Addicted In Cold Blood (13 page)

Jayme slicked her finger over her brow, thinking, racing back and forth inside her hard working brain, and decided to walk further up the road that was now becoming more and more desolate. Concern nagged at her, and she wanted to pull out her gun and get into position—as if she were entering the home of a suspect known to be armed and dangerous. But nothing was there, except the empty, quiet night. Yet, always, what lay hidden in the invisible grips of the evening was the most treacherous. People who wished to kill, with no provocation, lurked about, people who never took a day off, even in this brutal winter moment. Jayme knew the streets well—after all, she’d grown up here. The grittiest concrete jungles harbored the most sinister secrets of
Washington D.C., causing many of the residents’ faces to buckle with laughter when the President would remark about making foreign countries safe.

Foreign countries, safe? What about this country, Mister President? Can’t walk down the street at night, sometimes in the daytime, without being mugged, raped or murdered. Fuck
Iraq!

That was the sentiment, that was the understanding...that was the perception, and perception is one’s reality.

At the end of the street stood a large dilapidated apartment building. Jayme looked up, noticing towels used as window curtains in one upper left-hand window, and the dim light from a television throwing a sporadic, dancing glow. MeMe used to stay there with her pimp, but that was over two years ago. This wasn’t the latest address for the woman, but the other leads had come up cold. The women in this line of work moved around so much, they were hard to keep after. One thing MeMe never understood when Jayme would bust her, was that she wanted the poor woman safe—and if she was in jail, at least Jayme knew she wasn’t dead, thrown away in a dumpster like a few other girls after picking up the wrong date. Jayme made her way to the front door, and buzzed the bell.

“This is Officer Knight. I need to speak to Michelle Davis.” She spoke into the intercom authoritatively. It was cold as hell, she didn’t have time to play, and lives were at stake. A few moments later, the door clicked open. Jayme made her way inside the narrow apartment hallway strewn with debris, then made her way up six flights of broken concrete steps. More than a few building codes were violated, but no one cared to do anything about it. Three out of six light bulbs were blown, which meant the sloped steps were barely visible sometimes. Regardless, she knew the building like the back of her hand and soon reached the top floor, not in the least bit winded. She knocked on the door, her small knuckles packing a punch.

Dressed as she was in navy pants, a black turtleneck and military style boots, her femininity was tucked away like mattress savings. Hair slicked back into a ponytail and only gloss on her full lips, she caught her reflection in the brassy number panel on the scratched avocado green door before it swung open, showcasing a short, light complexioned man with a face full freckles and a rotund stomach beneath a white tank top.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Jayme asked as she brushed past him, quickly taking inventory of the cramped apartment. She immediately caught the whiff of marijuana, and fought her instincts to search and arrest. She had bigger fish to fry, and a small bag of reefer was not on the fishing line.

“What do you want, Jayme?” the man asked gruffly. He’d had his share of dealings with her before and the memories were far from pleasant.

“Where is Michelle?” She walked from room to room, opening doors only to see disheveled beds, bike parts and other odds and ends. “She hasn’t been seen for weeks!” Jayme now opened up dresser drawers, pilfering through, trying to ruffle the man’s feathers.

“I haven’t seen Michelle in a minute. You know she don’t hang with me anymore. Why are you botherin’ me?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“I know that Sarge isn’t here, but you are family. You expect me to believe you have no idea where she is? Huh?”

“Jayme, she hasn’t lived here in forever. You are wastin’ your time and mine, too. Do you have a warrant?” His agitation level rose as she opened another kitchen drawer and removed a warm crack pipe from it, setting it on the counter.

“Where is Sarge at? You expect me to believe that her pimp left this apartment to you? I know she hasn’t lived here in a while, but you’re her brother, Keith...as close as you two were...come on! This is serious!” She marched toward the man, snarling, and she pushed him harshly into the wall.

Jayme had a peculiar way about her. She managed to be small but mighty, oftentimes offputtingly to her mixed company. No one expected it, and to many it was still embarrassing to get your ass kicked ‘by a girl’. She
was
the back-up female cop.

