THE CIRCLE:
RAIN’S STORY
NARRATED BY
TREASURE BLUE
The Circle: Rain’s Story
Copyright © 2014 by Treasure Blue
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Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Book Layout: Oddball Dsgn
Cover Design: Oddball Dsgn
"You can't run game on the girl who made the rules."
Rain Porter
PROLOGUE
"I have nothing else to lose. I’ll auction my soul off to the highest bidder if it means saving my family, so it's only right the Devil gets first dibs.” – Rain Porter
THEY FOUND HER in the apartment— naked, face down in a puddle of blood. A sock stuffed in her mouth; hogtied with an extension cord around the ankles. Hands behind her back, metal cuffs tight, embedded deep into her wrist. The sight of the young woman, clearly in her early twenties, was a gruesome one. So vile and abominable, in fact, seasoned Baltimore detectives and Federal agents on the scene had a hard time controlling the bile that lined their stomachs.
Gutted from her vagina, all the way up to the root of her chest, it was clear to even the most novices of constabularies – this was personal. Body stiff, full of rigor mortis, coupled with the fetid odor only a rotting body could breathe, she had been dead for at least 48 hours.
Veronica Torrence, lead agent from the US Marshalls Office, was called to the scene at the request of the Inter-Agency Intelligence Fugitive Taskforce. The parking lot swarmed with lights, flashing in their reds and blues. Uniforms and trench coat officers crowded the hallway of the garden style apartment three floors high.
Dark denims and an oversized navy blue windbreaker with US MARSHALL stamped on the back in large white lettering – Agent Torrence bogarted her way down the hall. Her partner, Agent Seis, trailed in her shadow. From the inner pocket of her jacket, she whipped out her badge, flashed the shiny brass to the uniform officer standing sentry at the apartment door. Approved with a nod of his head, he stepped to the side granting Agent Torrence and her partner access.
Badge in hand, knowing she’d need it again, she ducked beneath the yellow crime tape X-ed across the door, her smooth chocolate skin wrinkled in disgust of the odor as she snapped on her gloves. Greeted by the stench of death, Agent Torrence pinched the fabrics of her shirt and parked the collar across the bridge of her nose.
Inside of the apartment cameras flashed, detectives jotted notes while lab techs from the forensics team measured blood splatters, dusted for prints and prowled the place for the not so obvious forms of DNA. There was a lone cigarette butt collected from the ashtray and a bloody acrylic tip from the floor, inches from the body. If they were lucky, the blood on the nail would belong to that of the killer, oppose to the victim. The tiniest no nothing of things were gathered and dropped into ziploc bags marked as evidence.
While her colleagues searched for clues, Agent Torrence stood in the center of the living room. The soles of her black leather boots flat atop the shag-like rug made from brown leather. Nose and mouth masked by her shirt, she searched the contemporary styled room decorated with oddly shaped furniture. Clean with the exception of the blood splattered against the walls like graffiti. Around the officials and the horrid scene, Agent Torrence studied the place in search of the victim’s history.
Approached by federal agents, she flipped her badge and followed the suits to the body. Squatted down inches from the victim’s, head cocked to the side, Agent Torrence stared into the face of the dead girl. Her wide brown eyes stared beyond her. With a heavy hearted she sighed. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer under the cusp of her breath. Fourteen years in law enforcement hadn’t turned her cold like some of her colleagues. She was still human and never got used to the helter skelter that came with the job.
Snapped from her momentary trance, she stood from her squat. The girl wasn’t the suspect she was looking for, but the 5 x 7 in a crystal frame confirmed the connection.
“She’s not our girl,” Agent Seis verbalized the thoughts running amuck inside her head.
A head nod to the frame, Agent Torrence said, “definitely has something to do with the Porter’s case.”
“Yep.” Hands gloved in leather, Agent Seis handed his partner the dead girl’s driver license. “Her name is Laura Alverez, Rain Porter’s girlfriend which is Fallon’s older sister. Neighbor next door confirmed that a tall, light skinned, African American female, driving a tinted Monte Carlo entered her house, the same vehicle that is in her parking space outside with the deceased car is missing.”
Agent Torrence stared at the Maryland State Driver’s License, studying it as if it was a venomous snake. “It appears the killer definitely was looking for someone or something and meant business too because they took their time torturing the poor girl. The M.E said she was still alive while they were gutting her. They must have made her watch as they pulled out her small and large intestines and other sensitive organs before her eyes.”
Agent Seis spoke softly without a trace of emotion. “She must have been in terrible, unimaginable pain.”
Was Rain Porter that heartless enough to torture and kill her girlfriend? Torrence wondered if that was so.
* * *
It took hours to bag, tag, and process the crime scene. It was close to midnight when the coroner finally rolled the body out. Past the cornered off, yellow taped area, the neighbors turned into a frenzied high; after hours of gawking and whispers, they now stood at attention, tippy toeing with heads erected— all vying for a glimpse at the long black body bag being dragged away on a stretcher. Nobody knew much about the quiet, pretty young girl from unit C, other than her bright smile and simple hello’s in passing. As the coroner’s wagon made off down the street, the crowd thinned off back to their perspective homes.
