The Perversion Trilogy: Perversion, Possession & Permission

by T. M. Frazier

  Agent Lemming opens his mouth to reply, but I interrupt. “Also, fuck you, I want my lawyer.”

  Lemming leans over getting right up in my face. “Lawyer up all you want. It ain’t gonna save you now, Grim.” He pulls a cigar from inside of his bullet proof vest and chews off the end, spitting it at my feet. “No one can save you now.”

  I’m pushed out the door and through the grass toward an awaiting van. I glance back at Lemming. “You wanna fucking bet?”

  The doors slam shut, and the engine starts. To my surprise, I’m not alone. Marci, Haze, and Sandy are seated on the benches lining both sides the van. Their Bedlam rings aren’t the only jewelry that matches mine. They each have the same pair of shiny new bracelets tethering them to a bar running down the center of the van.

  Marci lifts up her wrists but the cuffs restrict her movement. She’s forced to place them back on her lap. “You okay, baby?” she asks, more concerned about me than herself. Typical Marci.

  “You’re cuffed in the back of a task force van and you want to make sure I’m okay?” My rage grows into a blinding redness. It’s one thing for me or my brothers to be in cuff’s, but not Marci.

  I look to my brothers. “What the fuck is going on?”

  “They barged in while I was on the phone,” Sandy starts. “They said they had a warrant, then started turning the place over. Breaking shit and throwing stuff around. Those cock-suckers smashed my fucking Playstation.”

  Haze chimes in. “Somehow, they came up with a shitload of H from each of our rooms.”

  Marci leans forward. “I’m guessing they found the same in yours?”

  The van takes off, jostling us around.

  I shake my head and clench my jaw. “Not exactly.”

  Eight

  Agent Lemming strolls into the microscopic holding room in the sheriff’s station with a puffed-out chest, a shit-eating grin on his face and a fat file in his hand. He slaps the file onto the cold metal table, like a wrestler who’s just won the championship.

  “I told you we’d bring you in. And here you are.” His smugness makes me want to slit his fucking throat.

  “I want my lawyer.”

  “She’s been called,” he assures me. “She’s still a couple hours away in Coral Pines, but that doesn’t mean we can’t chat before she gets here.”

  “Lawyer,” I say again, sitting as far back in the chair as the cuffs will allow.

  Lemming taps the file. “This shit in here is on the record. Our chat? Off the record.” He braces himself on the back of the chair. “It’s better we talk man to man. Nothing you say will bring additional charges or incriminate you for the ones you’re facing. I’m not recording you. I’m not trying to coerce you into anything. I’m just trying to get to the bottom of this and clean up this shitty town. Lord knows that someone needs to help the people of Lacking. The ones who aren’t gang-bangers and who deserve a safe place to live.”

  I find it hard to believe he won’t use what I say against me. That’s not how this game is played. “Why Agent Lemming, I didn’t know you were a superhero. I didn’t quite get a good look at your cape the last time we met,” I remark. “Is it tucked under your shirt or does it attach with velcro?”

  Lemming ignores my remarks and gets down to business. He unbuttons his collar. “Tell me about the H we found in your house, Grim. We’ll start there.”

  I scratch the stubble on my jaw with my thumbnail. “Let me guess, someone called in an anonymous tip? Is that why you came bursting through my door when Belly’s body was barely cold?” I lean back with a smug smile of my own. “You law men ain’t got no respect for the dead?”

  “Do you?”

  “Sometimes, more than the living.”

  Lemming shrugs. “Did we get a tip? Maybe. Maybe, not. It doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that we found enough H in every bedroom of your house to slap a trafficking charge on each person who lives in it, as well as a murder-one charge for the dead gang banger we found in your room with…” He smiles and mixes around my words from earlier. “The headache he’ll never recover from.”

  He pauses and taps his fingers on the table. “Unless... you want to confess to the murder one charge now so the rest of your so-called family can do their time for the H without facing the possibility of life in a cold, hard cell or death by lethal injection?”

