Baltimore Chronicles (11 page)

Derek had stayed holed up in a hotel for two days, drinking himself into oblivion. On the third day, he finally decided to go to the station house to collect some of his things and let them know he would be taking some leave time without pay to get his mind right.

Derek pulled into the station house parking lot and noticed that the sign on his reserved spot had been removed and replaced. “Rodriguez? Hah! Ain't that a bitch? A niggah is gone for two days and the bitch he thought was his friend jumps into his grave,” Derek said out loud. He knew that Rodriguez was hurt because he had never even mentioned their sexual encounter after it happened, but there was nothing to say. Derek had too much on his plate to stop and deal with a woman's problem.

He parked in a regular spot and went into the station house. All eyes were immediately on him when he walked in. “Hello to all of you mu'fuckas too,” Derek said sarcastically, heading for his desk. Before he could even sit down for a second, Chief Hill was already standing over him.

“Fuller, I need to see you in my office, now,” the chief said.

“Damn. Can I gather some of my shit first?” Derek asked, thrown off guard.

“No. You need to follow me now,” the chief said with three uniformed officers flanking him, just in case Derek decided to act up.

Derek slammed the chair back into the wall as he stood up. He followed the chief to his office.

“Close the door,” the chief instructed. Derek closed the door. His chest was heaving in and out. “Sit down,” Chief Hill said.

“I'm 'aight. I'll stand,” Derek said.

“Fuller, you are being placed on an indefinite leave until further notice. I'm sorry to tell you that you are under investigation for the murders of Archie, Bolden, Cassell, and Chief Scott,” the chief said.

His words rang in Derek's ears like a fire alarm. Derek was too shocked to speak. After all he had done for the department, good and bad, he would never have had his men killed.

“You need to give me your gun and badge immediately and vacate the premises until further notice. You no longer have any police authority until, if, and when such time as you are sworn back in. Do you understand?” Chief Hill said.

Derek fought back tears. “I'm being framed. Can't you see that?” Derek croaked out. The chief just smirked.

Derek didn't know who to trust. Even his chief could have been on the take. He pulled his gun from his holster and placed it on the desk. He thought about blowing his own head off right there in the chief's office, but knew he didn't have the heart to kill himself. He also put his belt, badge, and credentials on the desk. Derek had been defined by his career for so many years that he already felt naked without his gun and shield.

“You and the entire Baltimore area will regret this. Scar Johnson will reign terror on you and the entire city, and I won't be here to stop him,” Derek said, turning and storming out.

He stomped down the stairs and straight out of the station house. His mind was whizzing, and now that he didn't have so much to lose, he had a few people to pay a visit.

Derek went to his car, but was stopped before he could get in. “Excuse me, D,” he heard a voice say. Derek spun around and looked at the person strangely. “I don't know if you remember me. I used to work for Scar,” the boy said. His face looked kind of familiar, but Derek couldn't be sure.

“I'm Flip,” he said.

“What the fuck you doing here, and what do you want?” Derek asked, angry at the intrusion.

“I want to help you set Scar up—not to go to jail, because he always beats the rap. I want him dead just as much as you do,” Flip said, speaking like a little mechanical robot.

“Why should I help you?” Derek asked suspiciously.

“Because you and me are the only ones in this city that Scar don't got on his payroll. You see that fucking chief you got up in there? Oh yeah, he has partied with Scar many nights. One time, you and him had just missed each other coming in and out to get y'all payoff money. Believe me, you need somebody who knows all of his moves inside and out, from what he eats for breakfast to what time that niggah goes to bed. That somebody is me,” Flip explained.

Derek looked him up and down. The boy looked injured and hungry. Derek didn't have shit to lose by just listening to this young boy's plan. “Get in,” Derek said.

 

Rodriguez was overjoyed with her temporary promotion. She pulled into her driveway, smiling from ear to ear. When she got out, she noticed Tiphani standing at her door.

“Hey. Derek isn't here,” Rodriguez told her shortly.

