Sins of a Siren

by Curtis L. Alcutt

  The loud blare of a horn across the water caused a flock of scavenging sea gulls to take flight. Trenda looked toward the sound of the horn and saw a drawbridge split open to allow a large sailboat to pass between it. A different sound caught her ear. She dug into her purse and retrieved her ringing cell phone. The caller ID read: “Secrease Funeral Homes.” “Hey, honey, wassup?”

  “Everything is good, sexy. I was hoping we could hook up tonight so you can help me celebrate my birthday.”

  A seagull landed on the railing five feet from her, begging for a treat. “Oh really? Is today your birthday?”

  “No, it’s actually tomorrow, but I want to get an early jump on it.”

  She turned away from the sea gull’s black, pleading eyes. “What are you doing at work if you are celebrating your birthday?”

  “What makes you think I’m at work?”

  “Have you ever heard of this new thing called ‘caller ID’?”

  He chuckled. “I have got to remember that! I’m just here catching up on some paperwork until you get off, then I’m coming to take you to dinner.”

  “I get off kinda late for dinner, don’t you think?”

  “Nine o’clock is perfect for a birthday dinner. I hope you eat sushi.”

  “Yeah, it’s okay.”

  “Why do you sound like that? You sound as if somebody died.”

  Sunset stole the last warm rays of sunshine. She checked the time on the giant clock on the Tribune Building and saw half her lunchtime was gone. “I’m cool…just been stressin’ a little bit.”

  “Sorry to hear that; I hope this bit of news makes you feel a little better. I called the hotel and extended your stay another two weeks.”

  Trenda looked up into the twilight sky, smiled and shook her head. The similarity between Walter and Dennis, the D.C. lawyer she used to date, tickled her. The biggest difference between the two was the fact that Dennis was shy about fucking, where Walter had no problem taking a piece of pussy. She walked toward the hotdog cart in the center of the promenade. “Walter, I can’t let you keep spendin’ your money on me.”

  “Look, Mya, let me worry about how I spend my money. I know exactly what I’m doing. To some, it may seem as though I am throwing my money away on a, pardon my French, ‘piece of ass,’ but to me, it’s called enjoying my life. I have no kids, no wife, no drug addictions and no bills. To be blunt, the money I spent on you so far, I made back in less than half a day. Now, enough of you worrying about me. Come help me bring in my fifty-first birthday the right way.”

  Trenda looked at the fat hotdogs in the vendor’s steamer. Her pussy and mouth watered. “Okay, okay. Give me time to get home and get changed and you can pick me up at ten.”

  Twenty-Five

  “Thank you for flying Jet Blue,” the friendly-faced Caucasian flight attendant said as Darius departed his flight out of Newark International Airport. He’d booked the flight and rental car under his alias, Officer Kenneth Barnes.

  “Thanks.” He checked his watch and hurried out of the boarding area. “I hate fucking flying.” He played “Bumper Cars” with people, wheelchairs and garbage cans in his haste to get to the American Airlines boarding gates. Once there, he stood in front of the digital display that showed the status of their flights. He set his briefcase down, removed the piece of paper with Piper’s flight number on it from his pocket and scanned the board.

  Once he saw that flight number 1131 was due to arrive in forty-six minutes, he relaxed and exhaled. “Cool…I have plenty of time to get my shit before that fat bitch’s flight arrives.” The combination gift shop/convenience store to his right caught his eye. He went inside. “Yeah…this’ll work,” he said as he plucked a pack of red rubber bands off the rack next to the toiletries and carried it to the counter.

  After his purchase, he made his way to the Jet Blue baggage claim area and grabbed his two bags. As he bent over to pick up his duffle bag, a little black boy tugged on the pant leg of his faded jeans and pointed at his waist. He wiped his long dreads out of his face. “Wow! Is that a real police badge, mister?”

  Darius pulled his New York Mets jersey down over the badge he wore clipped to his belt. He had forgotten to remove it after showing it to security in order to explain why he had a firearm and a few other hard-to-explain items in his luggage. He forced a smile. “Yes it is, young man.”