  My shoulders shake with silent, unbelieving laughter. “I didn’t kill him, and neither did my family. No one in Bedlam did. This ain’t on us. It was a setup. An obvious one. We’re not that stupid.”

  “Everyone trips up now and again,” Lemming replies.

  “We don’t.”

  “Then, it was a mere coincidence that someone decided to off a high-ranking member of a rival gang in your bedroom with your knife?” he asks, like he already knows the answer. He scrapes the chair across the floor, then takes the seat across from me. “Although, it was a little surprising. Didn’t think you were the kind of guy who’d bring your work home with you, Grim.”

  I lean forward. “I’m not.”

  “Yet, the scene we found in your room says otherwise.”

  I shake my head. “We can do this all day. It’s not going to get us anywhere.”

  I go to rub my hands over my head, but the cuffs bite into my wrists. I’m growing more and more frustrated as he speaks. I let out an angry roar and pull on them again. It takes me a moment to calm myself and address Lemming once again. This time with something I rarely have to use in my line of work: reason. I lift my eyes to meet his.

  “You don’t think it’s a little strange that an anonymous tip was called into the task force informing you of a fuck-load of H in my house? You’ve spent a lot of time in Lacking, and you ain’t stupid. H isn’t our game, Lemming, and you know it. It never has been.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “But killing people is.” It’s a statement, not a question. “That’s why they call you, Grim, isn’t it? The living, walking, talking Grim Reaper of the Bedlam Brotherhood?”

  He reaches inside his jacket and produces a pack of smokes. He places a lighter on top and slides them across the table. I pull one from the pack, with my movements restricted I have to lean down to place it between my lips and light it. I take a deep drag but, the nicotine does nothing to calm my racing pulse.

  I glare at Lemming. I meant it when I told him he’s not stupid. I know he’s not. I’m just hoping those smarts will lead him to the obvious conclusion that this entire fucking thing, the H, the body, wasn’t Bedlams doing.

  “Nah, I think it’s just because of the hood.” I point over my shoulder to where my hood rests against my back. “Not the same as a cape, but it works for me.”

  Lemming manages to smile and wags his finger at me. “That’s a good one. But jokes won’t get you out of this one, Grim. You’re in too deep. I know that you yourself are not stupid. But, I also know you’re not like the other bangers out there. You’re more controlled. Calculated. You care about Marci, Sandy, and Haze. It’s because you care that I know you’re not going to allow them to go down for something you did.”

  He’s got me there. I would never let them go down. Period. But, I didn’t do shit, and neither did they. So, I’ve got to exhaust all the other options before I start confessing to the few sins I didn’t commit.

  “I tell you what,” Lemming starts with a slap of his palm on the table. “Point me in a direction. Give me the name of another person or organization, and I promise you that I will look. Give me a road to go down, and I’ll go. But, I can also promise, if that direction leads back to you, you’re going down, and you’re going down hard. With your priors?” He sways his head from side to side and looks to the ceiling while he silently does the math, using his fingers before dropping his hands back to the table. He lets out a loud, slow whistle. “You’ll be lucky to get life. If you plead guilty, that is. If not, you’re looking at death row.”

  I roll my eyes. “You can threaten me all you want. I ain’t no fucking rat
if that’s what you’re looking for. But, if you really want to find out who is responsible, I’d be looking at who actually traffics H in Lacking. Cause it ain’t us.”

  “Los Muertos? Why would they go through all the trouble to plant valuable heroin in your house? Or kill one of their own men in your room?” He folds his fingers together on the table and taps his thumbs against the back of his hands. “Unless Marco has something against you? But it has to be a pretty big something for him to blow all that cash the H would’ve brought in just to set you up and have you put you away.”

  Marco wants to start a war, but by putting me away, he isn’t starting anything. He’s getting me out of the way. There’s only one reason he’d do that.

  Tricks.

  There’s no doubt in my mind that Marco is behind this, which means that if he does know about me and her, then Tricks is in serious danger. The last member of Los Muertos who turned on Marco was beheaded, his head stuck on a spike on top of the over pass for all to see like medieval times.