“She don’t wanna talk to nobody!” he yelled, struggling against her. “She is all messed up. She’s in a bad way.”

Jayme slowly let him go, and put her hands on her waist. “What? Is she strung out somewhere?”

“She go and get her stuff, then come back here. She out there now, trying to get some money...but she hasn’t been the same. Something is wrong with her, Jayme. Something is real wrong.” He fell apart like a deck of cards. His worry made him do it. For once, his own addictions didn’t rule him, even if only for a split second.

“Where is she? I need to talk to her?” Jayme frowned, then exhaled loudly. She was tired of people talking in riddles to her about Michelle. It was almost as if no one could even describe what was going on; maybe they weren’t riddles at all. They truly may have not been able to articulate the change in the woman, and this possibility continued to move about inside her head. Clearly, Keith loved his sister. They’d grown up on these same streets. Michelle had been a prostitute since she was sixteen, turned out by her mother’s boyfriend. 

Keith had been a low key drug dealer, trying to make ends meet until he got hooked on crack. Jayme was one of the few cops they spoke to, would even call her from time to time with leads about other cases. Now, Michelle was supporting both of their drug habits. They’d both had a promising future ahead of them as young children—bright, eager and ready, and then it was stolen away within the blink of a drug-infested, blood-shot eye.

“Check the College Park hotels. She moves around in there now, says it’s safer. She don’t wanna be out on the streets no more.” He averted his eyes.

“Which hotel, Keith?” She pushed him against the wall again. “I’m not going to be running up and down the street looking for Michelle one second longer. Tell me the one she is in! I can help her, but first you have to help
me
!”

“You...you not gonna bust her, are you? We need...”

“Just be quiet, Keith,” Jayme said with disgust. “No, I’m not going to bust her. This has nothing to do with prostitution or drugging. I offered to take you to rehab. You need to take me up on that offer or you’ll be dead soon, too.” She looked him up and down. He was a mess. What she said was a prediction of his future, and he had to have known it were true.

“Our guy doesn’t have any crack, weed, nothin’! His supplier got killed,” Keith moaned, now perspiring heavily. “I will go to detox, Jayme, I promise,” he said desperately. “But I need one more hit. I been withdrawin’, don’t have any money...I need help.” His eyes glazed over.

Jayme stood back from him and let him pound the wall in frustration—when all he probably wanted was to melt down and fall the fuck apart. Just then, the front door slowly swung open. Jayme dashed to the side and put her finger over her lips as Keith turned around. The sound of plastic rattling was soon followed by MeeMee’s high-pitched voice. She was twenty-seven, but had the vocals of a ten year old girl.

“Keith!” she called out. “I only got a dime bag, got some dews. Where are you at? Come get this shit,” she said as she rounded the corner, her look unmistakable. She stepped back, looking at Jayme as if she wanted to scream, but nothing came out of her mouth.

“MeeMee, relax,” Jayme said softly.

MeeMee shot a horrified look at Keith and clutched the drugs tightly in her hand as she stepped further back. Jayme lunged toward the woman, grabbing her, causing her to shriek at the top of her lungs.

“MeeMee! I’m here to help!” Jayme knocked her to the ground, pinning her to the dirty laminated floor. After a while, MeeMee cooled her jets. Her brother hadn’t moved from the wall.  His eyes trailed to the bag of drugs as his chest heaved and hoed. Jayme looked back down at MeeMee, who she kept pressed to the floor. The woman’s long blonde and black streaked hair sprawled haphazardly about over her form fitting red blouse. Jayme turned her over to come face to face with MeeMee’s attractive, dark brown face.

“What...do you want?” she asked, wheezing and gasping for air.

“We have a problem here, MeeMee.” Jayme kept her hand on the woman’s arm, in case the young lady got any ideas. “You saw something a few weeks ago and I need you to tell me.”

MeeMee looked away, her refusal evident as she withdrew into herself.

“Tell ’er, MeeMee, shit!” Keith kept staring at the bag of drugs in his sister’s grip.

MeeMee looked from one to the other. “Andre got killed.”

“I know...did you see who killed him?”