  The boy’s brown eyes widened. “Whoa! Did you ever shoot anybody?”

  Darius looked around and squatted down in front of the boy. He placed a finger to his lips. “Shhhh! Don’t say it too loud; I don’t want the bad guys to know I am looking for them.”

  The boy went numb with awe. “Can I see your gun?”

  Darius looked at the clock mounted above the luggage carousel and saw he had only half an hour until Piper’s flight arrived. He stood and looked around. “Where are your parents?”

  The boy looked around, then pointed toward the bank of pay phones thirty yards away. “My momma’s right there on the phone.”

  “How old are you, little man?”

  He grinned and held up four fingers. “This many!”

  He looked over at the extremely young-looking, tall woman dressed in a Chicago Bulls sweatsuit, identical to the boys, running her mouth on the phone. Where the hell is Child Protective Services when you need them? It’s a goddamn shame she’s not watching this boy. If I wasn’t on my current mission, I’d arrest her ass. He looked down at the boy. “You want to do me a police favor?”

  The boy grinned. “Yeah!”

  “I want you to go over there and keep an eye on your mom until I get back, okay?”

  The boy beamed. “Okay!”

  “What’s your name?”

  “LaMarcus!”

  Darius stood straight and saluted the boy. “Okay, now you are Deputy LaMarcus.” Darius looked behind at LaMarcus and winked at an old black couple behind the boy as they enjoyed the way he handled LaMarcus. He looked back at the boy. “Okay, go on. I’ll check on you in a little while, Deputy.”

  LaMarcus giggled, ran over to his mother, tapped her on the thigh and began telling her about how he had gotten deputized. The woman took the phone off her ear and covered the speaker as she listened. When she looked over at Darius, he smiled and waved as he headed toward the Hertz Car Rental booth to get the keys to his blue, rented Chevy Malibu. LaMarcus’s mother gave Darius a grin that said she wanted to become deputized in a whole different fashion. She motioned with her finger for him to come to her. He smiled, tapped his watch and shook his head slowly. Bitch, you are too skinny and way too ignorant for me, he thought as he picked up his pace and hustled to Hertz.

  Half an hour later, flight 1131 touched down. Piper rummaged through her carry-on bag in search of her cell phone. ‘Many of the off-boarding passengers and flight attendants gawked at the linebacker-sized black woman departing the first-class section. She ignored all the flight attendants’ pleasantries as she exited the plane. As much as I’m paying, he’d better answer his goddamn phone, Piper thought, as she headed to baggage claim. After the fifth ring, she checked her watch. It’s not even ten o’clock yet; that bastard Hank had better pick up. She hung up once his voicemail kicked in. I’ll deal with him later. I need to get a car and get to my hotel so I can go find my little red-headed ho.

  Several yards away, next to a large concrete pillar, Darius pulled down the bill of his New York Mets cap and discreetly watched the hefty woman make a beeline from the American Airlines boarding gate straight to the baggage claim area. Well, it should be easy enough to find her in a crowd. He stealthily trailed her as she got her bags and rental car. As soon as she went to the Enterprise Rental Car desk, he hurried out to his car so he could track her from the Enterprise parking lot.

  A short time later, he followed her white, rented Nissan Maxima into the five-story parking garage of the Hyatt hotel in the middle of Downtown Oakland. He kept his distance and watched her back into a parking slot next to a gray minivan, half a football fie
ld from the elevators. He parked a few rows away from her and waited for her to get on the elevator. So far, so good. He got out his car, opened the trunk and opened his briefcase. Inside, he removed a three-inch-long, P-Trac Pro, GPS Tracking device. He held the tiny device and turned it on.

  I can follow your ass to the moon with this, Piper. He looked around, waited for an Asian family of five to enter the elevator, then closed the trunk and walked over to Piper’s rental car. He took a quick look around as he removed a small leather case, containing lock-picking tools, from the side pocket of his loose-fitting jeans. Good, this van is just enough cover to avoid the security cameras from seeing me. In less than two minutes, he picked the trunk lock, peeled back a corner of the quarter panel insulation, placed the tracking device snuggly inside and closed the trunk. He grinned as he got back in his car and started the engine. If shit keeps going this smooth, I’ll have time to find Trenda, silence her and spend a little time doing some real vacationing.