  My lungs burn with rage. My heart is about to burst through my chest and punch this motherfucker in the face for keeping me here.

  If I tell Lemming about Tricks being the possible reason for the setup and the task force goes poking around with their questions, it would only put her in more danger. There’s a small possibility that Marco might not know, but he will for sure if I go and make it public record. I can’t take the risk. I won’t.

  I press my nails into the cold metal of the table. My teeth clenched so tight they feel as if they’re about to crack, much like the rest of me. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “Hypothetically, let’s say Marco did do this. I thought there was a truce in place? That you all wanted peace?”

  Marco only wants blood.

  “Nothing but peace, love, and happiness in Lacking,” I answer.

  Lemming laughs. He folds his hands together. “So then, if there is peace, what was the shooting at the park all about? Or, would you consider that a peaceful drive-by?”

  I shrug. “I don’t consider it at all. I wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger. Don’t know who did, either.”

  Which is true. I don’t know.

  Agent Lemming adjusts himself on the chair, pulling it closer to the table. “Tell me, Grim. What could you have done to Marco to make him hate you so much? You kill his dog? Jack his drugs? Fuck his sister? His girl?”

  I take a deep drag, trying not to choke on the smoke as worry floods my entire body. Lemming is right, Marco wouldn’t risk losing all that cash the H he planted on us would’ve brought in for anything petty. His obsession with Tricks is massive, but Lemming has brought up a good point. There has to be more to all of this. A missing piece to the situation I’m not seeing. “I don’t know. You’re the detective,” I say, tossing the ball back in his court. “Figure it out.”

  Lemming’s forehead wrinkles. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. So, let’s start over with the facts. Due to the condition of the body, the coroner who arrived on scene places the time of death right about the time you disappeared after your eulogy, which several witnesses have confirmed. Tell me, Grim. Where were you? Who were you were with? Give me one other person, beside your family who can give you an alibi.”

  Tricks. She’s the only one. I can’t tell him that. I won’t. I’m not about to announce that I was with her, just to save my own ass and risk getting her killed on the chance that I’m wrong and Marco doesn’t know about us. I’ll take the fucking cell, chair, needle, whatever they want to give me, but I won’t put Tricks at any more risk than she already is.

  I shake my head. “I took a walk down to the marine amphitheater to clear my head.”

  “Let me guess. Alone?” Lemming asks with disbelief written in his beady, little eyes. He may not believe me, but it’s almost like he wants to the way he leans in and hopefully awaits my answer.

  I nod and stub out my smoke, immediately lighting another. “Yep. All alone.”

  He sighs. “So, what you’re saying is that you can’t account for your whereabouts during the time of the murder. As for your Los Muertos angle, there isn’t a single person who saw Marcos Ramos in attendance. They all said that he sent a proxy. Some girl with curly blonde hair who left right around the time you went to get some air. You think she could have something to do with this?” Lemming asks.

  I try my best to sound disinterested. “Nah, she was just some hang-around he sent to disrespect Belly’s service instead of showing his ugly face. I saw the girl. She was young. Skinny. Too frail to have the kind of power it takes to shove a knife into someone’s skull.”

  “And how would you know that?” he asks.

  “Discovery Channel,” I deadpan.

  “The facts and evidence are against you, Grim.” Lemming stands up and takes his file with him. Two officers come in and unlock my cuffs from the table, grabbing me under my arms to stand me up. “Throw him in a cell until his lawyer gets here,” he orders.

  “I didn’t do this.”

  “Oh, you didn’t? Well, okay, then just put your bags with the concierge at the front desk, and we’ll have your car waiting at valet.”

  “You don’t understand,” I say, rubbing my eyes. I’ve got to get to Tricks.

  “Then, tell me so that I can understand,” he says.

  “I can’t, but it’s important I get out.” I meet his eyes. “More important than all of this. Than anything.”

  He places his index finger against his lips. “I think you’re underestimating how important a murder one charge is.”

