by MT Pope
“I hope you find him before I do, because when I do, he won’t suffer like my baby girl is doing right now.” The man spoke gruffly as he consoled the mother.
“I will do my best.” I spoke with confidence.
“Do better,” he scowled, and then a few curse words came afterward. He pulled his wife closer and then focused their attention back on their child. I felt some type of way about his tone and harsh words but dismissed it. I knew that he was running on pure adrenaline and pain right now. Most would, given the current situation.
“Doctor, I will keep in touch, and I hope you do the same.” I reached in my pocket and handed him one of my cards. I secretly hoped that he would call me. More about getting to know him than the case. Mixing business and pleasure was something that shouldn’t be done, but I knew I could keep the two separated. I’m a great multitasker, and this wouldn’t be hard to do.
“I will do so,” he said as he took the card. He looked interested. Or maybe that was my own hope.
I exited the room and the hospital. As I drove back to the precinct, I thought about how much I have let go to get to where I was in my career. I rarely got a chance to date with the workload that I had, and the ones that I did have were only one-night stands to do what I was tired of letting my hand do. I had hopes about this case and ones about the doctor, as well. Companionship would be nice, especially with one that shares the same passion for justice and people as I do.
Chapter 6
Avery
In Plain Sight
I moved with a smile. I was a nice guy. That is what they saw. My deep, smooth, baritone voice was a great deceiver to many. The world’s view of the gay man was still archaic and patchy. They thought they had a lock on us, but they weren’t even close. We were all around them. The least likely, as they say.
I was walking among the people in one of Baltimore’s breeding grounds and hoarding house of all kinds of activities. Lexington Market is a staple for Baltimore. Known for its food and other delicacies, this is where it’s at. The meeting place for the depressed, hungry, horny, hungover, and lowlifes of the city. Any kind of drug could be found here without even looking hard. Getting high or low was just a nod away. I had a few vendors in here selling as well. You could order a sandwich, chicken, or a hot dog, and get a hit of Drank with at least ten vendors in here. This is where a good deal of my money came from. I had other drugs on deck, but Drank was my moneymaker for sure. I looked around as I walked, and some of my workers were doing their thing. They didn’t even know me. They were at the bottom of the ladder. Only a few people knew who I was or what I looked like.
I came in here to get high myself. I was getting high off the downfall of the city. Every bent over person was pumping me with power. This place was already down before I got here. All they needed was another shove to the ground by “The Man.” It wasn’t the government that people had to worry about. It was me, a gay man. A quiet force to be reckoned with. There was a very well-known ransom on my head. They just didn’t know where to look. I didn’t dress the part, but I was very gay and very rich. In plain sight is where your worst enemy is at most of the time. I stood among them, complained with them, slummed with them, or at least that is what it looked like to them. But like a vampire, I vanished without a trace, disappearing into the open shadows of the night until it was time to come out and check on my business.
“Hey, Mr. Clarence, you want the regular today?” the clerk asked as I stepped up in the line I was in and leaned on the counter a bit. They smiled hard when I came. I was a regular. They loved regulars, and so did I. It’s why their business thrived and mine as well. We worked hand in hand, and they didn’t even know it. My products were the reason they were still in business. An addict was almost always hungry down here.
“Yeah, give me the usual.” I flashed my smile. It didn’t take long for them get my order together and for me to make my way to the mezzanine level of the building where I could survey the land like any other king. It was the sit-down area for all the ones that could brave the madness all around. The addicts sat in groups, and a few nodded off during their conversations. It was a sad sight to many, but one I lived to see. The decay of the city was rampant. City politicians scrambled to get a grip on it, but it was like a wild spreading fungus. What could you do with the invisible? Not a thing. I was free to reign.
“Hey, yo, where’ve you been?” a “friend” said as he approached the table I was sitting at devouring my food. This place did serve up a great meal. He was a vagrant and frequented this place for his next come up or scam. I indulged him most of the time because he kept me in the loop per se. I had informants, but there was nothing like getting it from the mouth of an addict. It was unadulterated.
“Hey, wassup, partna?” I rose from my seat, gripped his hand in a tight clasp, and we embraced in a nonthreatening, masculine hug. To the normal eye, it was two homeboys coming together to chat a little like most men did in the world of masculinity.
I sat back down in my seat; then he sat down across from me. I waited until I thought he was comfortable; then I answered his question. “Man, I’ve been chilling and shit. My old lady bugging the hell out of me to get a job, and my fucking kids tearing shit up. You know, the usual.” I laughed, and so did he.
“I hear that, dude.” He nodded his head. “Same shit over here. Baby momma’s on my back about finances and shit. I’m bugging like crazy. Getting ready to crank up this loud I got in my pocket and head on over to this shorty house to try to put this rib back in her chest through her pussy. I need to release me some stress through a good nut. Ain’t nothing like breaking a bitch back, and then smoking me a thick one, or vice versa. Those problems will be there when my high goes down.”
We both laughed, but I was laughing at him and not with him. He was just like the rest of my financiers; hooked on phonics and stuck on stupid.
“That is some real truth right there, partna.” I nodded my head. “I’m about to score me some shit and head on back home myself.” I began to wrap up my leftover food and stood up.