MeeMee attempted to sit up. Jayme helped her. The woman took a deep breath and looked sadly down at the ground.  “This...man, he and Andre were talking. I had just got dropped off. I was walking past...”

“Where were they?”

“Over there by
Patterson Park.” MeeMee sniffed and rubbed her nose. “He...killed Andre. He didn’t see me though... Jayme, I seen people get got, it was how he did it though.” She looked up at Jayme, her eyes glassy and reddened from lack of sleep, unwanted withdrawal and worry.

Jayme touched her shoulder. “You’ve been going crazy about this a long time, haven’t you?”

MeeMee nodded. “Andre sold drugs, I know...but he was a good person. I don’t know why anyone would wanna do that to him.” A tear streaked down her face.

“What did the man look like?”

“He...was tall, had on a dark hoodie...couldn’t see his features all that well. I saw part of his face, a little bit, for a split second when the light hit ’im. He was real light skin, maybe Hispanic, not sure.”

“What happened, MeeMee? How did he kill Andre?”

MeeMee turned away as if she were ashamed—as if reliving the horrid ordeal. “He,” she wiped her nose again. “He had this...
thing
. They were arguing... Andre was fighting him and the man said something like, ‘you’re on that shit.’ Then, this red light came out of nowhere and...went straight through Andre’s body... and the guy’s eyes!” MeeMee screamed as she relived the terror, shaking in Jayme’s grip.

“I put my hand over my mouth...I knew...he’d kill me next if he knew I was there. I fell down to the ground and hid. I thought I was going to die! He looked right at me, like he heard me. He looked around then turned right back to Andre and I heard this noise...like bacon cooking.” She held her head and began to rock.

“It’s okay, MeeMee. He isn’t here now, you’re safe.” Jayme assured as she hugged the woman in comfort.

“I don’t know what he was doing, but I knew from the news that this killer was going around branding people.  Jayme, one of his eyes was red and a light came out of it and all of this flashing and noises…it sounded like a damn computer, like the old kind, the kind that needs dial-up, but he didn’t have no computer that I could see. The skin on his wrist just opened up like...a box and this, like, ball of fire came out and he was talking to it. He said, ‘Hit complete.’ Then he just walked on away, like nothing happened.”

She slid her back against the wall, fast losing it, her grip on the bag of crack loosened.

Jayme released her, not sure what to say or where to go with this. She felt like a fool. Turning away, she rubbed her head in disbelief.

I’ve been chasing this woman around town for this! MeeMee isn’t normally irrational, high or not, and this is the story I get. Unfucking believable. A red-eyed fool with balls of fire popping out of his wrist that he can talk to. What a complete waste of time!

MeeMee sat still, longingly staring at her bag of dope.

“MeeMee, so...” Jayme huffed. “So, the man you saw was Hispanic, tall, wore a hoodie... Do you have any other descriptions? Tattoos? Marks?”

“No, didn’t see any of that. Only thing that stuck out was one of his eyes was red...like I said. The eyeball part. He shot lights out of it and...”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time.” Jayme sucked her teeth and leaned up against the white smudged refrigerator. She removed her card and handed it to MeeMee. “If you see him again, please call me right away, MeeMee...right away.”

MeeMee nodded, avoiding Jayme’s gaze. Fuming, Jayme took herself out of the apartment, slamming the door hard behind her.

“Officer Knight, your department just found another body over on
East Baltimore Street; original notification came from a 911 call. Your captain called us immediately, victim is branded. We’ve got an agent over there to meet you. Please go over to the location and call us with any information you may have.”

Jayme replayed the message and tossed her phone angrily across the room. It had been less than twenty-four hours since MeeMee’s confession and while she was on the wild goose chase, leading to an incredible story of laser beams and computerized light shows, the perpetrator was out doing his dirty deeds once again. It gave her chills knowing that as she spoke of him, he was only a few streets away, a street she’d just perused only hours previously. Just like at the strip club, Carter was killed less than an hour after she last laid eyes on him. She was able to excuse that; she wasn’t on that case, wasn’t doing surveillance of the outside perimeter…but this? Oh, no, there was no excuse for this. She beat herself up bad about it, trying hard to make peace with the news so she could continue on with a semi-clear head.