  The officers shuffle me to the door. Lemming leans against the wall in the hallway. “You better think long and hard about taking the rap for murder one because it won’t just be you and your family going down. With Belly gone, it’ll be the end of Bedlam.”

  Lemming is right. If and when it comes down to making the choice, I’ll take the rap for all of it. That was never even a question. The real issue is how the hell I’m going to save Bedlam and Tricks from inside a motherfucking jail cell.

  I’m relieved of my cuffs and pushed into a cell. It’s one of those modern ones with no bars. Instead, thick plastic glass separates the free from the captive. The them from the me.

  My rage boils to the surface and explodes. I pound my head against the glass over and over again. The first layer cracks. I ball my fists at my sides and keep pounding as the crack grows larger and larger.

  “Let me the fuck out of here!” I scream. Blood blurs my vision. I don’t give a shit. They can’t keep me from Tricks. No one can. Not anymore. We’re magnets always being pulled together. Sturdier than cell glass. Stronger than any chain.

  Deadlier than any bullet.

  Nine

  When my lawyer arrives, she finds me pacing my cell like the caged animal I am.

  Bethany Fletcher drove all the way from Coral Pines to represent me. However, she doesn’t look as if she’s just spent three hours in a car. Her fancy red suit doesn’t have a crease on it. Her dark hair has waves of silver thrown into the mix. Her lips and nails match the red of her suit. She’s a smart woman, calculating, cool and polished. She’s older, almost grandmotherly-looking but is as ruthless as they come. I don’t just mean as far as lawyers go.

  I mean as far as anyone goes.

  She’s also willing to travel outside of the lines of both law and decency to protect her clients. Sometimes, she veers so far outside the lines, she falls off the fucking map. Which is exactly why she’s Bedlam’s lawyer.

  There’s nothing I can tell her, nothing that I’ve done or plan to do, that will elicit a reaction from her other than a discussion or idea on how she’s going to help fix it.

  Which is another reason why she’s my lawyer.

  Bethany sits down next to me on the bench in my cell and gives me a simple nod to begin.

  I give her the gist. Not the shit in the police reports, which I’m sure she’s read three times over already. The real story, including the part where
I need to get out and get to Tricks. She only writes down what’s legal and relevant to my case and files the rest in her brain for later use.

  Bethany straightens her posture. “I’ll see what I can do. I don’t know what that is just yet, but if there’s something, anything. I’ll do it,” she says.

  “I know that. Thanks, Bethany.”

  She nods, and shifts uncomfortably under the weight of my appreciation. “I’ve already talked to Marci and the boys. They’re fine and all together in a holding room on the other side of the building. I’m assuming they’ve separated you from them because of the capital murder charge. You’ll be glad to know that none of them have said a word to anyone and won’t until I tell them they can and more importantly, what it is they should say.” Bethany twists her lips. “Although Haze did open his mouth to crack a joke to an officer about his lazy eye and got himself a shiner for it.”

  She stands from the cell bench beside me and tucks her notepad into her briefcase although she didn’t write anything down that I said. I think the pad is more for show than anything.

  “I’ll make some calls and find out who the arraignment judge will be, and more importantly, what kind of skeletons they might be hiding in their locked closet of justice.” She looks down at her shining silver watch. “I’ve got to get moving. We’ve got less than three hours.” Her eyes meet mine. “I know you know this, but I’m going to say it anyway. Wait for me to come back. Don’t agree to anything stupid because Lemming pressures you. Don’t play hero and take the wrap for all this shit until I’m one hundred percent positive it’s the last and only option. Because it never is. Do you understand what I’m saying? It NEVER is.”

  I nod in understanding. Bethany’s up to something, but I know better than to ask about something she isn’t freely telling me. If she’s withholding information, there’s a reason. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Bethany smoothes down her skirt and pulls her phone from her bag. She’s already barking orders into the receiver as an officer opens the cell for her. “I need the name of the judge presiding over tomorrow morning’s seven a.m. arraignment in the Lacking County Courthouse. And I need you to call our friend for intel. See what he can dig up on…”