

Why the fuck is that cop just hangin' around the grill if he ain't gonna order no food?
She took a couple steps backward toward the exit. “I dunno…maybe I'll surprise you. Bye.”

“Sounds good! I'll catch you later.” He watched her turn around and walk down the corridor. He then turned and walked back to the counter and stood next to the cop. “What's up, Officer?”

The cop leaned back on his elbows, on the counter. “Man, you are one lucky dude! She is
hot
!”

Box continued to stare at Trenda's pink velour-covered, heart-shaped ass until she exited the door at the end of the car. “That, she is, my man…that, she is.” He winked at the cop. “It's one of the perks that come with my job; you get to see a
lot
of nice sights.”

“F
uck!” Darius yelled after slamming his fist down on the hot, black hood of his patrol car. “Are you
sure
they were talkin' about me?”

His partner, Tyrone, hocked up a wad of phlegm and spat it onto the blacktop. “Hell yeah, I'm sure! I met up with our boy, Terrence, in Internal Affairs earlier today after the briefing. He told me they got your ass on video!”

Darius placed his hands on his hips as he stared up at the bottom of the freeway underpass they'd parked under. “Did he say what I was doin' on the tape?”

Tyrone watched a large rat run along the curb, then disappear into the gutter across the street from them. The broken windows of the abandoned textile factory they stood in front of looked like accusing eyes. “He told me you was gettin' your dick sucked by some broad in a blonde wig.”

Darius dropped his hands, cocked his head and looked at his slim, charcoal-colored partner through squinted eyes.
“What?”

Tyrone removed his hat and rubbed his low-cut afro. “Man, he said they got you doin' baby, pullin' your gun on her and slammin' her on the floor.” He replaced his cap on his head as he looked Darius in the eyes. “Accordin' to the time stamp on the video, it happened during the time
we
were supposed to be on patrol.”