“It’s been real, homie,” I said as I gave him dap with a balled-up fist. “It’s time to be getting back in. This bitch is blowing up my phone like crazy. She just praying for me to put my hands on her when I get there. It’s like she be asking for it, yo.”
“Man, you ain’t neva lied. Sometimes you have to Ike Turner these hoes to keep them quiet.” We laughed together again.
“Next time, partna,” I said as I nodded my head and moved back down the stairs and out into the streets that I be taking over block by block.
Chapter 7
Leroy
Give It Up
I sat on the balcony of the luxury town house that we lived in, out in the surrounding suburbs of Baltimore County. I was a city man all day, but this life that I lived because of the city life and the streets, I enjoyed. It felt like it was slipping away from me, though, the grasp that I once had on the city. I was almost there, and then this ghost muthafucker came in and began syphoning off the market I was popular in. I had coke, crack, pills, and heroin on lock, but this new drug was easier to get, and distribution was faster, and overall, it was new. It reached a new market as well, the teen market. So now the adult and the teens were getting high off this syrup, and it was widespread.
“This shit is driving me nuts,” I said as I tapped the gun I had in my hand against my head. I was thinking of ways to get on top of this situation. This ghost guy and his constituents were very loyal. I have even kidnapped a few of his workers. I’ve tortured them and all. They were some tough little dick takers.
I snatched a few of his workers from a few areas that they were known to frequent. All you had to do to find the seller is follow or entice the addict. It seemed like it would be easy as pie. I’ve done it before with regular dealers and almost always got what I wanted but not with these ones.
* * *
I looked out into the room where we had three of the Ghost’s workers tied
up like Kunta Kinte, from the ceiling. Three of my lieutenants were also in the room. I was optimistic that I was going to be getting some good information today that would lead to the overhaul of this dude’s growing empire. These guys that he had working for him weren’t your typical gay dudes as it comes to looks, though. They were tough, and one even looked tougher than one of my men. That didn’t deter me, though. I was on a mission of control and power.
We had all types of torture equipment in the room to get the information that I needed. Chains, electric prodder sticks, acid, and one lethal tactic. My logic was three was better than one. Having three in the room and having them watch each other get tortured would bring one to eventually give up the goods.
We started with the first one, upon whom we used electrocution as a tool to get him to talk.
“Where you get your shit from?” I asked him as one of my men poked him with an electric prodder. His body twitched and lurched a bit, but no words came out of his mouth. I motioned for him to be jabbed again with the prodders but longer this time. Same results, but he did cry out a little. The fear on the face of the other two as their partner was being tortured gave me pleasure. Partly because I was envisioning the dude at the gas station from the other day.
I had him jabbed until he passed out. It was expected, and I knew that it was just to show the other two that I was serious and about business. It was on to the next one.
With this one, we pulled out the acid-filled syringes. This was one that I knew would give me the results that I needed. Pain was no one’s friend, and this surely would deliver. We started by squeezing out a small drop to the back of the second victim. He twitched and groaned, but that was it.
“You gonna talk or what? I know this shit hurts. I know unlike a real man that you can’t take this too much longer. Just give me the information I want, and this is the end of it.” It was all a lie, of course. They weren’t leaving here the same way they came, for sure.
He shook his head no. It infuriated me.
“Put some all over his head,” I instructed but held my hand up for my man to pause.
“You gonna talk, or I’m going to let him do what I just said?” I was up in his face as I spoke. They all had rags tightly wrapped around their mouths, but his eyes said fuck you; then he lowered his head as if to say, “go ahead and do it.” I had to admit that there was heart in that silent statement. It almost made me respect him.
“Go ahead and give it to him,” I instructed my man. The thrashing and gritting groans from the guy probably would have been louder if his mouth wasn’t covered. He was in deep pain. Tears flowed freely from his eyes.
“Talk, muthafucka,” I bellowed, and then punched him in the gut as if the pain that he was already in wasn’t enough. I didn’t care. I wanted answers. By this time, the first guy was back to consciousness and looking like he was spent.
Neither guy said anything. They looked at the wall in front of them with stony faces. This was pissing me off. They were supposed to have given in by now. These faggots were loyal as fuck.
“I guess it’s your turn now,” I said as I walked up to the last guy. The last guy was the well-built one, and the one my men said was hard to take down. The last torture I had up my sleeve I was sure was going to get me some results.
“I need you to pay very close attention to what is about to happen in the next few seconds. You need to know that this is not a game. I need names, locations, suppliers. Any information you can give me. Are you willing to talk?” I talked to him directly in his ear. I wanted him to feel the seriousness, my hot breath, and every syllable I spoke.
He ignored me just like the rest.
“Let’s see how much you ignore me after this.” I motioned one of the men to come over to me with a silver serving tray that had some cloth covering my last tactic. I walked over to the first guy and pulled off the cloth to the tray while my men held it.