But through the shadows of the night, one person lurked in the depths of the harrowing darkness, far away from the crowd. Blinded from the volume of water that loomed heavily in her eyes, arms wrapped tightly around both shoulders, as if trying to hold her entire body together, crying hard with tears of agony, Rain Porter knew the victim well. The tall, light-skinned, slim girl, hiding in the shadows, for the first time in her life felt beaten, broken and powerless.
“No God, no… don’t do this to me.” she moaned.
The one person who kissed the ground she walked on. Her first and only true love was gone. Heart shattered to pieces, Rain wanted to collapse to the ground and die right then at that very moment. Through gritted teeth, she raised her head towards the heavens. She wanted the skies to cry for her and cursed God asking him why.
Less than twenty four hours ago, everything was bright and of abundance. Her family, the Porters – her twin brother Dayvid, and younger sisters Fallon and Autumn, pulled off the biggest heist of their criminal careers. And there had been many.
Bank specialist, bank robbers in laymen terms, the Porter’s had fifty-five heists under their belts. But on this day, they hit the trifecta, millions of dollars’ worth of diamonds and over three million dollars in cash in six leather duffle bags, and a one way trip to Mexico in the morning.
Life didn’t get any better than that, so they thought. But as fate had it, after a night of champagne and celebration, Rain had to tie up one last loose end and drop their mentor in crime, Smitty, off his take of the robbery, his finder’s fee, and then the hardest part of all, to say her final goodbyes to her
lover Laura, who was forced to never see her again. But then the unthinkable happened.
On her way back home to her siblings, to Rain’s horror, FBI agents had their home surrounded with her three siblings being led out in handcuffs.
* * *
Forty-eight hours.
After switching cars with her beloved Laura, little did she know it would be the last time she’d see her alive.
Desperate, with no one else to turn to, she was confused, and needed some answers. She went to the one person in the world outside her family— the person who introduced them to the bank jacking business in the first place….again, Smitty. It was then, did she realize the gravity of her situation when she saw her face plastered all over the local news.
Her last meeting with Smitty left a bad taste in her mouth. As she, in a roundabout way, asked him for a favor to assist her and use his connections to help get her family out, adhered to rules of self-preservation to save his own skin. After all the money he made off the Porters, millions over the years, proved that it meant nothing. Now she was on her own, her against the world, and willing to do what it takes, even if it meant giving up her life to get her family out of imprisonment.
CHAPTER 1
RAIN PORTER DROVE the black Honda in total silence through the streets of Baltimore. As she drove, her mind was pulling her in a million different directions. She was in a psychotic stupor of emotions, utter devastation. Her entire world was crumbling and playing out right before her eyes and even worse, she had no back up contingencies.
A natural born leader, she prided herself on being four steps ahead of everyone and everything. Being cold, careful and calculated carried her her whole life, now she suddenly found herself in foreign territory. She was vulnerable and it painstakingly ripped her apart because she didn’t know what to do next. She missed her brother and sisters. They were her life and needed to be with her. She failed all of them.
Her jaw grinded rapidly, as her sweaty palms gripped the steering wheel, still blinking back tears. Her mind and soul were emasculating, torn by the capture of her twin brother Dayvid and younger sister Fallon to the Feds, and now, the murder of her lover, Laura.
Red lights and stop signs. She hated to see them approach for every time she stopped to sit idle, if only for a second, she would lose control. At the top of her lungs, she screamed and yelled. Stomping her feet, pounding the steering wheel, cursing God.
Growing increasingly manic and deranged by the second, she blurted scathing obscenities, contempt of her own ignorance, and forthcoming death threats towards the world. Realizing she was losing it, she forced herself for control. Get it together Rain! You have to think! Wiping her eyes, she took a long deep breath while waiting for the light.
Despite her present circumstances, she managed to get her mind fairly cleared by reminding herself that she was a Porter and above all the Porters will not be broken by anyone. Besides, she reasoned, she had to be strong for her siblings. She began to think back, and drew inspiration from analogies and lessons she got from her mentor in crime Smitty a million times.
“Rain, you are the leader of your household and if you are going to be a leader, always expect to be placed last, at the bottom, to absorb everyone’s pain. The leaders have to be strong enough to carry everyone on their shoulder when the shit hits the fan.”
His prophecy couldn’t have been more correct, she thought. At that moment, she began to focus and concentrate.
As luck had it, she found herself in West Baltimore, on Pennsylvania Avenue. As if second nature, her innate survival instincts took over, compensating for her temporary lapse of weakness when she didn’t even know it. Because of her highly skilled and dangerous occupations: bank robber, jewel thief, stick up artist, and natural born killer, she didn’t live that many years by being dumb. Over the years she took care of the neighborhood.
Each year, the Porter family would feed and give away dinners and turkeys to the entire neighborhood during Thanksgiving. They brought toys to all the poor and indigent families with children, even getting her brother Dayvid to don a Santa Claus suit and all, right down to the boots and white beard. It wasn’t unusual for her to help and assist the elderly or single mothers who fell on misfortune and pay their rent up for six months or stuff their refrigerators and cabinets with a months’ worth of groceries.
