Sins of a Siren (42 page)

Perplexed, Trenda shook her head. “Wait, wait, wait. What the heck you talkin' about? What media circus?”

“Well, when word got out that you were on the early release plan, folks started talking about your case again. Everybody still wants to know what you know about those murders. When word got back to the warden that the tabloids were gonna be camping out to catch a picture or interview
with
you, he decided to ‘be nice' and let you go a lil' early. So guess what? Your ass is leaving right now.” She pointed at the cell floor. “Your parole information is in that letter. Make sure you carry your ass over and meet with him when you get out.”

Trenda, in a daze, picked up the letter and pillowcases and started packing up her stuff. She kissed her rosary beads, said a silent prayer and packed them into one of the pillowcases. Dazed or not, her time spent in the streets taught her to get out first, ask questions later. She briefly recalled the parade of reporters and other celebrity stalkers when she was first flown into BWI from Oakland. “Shi—, I mean
shoot
, them folks already out there?”

“Not yet, but they'll be here soon. We are gonna sneak you out the delivery dock inside an unmarked van. From there we can drop you off anywhere within fifty miles of here, as long as it's in the city limits You wanna go to your parents' house?”

“
Hell
, I mean,
heck no
!” The thought never occurred to her where she was going to go when she was released. She'd toyed with the idea of going to see her father, but facing him after almost two
decades of absence was difficult—especially for the reasons she stayed away.

Thirty minutes later, Trenda was handed an old friend of hers; her “Travelin' Bag.” The empty, six-year-old, black-and-white Reebok bag was a welcome sight. She looked into the bifocals of the property clerk. “Where's the rest of my stuff?”

The heavy-set, elderly black officer looked at her with a shade of contempt. “Calm your ass down…I'm gettin' it now.”

Velma stood behind her and chuckled. “Ol' Sarge don't play that shit. You better calm down, shorty. You don't wanna upset that man. He's the only one that knows his filing system. You don't want your shit to come up ‘lost.'”

Trenda took a step back from the drab, gray-and-white counter. The faint sound of blues music drifted out of the otherwise silent room. Minutes later, Sarge came back with a plastic bag full of the clothes she had in her bag at the time of her arrest. He placed the bag on the counter, pulled out the pile of clothes and put them on the counter. His hand rested on her sheer, pink thong. “You can wear some of this as ya change out; I guess it's still clean. I'll be right back with the rest of your stuff.”

Nasty muthafucka rubbin' his hand all over my draws…sho ain't gonna put those on!
Trenda thought as she stuffed her clothes into her bag. A thousand memories returned to her as she packed her beat-up bag. The loss of her Butterfly knife she affectionately called “Baby” hit her like a stake to the heart. She and it had been through a lot. Most of it not-so-good.
Sure hope I can find enough peace in the Bible to change all that.

With all of her items returned, along with a check for the balance of her commissary account, she changed into her pink velour sweat suit and waited for her ride into town. As she was escorted out of the prison, she looked up into the star-filled night. Any
second she expected to hear a whistle or a guard yelling for her to stop. She paused and took a deep breath before taking the final step out of the prison and onto the blacktop where the tan, unmarked van waited for her. “Go on and get your ass outta here,” Velma said, twirling her baton. “Or you can stay; I just know I'll see your sweet-ass back here in ‘The Cock' soon enough.”

“Don't count on it, bitch,” Trenda said as she flipped Velma the middle finger and strode to the van. “My ass ain't
ever
comin' back. Believe that.”

Velma chuckled behind her. “That's what they all say…I'll be waitin' for your ass.”

Trenda ignored Velma's mockery, looked past the white officer standing next to the open sliding side door and tossed her bag inside. She looked back at the dismal, dark prison. It reminded her of the entrance to Hell. A Bible verse jumped out at her:

The Lord knows how to rescue the godly from trials, and to keep the unrighteous under punishment until the day of judgment.

—2 Peter 2:9

Amen, Peter.
She hopped into the back of the van. The guard slammed the door closed and locked it.

They pulled out of the loading dock onto the road. The driver, a Puerto Rican guard, said, “Where you goin'?”

She thought about the letter in her bag, which contained information on how to contact her parole officer, the $400 check and $10 in cash she left the jail with. A strict budget was definitely in order. She would also have to make damned sure she made it to her first meeting with her parole officer the following Monday. With no real destination in mind, she said, “Take me to the Greyhound station. You can let me out there.”

The guard shook his head. “You do know your parole restricts you to a fifty-mile radius of Baltimore for the next eighteen months, don't you?”

Damn, forgot about that…
“Yeah, let me out there anyway…I'll just chill there for a minute.”

“Good; and don't forget to check in with your parole officer on Monday morning.”

Half past one in the morning, they pulled up to the curb at the O'Donnell Street Greyhound station. Even at that hour a smattering of people still roamed the streets. “All right, last stop on the prison express,” the jovial, middle-aged black guard said. “Get your shit and git.”

Trenda grabbed her bag as she waited for him to get out and open the sliding side door. When she hopped out, a mild breeze brushed against her. She hitched her bag up and looked at the guard. “Well, I'm out.”

The look he gave her as she turned to walk away was a little more caring than she expected. “I don't ever wanna see your ass again; you hear me?”

Without looking back she said, “Take a
real
good look. This is the last time you are
ever
gonna see my backside.”