  He drove around the corner and booked a room at the low-budget Cypress Inn. He tossed his bags onto the eons-old, pale-green bedspread and grimaced. “I swear if I catch a fucking disease from this nasty-ass room, I’m gonna put a bullet into that shit-breathed check-in clerk.” He walked over to his second-story window, pushed aside the dingy, piss-colored curtains, looked out at the clear, warm night and studied his view of the pool area of the five-star Hyatt Hotel.

  The streets crawled with activity as clubgoers, hustlers, taxicabs, police cars, players, and other people of the night traveled on Broadway. He watched the hotel a little longer, then closed the drapes, walked over to the bed, opened his bag and removed the pistol and rubber bands. “Let me get you ready for action.” After opening the packet of rubber bands, he wrapped nearly all of them around the grip.

  Since the previous owner of the pistol had filed off the serial number, and the rubber bands would make pulling fingerprints off the grip impossible, the gun was the perfect, untraceable murder weapon. After putting the gun in his bag, he went into his briefcase and removed a top-of-the-line BlackBerry. He logged into the tracking software he’d used in a stakeout a few months back and was pleased to see the small, blinking red triangle indicating Piper’s car. He went back to his briefcase, removed the mugshot picture of Trenda from the manila envelope, and grimaced. “Game on, bitch…”

  Twenty-Six

  “Shit!” Trenda said as she examined the run in her one and only pair of stockings. “And it’s ten minutes to ten; I don’t have enough time to go buy a new pair before Walter gets here.” She opened the long split up the side of her designer, ankle-length, body-hugging, backless, halter-topped, black evening gown she’d found at the Goodwill store down the street from the hotel a few days ago, and examined her smooth bare leg. A confident smile curled the corners of her mouth. “Fuck the stockings; I’m sure Walter will appreciate not having to fight with taking them off.”

  She was extra horny. Stressful situations usually brought the freak out in her. Sex served as a form of escapism for her. She watched her braless nipples grow as she admired herself in the bathroom mirror. The thought of tasting Walter’s log again made her slit sweat. “Girl, you a straight freak.” As she applied a coat of brick-colored lipstick, she heard a knock at the door. She checked her watch, ten o’clock on the nose. He is the most punctual man I have ever met. She patted down her growing afro and walked barefoot to the door. “Who is it?”

  “Your chauffeur.”

  She opened the door and enjoyed the way his eyes bulged as they traveled over her. “You look fantastic!”

  “Thank you.” She stepped to him, wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. He accepted her tongue for a short but intense kiss. She backed off and wiped her lipstick off his lips. “Happy Birthday, baby.”

  He adjusted his bright red tie, composed himself and followed her inside. His eyes locked on her rolling buttocks. “That’s the best birthday greeting I have gotten all day.”

  She went into the bathroom and reapplied her lipstick. “It had better be.” She picked up her tube of lipstick, turned off the light, walked back into the sitting area, sat next to Walter on the sofa and crossed her legs. “So, where are we eating?”

  He followed her bare thigh all the way to her brick-red painted toenails. “Since it’s kind of late, I figured we could go to Kimiko’s in Alameda and have some sushi.”

  She picked a piece of lint off the lapel of his black Italian suit jacket. “That sounds real good, but I don’t like raw fish.”

  He chuckled, took her hand and kissed it. “They also have tempura.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Tempura? What’s that?”

  “It’s batter-dipped shrimp, prawns, vegetables or fish that’s fried.”

  “That’s more like it!” She pulled her black pumps from under the coffee table and slipped them on her feet. “Let’s get goin’.”

  She enjoyed the view of the city and star-filled sky while riding with the top down in Walter’s BMW. He glanced at her. “Is that too much air on you?”