None of her siblings could see her reasoning for doing it. In fact, it angered them by how often and how much money she spent doing it. But Rain, an avid student of the Laws of the Universe, lover of such strategic and warfare related books like The Art of War and The 48 Laws of Power, knew better.
“In order for you to receive, you must give it away and take care of the neighbor, and they will take care of you when you need them most.”
Well, she certainly needed them now and would commission them. She had well over a dozen stash and safe houses throughout the city and one only five minutes away. She knew that her primary purpose for the coming days was to call up all her money and favors.
East of Gwynn’s Falls, Rain searched her former neighborhood for a street, dark and desolate. Three blocks away from her destination, she stumbled across the perfect space. A tight spot beneath a towering oak on Edmondson Avenue between a small white Kia SUV and a shiny black Lincoln sedan no doubt belonging to some Old G.
With the exception of the old red rusted pickup parked along the curb on the opposite side of the street, most of the cars parked on that particular block of Edmondson Avenue were fairly new. It made sense, considering most of the row houses were lived in— unlike the boarded up, abandoned shells on the neighboring streets.
It took three attempts to parallel park in the space, Rain stepped from the car, only to realize she was too far from the curb. Tempted to start again, momentarily worried the crazy parked Honda would garner attention; she dismissed the notion with a suck of her teeth. Nothing of value inside, she knew she couldn’t keep the truck much longer anyway. Not when it belonged to a corpse, cold and stiff in the morgue.
Tears burned the corners of Rain’s eyes as reality taunted her. The love of her life was dead, gone, and her siblings arrested. Unable to bear the thought of them being imprisoned, she threw the hoodie to her grey sweatshirt over her head and shoveled her hands inside the pocket. Chewing on the inside of her jaw, something she’d done as far back as she could remember to deny the threat of tears, she headed down the street to her destination—Miss Jackie’s house.
Killing the three blocks with long-legged strides, as a child, Rain was taught to always park at least a block away from any place she would be bedding overnight; hustlers rule. As she headed to Miss Jackie’s, the rule was even more prevalent today.
An old school prostitute, former hardcore dope fiend and seasoned opportunist, Miss Jackie and Rain’s mom had been best friends since high school. Devastated by the death of her best friend being killed in a car accident, Miss Jackie turned to drugs.
***
One scorching summer evening, eleven year old Rain and her twin brother Dayvid stepped off the bus. Crisp and clean in their stone washed denims, fresh white tee and their all-white air force ones, just scooped from the mall with money earned from petty schemes. Their two younger sisters—Fallon and Autumn, dressed in floral, thin strapped rompers trailed in their shadows.
Shy of seven o’clock, the street leading to their Aunt Rachel’s, their new guardian since their parents’ death swarmed its usual fuss despite the lack of sunlight. Guys loitered by the threes and fours in scattered pockets of the block; smoking and sipping 40’s concealed in brown paper bags.
White cap cocked to the side, Rain nodded her head toward the corner store. “Yo, I’ma run in here real quick.”
“We want something,” her little sisters chanted in unison.
“Y’all got money, what you telling me for,” Rain teased as she stepped to the side, clearing the path to the store.
“I got y’all,” Dayvid said, a sucker for all his sisters.
Stepped from the store, a crowd had formed, watching as two snot-nosed punks, corner pushers around the same age as Rain and Dayvid out to make a name for themselves, viciously beat a dope fiend with wooden stakes yanked from a fence. Without care, the four Porters bypassed the foolishness, numb to the everyday occurrence of beating crack heads simply because they were dirty and stunk had become recreation.
Cracking the can to her Pepsi, Rain happened to glance toward the chaos. Through holes in the crowd, she caught a glimpse of the dope fiend’s face.
“Y’all that’s Miss Jackie!”
Blood ran from a gash in Miss Jackie’s forehead as she struggled on wobbly legs. Sodas and bags tossed down to the floor, the four Porter’s beat the two fake thugs, leaving them just as bloodied and bruised as Miss Jackie. From that day forth, Miss Jackie had been one of their most trusted.
Flooded with memories of Miss Jackie and the old neighborhood, Rain continued through the dark streets, feeling safe despite the crack heads and heroin addicts that lurked around in the harrowing darkness, looking to score their next hit. Devastated by crime, decay and neglect, the region was the epitome of urban blight and despair. It was like a ghost town.
Only the poorest of poor, disenfranchised, called it their home. Surrounding properties were now mere empty buildings or barren lots. Mass row houses doubled as rest havens for addicts or make shift graves of choice for the criminal element as a short stop, or stash house.
This part of town was a jungle. Sad, hopeless and lonely people were the hunters, all in search of their medicine, their drug of choice, crack cocaine, heroin or both. The habitants, mere shells of their former selves, became slaves to their addiction, trapped under the spell. Women betrayed their children. Men begged to suck another man’s dick, just in hopes of getting one more hit. A drug so insidious, it told their brain that they had to have it no matter the cost. Nothing could stop those on the prowl for the substance that provided them a temporary amnesia, a momentary euphoria, a desperate escape from the reality of their tiny lives. They were on a hunt, 24/7.
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