“I'm not here to see him. I'm here to see you,” Tiphani said, motioning to someone in a car. Scar stepped out of his Escalade with its darkly tinted windows.

“Look, I don't know what the fuck is going on,” Rodriguez started, putting her hand on her gun.

“It's not like that. We just want to talk to you,” Tiphani assured. All she could think about was her looming family court date. She would be ready for her husband this time.

“Can we go inside?” Tiphani asked.

“No, I don't think that's a good idea,” Rodriguez said nervously. She realized she was the only one left from the original Narcotics Unit that had taken Scar down.

“Will this give you some assurance?” Tiphani said, opening a bag filled with money. Lying on top was a picture of Derek and Scar, smiling, side by side with their arms around each other.

Rodriguez couldn't believe her eyes. She knew Derek was under investigation, but she didn't really want to believe it. When she saw the picture, she felt she had no choice but to listen. She hurriedly opened her front door and allowed Tiphani and Scar into her home.

Rodriguez moved away from them, never turning her back, and kept her hand on her gun. She was still not ready to fully trust Scar Johnson, Baltimore's most dangerous criminal.

“Listen, ma. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't have any small talk. I would have blown your head off ten minutes ago,” Scar said.

“What do you want from me?” Rodriguez asked with her hand still on her gun, unable to keep her eyes off the money bag.

“I guess you've figured out that your boss wasn't so clean. Well, we need to bring him down, all the way down for good, and we need your help,” Scar explained.

“Shit, you got pictures of him with you. That's enough,” Rodriguez said, growing angry. She felt she should've known Derek was dirty when that search warrant shit went down. She also felt like a fool because Derek hadn't trusted her with his secrets. They had both taken money from drug dealers in the past, but it never got to the point where any of the members of the unit were in danger of being killed—especially being killed by their own leader.

“No, it's not enough. You see, if Scar shows those pictures, Derek will just refute them. He will say Scar had them digitally made. He will say Scar is a liar. With Scar's reputation, whose credibility do you think will stand up in court?” Tiphani interjected, giving Rodriguez the lawyer-and-trial perspective on things.

“We need you to help us bring this dirty fuck down. Do it for your fallen friends. Do it for the good of the department,” Scar said, trying to play on Rodriguez's morals. After waiting for her to respond and getting nothing, Scar then continued his mind games. “Better yet, do it for this,” he said, dropping the bag of money at Rodriguez's feet.

“That's a half a million dollars in that bag. Nobody has to know if you just do what we need you to do. It's an easy decision. Your former unit members obviously didn't make the right decision.”

Rodriguez looked like she was conflicted. That was money she could use, but that would make her no better than Detective Fuller. Rodriguez also knew that even though Scar was offering her this money for his help, he was basically telling her to get on board or she'd end up like Archie, Cassell, and Bolden.

Rodriguez's legs gave up on her, and she sat down on her couch as her thoughts went through her head a mile a minute.

Tiphani held her breath. She was counting on this last ditch attempt to amass something concrete on Derek. She needed this to work so she could distance herself so far away from Scar that no matter what Derek said, she would be safe.

“Why are you here? You working for Scar too? Why are you out to bring your own husband down?” Rodriguez asked Tiphani, suddenly realizing it didn't make sense for both of them to be there together.

Tiphani's lawyerly instincts took over, and she quickly responded to Rodriguez. “No, I am not working for Mr. Johnson. He is actually cooperating with the D.A.'s office to help bring in a crooked cop. As far as that crooked cop being my husband, it seems that I didn't know him as well as I thought. Because of my oath to uphold the law, I will prosecute anyone who breaks the law, even if it is my husband, and especially if that crooked cop has killed his own men.” Tiphani threw in the last part to try to play on Rodriguez's loyalty to her fallen comrades.

“What do you need me to do?” Rodriguez asked. She felt like she didn't really have a choice but to get on board with Scar basically threatening her, and Tiphani making her realize that Derek probably killed his own unit because he was so entrenched in his own shit.

Tiphani smiled.