  She let her arm dangle out the window. “Not at all.” She wiped an imaginary lock of hair out of her face. “I love to feel my hair blowin’ in the wind.”

  He laughed. “I see. I wouldn’t want it to get caught in any low-hanging branches.”

  “Funny.” She smiled and thought back to when she used to wear her hair well past her shoulders. That and the combination of her eyes and extraordinary figure sometimes brought her too much attention. There were times she would rather starve than go get something to eat just to avoid being harassed by lusty men and women. Five years ago, after being approached by five different men in ten minutes while trying to get to a restroom in the mall, she went home and cut it all off.

  At half past eleven, a waitress politely informed Walter and Trenda that they would be closing in thirty minutes. Walter put down the last piece of California Roll and patted his belly. “I think I overdid it. I can’t eat another bite.”

  Trenda put her glass of sake up to her lips and looked at him over the rim. “Are you sure about that?”

  He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

  She put her glass down, looked him in the eyes, licked her lips and asked again. “Are you sure you can’t eat anything else?”

  He grinned and placed his hand on her bare thigh. “I think I can make room for a little dessert.”

  She placed her hand on his and guided him to the hot, bald, leaking oasis between her panty-free legs. “I have a lot of dessert for you.”

  He let his fingertip trace the moist slit. “I think it’s time to get out of here.”

  On the way back to the hotel, Trenda reached between his legs and grasped Walter’s swollen mass. The feel of its firmness under the fabric of his slacks turned up her burners. She nuzzled his neck and licked the inside of his ear, then whispered, “I am gonna fuck you crazy.”

  The car ran over several lane marker bumps as Walter swerved from his sexy distraction. “Keep that up and we won’t make it back to the room.”

  Trenda continued to rub his crotch. It had been a while since she actually wanted to have her pussy dug out by a real dick. Usually a tongue or dildo would suffice, but with all the tension she had been suffering, she yearned for release. Just as she started unzipping his pants, a cell phone beeped. She looked up. “Is that your phone or mine?”

  Walter did his best to speak coherently. “Has to be yours; I turned mine off as soon as I picked you up.”

  Trenda picked her purse off the floor, got her phone and saw she had a text message from Lollie. “Hey, girl! Wassup? What you into tonight?”

  She leaned back in her seat, released her grip on Walter’s junk and typed a reply. “Hey, baby girl! I’m out helpin’ Walter celebrate his birthday. What you into?”

  “Shit…bored as hell. I just got back from Fats. They had to close early because a few knuckleheads started fightin’. But I can catch you later. I don’t wanna mess up you
guys’ groove.”

  Trenda glanced at Walter as he impatiently waited for a red light. A wicked smile filled her face. She sent another text. “Come by my room in twenty minutes.”

  “What? You want me to come by tonight? Don’t you two have some celebrating to do?”

  Trenda turned slightly away from Walter to keep him from reading her conversation. “Yeah…come by and have a drink with us. He’s cool with it.”

  “Okay…if you are sure I won’t be in the way. I ain’t tryin’ to be a third wheel.”

  “Cool! Bye.” She shut off her phone, dropped it into her purse and resumed caressing Walter’s chunk. “How you feelin’, baby?”

  He ran a yellow light, six blocks from the Hotel Oakland. “I am gonna go bananas with you teasing me. I can’t tell you how many laws I have broken trying to hurry and get to my dessert.”

  She smiled, let him go and gathered herself as he pulled into the parking garage. If all goes well, you are gonna have the mother of all birthday gifts…

  In the elevator to her room, Walter ran his hand through the split in her skirt and massaged her wet clit. Trenda nutted on his finger twice before the elevator stopped at the eighth floor. They kissed, groped and stumbled all the way to her room. After she fumbled with getting the cardkey to work, he smiled and took it from her. “You are taking way too long.”

  Trenda checked her watch. I gotta stall him for another ten minutes. She waited for him to open the door and took her time walking in. She watched him take off his jacket, undo his tie and toss them onto the sofa. Before he could take off his shirt, she walked over and grabbed his hand. “C’mon, let’s have a drink first.”