“You know what that is?” I asked, knowing that he couldn’t answer me. “This here is a death sentence in a syringe. No, this is not the HIV virus. This is full-blown AIDS. It’s ready to enter your veins and body and wreak havoc until you are dead. I’m sure you faggots have seen what this can do to a person and the pain that it causes. I’m also sure that you don’t want to die this way. Not for a guy that doesn’t give a rat’s ass about you. He doesn’t care. I know you are not willing to die for him.” I spoke so all of them could hear me.
I let that marinate for a minute. I wasn’t a total tyrant. I let three minutes go by to let it sink in.
“Anybody ready to talk? Just nod your head and all of this will be over.” I tried to sound as convincing as I possibly could, though I was lying.
No one said a thing.
“Inject the first one,” I told my men. The first one took the shot without even blinking. I looked at the other two to see if they had any reactions. None. I moved on to the second one.
“Speak or this is it for you. No more time. Give me the answers I want.” He said nothing. His eyes were fixed on the wall as if he wasn’t even there.
“Inject him.” I waved my hand and walked over to the last one.
“You’ve seen the results of not giving up answers. The other two don’t have a chance at a normal life as of now, but you do. All I need is answers.” I spoke in a tone different from the other two. It was a patient and calm voice. I was hoping that he would hear the quietness in my voice, and it would reach him somehow. It was my stab at manipulation since these guys were used to being weak and quiet.
I continued, “I know you want to give me the answers. Think about your family. You don’t want to put them through this. This is not like you all. You all are always considerate and nice. This tough role you are putting on is not you. Just give me the answers and I swear you will leave here the way you came.”
I backed up off him and let him think about it for five minutes. I was being nice. A rare trait, these days, for me.
“Talk.” My patience was gone. I was in his face once again. Not one response. The embarrassment of the situation infuriated me even more. I felt like one of them right now: a weak, muthafuckin’ faggot.
“Stick him and unload them all back to where you found them.” Those were the last words I said before I left where we were located.
* * *
That was two days ago, and here I am now, up all night long trying to come up with something else to do to get what I wanted. I will stop at nothing to get what I want.
I want it all.
Chapter 8
Monica
Restless
I awoke to an empty bed once again. It was something I was used to when I knew that my husband was out in the streets. I felt safe knowing that is where he was at times. The streets were safe for the ones that were raised in them. At least, that’s what helps me sleep easier at night. Now the bed was empty because he was losing his mind with this “gay” problem. We had money. Plenty of it. But that wasn’t enough for him. He wanted it all: money, power, and control. I’ve seen this on many television shows, but it was playing out in my life. It was getting old fast. I liked when my husband was in control and looked the part. He said things, gave orders, and men followed. It was all in line. But now he was just different. It was making me crazy seeing him go crazy. It was like one of those smart Asian kids failing a test, and then committing suicide, or a stock broker when the stock market fails, but at a much slower pace. Leroy wasn’t eating the same. His attention span with me and our son had diminished greatly.
I pulled the covers off me, grabbed my Chanel housecoat, and exited my sleeping chamber to walk around the house to see where he was or if he was in the house. It didn’t take me long to find him out on the balcony. He was laid out on some of our patio furniture with some liquor on one side of him and a gun on the other side of him. I looked through the glass door at him for a bit. Pity filled my stomach and my mind. I slowly opened the door to the patio/balcony and walked the short distance to where he was. His hands
and arms were laid out beside him like he had passed out from exhaustion. As I got to him, I stood in front of him and looked at him. His head was slumped over, and droplets of drool ran down the side of his face. I shook my head and then walked over to his side. I crouched down and gently shook him.
“Roy, baby,” I softly spoke but got no response. I shook him harder, and then called out his name louder than before.
“Roy.”
With surprise and force, he lurched forward and threw his hands around my neck, knocking me to the ground, and then pinning me underneath him. It happened so fast that it knocked the wind out of me, so much so that I couldn’t attempt to call out to him to get him off me.
Then suddenly, he was off me. I looked up and saw my son standing there. Leroy was on the ground a few feet from me.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” He looked at his father as if he was going to kill him.
I couldn’t say anything because I was trying to get my breath back under control. But I did put my hand up to motion to my son to stop.
“Damn, baby,” Leroy said as he rubbed his face and crawled over to where I was. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I was having this wild-ass dream; then you woke me up and . . .” He didn’t finish. He just got up and walked past my son and into the house.
“Ma, you okay?” Corey asked as he reached down to pick me up. It was a Saturday, and he’s usually still asleep right now, but I remembered as he helped me over to one of the chairs that it was basketball practice day, so he was up getting ready to leave soon. I almost never went out with him to his sporting events because his father usually did. His schooling was usually where I was most active. It was a great balance in the household. . . until now. This was his first try at basketball, and he was nervous. He didn’t say it, but I felt it.
My son was very active in sports, and he played for many teams in his life. This was an outside-of-school team. It was a recreational team in Baltimore City. He said it was the hood boys that played the best. I had to agree. As a young girl in the hood, basketball and football were hood sports or the ones that the youngest men gravitated toward. I watched many games being played with the hood boys as a young girl. Basketballs, tight bodies, basketball shorts, and drug dealers were the summers I remember, and now my son wants to be in the city life. My husband and I wanted the best for our son, even though we didn’t go about it legally; but we still wanted better for him.