“You ain't gonna regret this shit. I can guarantee it. If shit works out, you can make enough money to retire from that fucked up place for life,” Scar told her as he extended his hand for a shake.

 

Flip and Derek sat in Derek's hotel room, plotting. Flip drew a map of all of Scar's spots that Derek didn't know about. Flip told Derek the details of six murders Scar had ordered. He told Derek about stash spots where Scar hid money. He also provided Derek a long list of names of cops, lawyers, and government officials on Scar's payroll—one of which held a key position in the Baltimore mayor's office.

Derek shook his head. He would have had no wins against Scar no matter what he did, even if he was above board with his police work. Flip was all Derek had at this point, so he leaned in and hung on the boy's every word.

“Scar got this bitch name Julissa that does his hits for him. She is one bad bitch—beautiful, and she poses as a call girl, and then wham! She takes niggahs out,” Flip explained. “I heard she gets rid of the bodies by pouring battery acid on the shits until they disintegrate,” he continued.

“I guess all this shit you telling me leaves us no choice but to kill the niggah,” Derek said, looking off into the distance like he was spaced out. “Which means I'm gonna have to kill my wife, too, or else that bitch will be a prime witness,” Derek said seriously. He couldn't believe that things had spiraled so far out of control. The two people that he had loved most in the world, he now hated.

 

“Hey, Travis,” Rodriguez said, flashing her credentials to the little old cop who guarded their evidence cage. The man was one of those cops that just refused to retire, so they assigned his half-blind ass to guard the cage so he could sleep on the job if he wanted to.

“Hello, pretty lady. How have you been doing?” the old man asked. He was old as shit, but wasn't too old to pay attention when a beautiful woman was in his presence.

Rodriguez laughed to herself. She knew the old man said that to all of the female officers because he didn't remember anybody and simply wanted to be nice.

“I'm good, old man. I need to pull some evidence for one of my cases,” Rodriguez lied.

“Sure. Anything for you,” Travis said, buzzing the gate open for Rodriguez to enter.

Rodriguez rushed through and went into the cage where all of the crime scene evidence was housed. She looked up and down the rows, making sure no other cops or detectives were in there. When she was sure she was alone, she walked down the aisle looking for the letters.

“Right here, baby,” she whispered. She yanked a large box off the shelf and pulled off the top. Inside, she stared at plastic and paper bags that were numbered and labeled. She sifted through them until she found what she was looking for. She picked up the piece of evidence and replaced it with a piece that had Derek's blood on it. Then she exchanged another piece of evidence with something that she had gotten from his house with Derek's DNA on it. Next, it was Derek's fingerprints that she placed into the evidence.

“Done,” she whispered, rushing to put shit back the way it was supposed to be.

Rodriguez walked back to the gate and noticed Travis was fast asleep. She buzzed herself out and never woke the old man.

Chief Hill watched the closed circuit security screen in his office. He let a small smile spread across his face. “Dumb little bitch. Did you really think this shit would be that easy?” Chief Hill whispered, rubbing his hands together.

Flip had given Derek a lot of information and a lot to think about. Derek was going to take this information and call some of his fed friends. The feds were notorious for putting hits out on dudes that they knew would keep beating the system. Derek had seen it over the years: from the Black Panther dudes to famous rappers, the feds would take a niggah out and make it look like black on black crime in a minute.

“A'ight, man. I will be in touch,” Derek said to Flip, giving him five.

“Let me know what else I can do. I'm around. I wanna see that mu'fucka suffer for what he did to me,” Flip said, holding up his hand and showing Derek his two missing fingers to make his point clear.

“I'll be in touch,” Derek said. He closed the door behind Flip and pulled out his computer. It was time to make shit happen.

Flip stepped onto the elevator down to the lobby of the hotel. He felt good about what he had done. He got out of the elevator and walked through the lobby. As he stepped out of the hotel doors, he heard someone yell, “Yo, snitch!”

Before he could run…
Bang! Bang!
Two shots to the dome splattered his brains all over the sidewalk. The doorman ran into the hotel, screaming for help.