Chasing the Dragon Page 5

  Mr. Hale,

  Your findings have been validated. Mr. Gable Johnson has a cellphone number in his name, one of three, that begins with the area code, 312. This phone number was turned to the OFF mode, as previously shown. However, one app called ‘Popular Near Me’ had tracking still on. We will look at those records and respond back to your requests as soon as possible.

  F.H. Hempstead

  Department of Justice

  Phoenix couldn’t help but smile at the revelation.

  I know it was you, motherfucker. My gut hasn’t steered me wrong yet. You’ve got all the markers: frequent phone calls to the same three numbers two days prior, coded text messages, some of which state clearly that you would be unavailable on the date the murders took place and that you’d need back up during your absence. No outgoing calls or texts, not even one, during the time of the slaughters. Then, less than ten minutes after the coroner ruled the most plausible time of death, suddenly your phone was back on and you were only eight miles away from where everything took place. My father worked homicide for twenty damn years; it inspired me, gave me motivation, and I learned a hell of a lot. You’ve killed the wrong damn person this time, Gable…

  Sliding his phone back into his pocket, he leaned back again and rested his eyes.

  He’d be landing soon, so he planned a special surprise party for Mr. Johnson, hosted by the Dragon…

  Her head throbbed from the alcohol, but she’d tried to sleep it off nevertheless. On a sigh, she rolled to and fro, gathering the black sheets around her body as she caught a chill. Tiffany sucked on her lower lip and her eyes fluttered; the dream had been so bad, it had made her queasy.

  “Damn…”

  She sat up in her dark bedroom and ran her hand through her hair, tousling it, while her naked body drew much needed warmth. She reached for her lamp. Pulling the string down, she jumped and stifled a scream. Sitting beside her in a chair was a tall, broad shouldered white man with bright blue eyes, a suit and tie, and a chilling grin carved in his face. Her heart beat a mile a minute as they stared at one another. Slowly … so slowly … she reached beneath her pillow, but only felt the coolness of the mattress.

  “Disappointed?” He smiled wide. “I took the liberty of removing your little friends. The knife, and the Glock, too.” Her gaze shifted to his hands. In his right one, he gripped a Smith & Wesson.

  “What do you want?” she asked calmly, trying her damnedest to disguise her trepidation.

  “Oh, your first question isn’t ‘Who are you?’ That’s interesting, Ms. McCall. Maybe it’s because you already have a damn good idea who I am, so asking would be silly and a waste of time.” He shrugged in an exaggerated manner. She simply glared at him.

  “Now, as far as your question, here’s what I want … I want you to tell me where the hell Gable Johnson is.” Kneading the sheets into a tight fist, she swallowed hard but didn’t back down from his stare.

  “I don’t know.”

  The man laughed so hard, his eyes turned to slits, and then suddenly, just like that, he stopped. He rose from the chair, causing her to tighten her grasp of the sheets. The tall fucker hovered over her, casting a shadow across her comforter. Sliding next to her on the bed, he sat so close, she could smell his aftershave, see dark hairs of his trimmed beard and mustache, and even make out a beauty mark on the top part of his right ear.

  “Tiffany, baby, no, no, no.” He smirked. “We’re not going to play this fucking game. Any move you try, I’m three steps ahead of you, have double backed and beat you again all within a matter of seconds.” He leaned closer, and she again sank her teeth into her lower lip, squelching any verbal resonances that would betray her fear. The pain cut through her as he grabbed her wrist and squeezed. “Now. Where. The fuck. Is. He?” Despite his words of choice, he sounded calm, but his eyes … his eyes showed something much different.

  “I told you that I don’t know.” Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at her nightstand, noting that her cellphone was gone.

  “I happen to believe otherwise. Gable was calling you a hell of a lot before John was murdered. You have no criminal record, but you’ve been on the radar for years; in fact, over a decade. You’re the beautiful, but deadly, Tiffany McCall … thirty-seven, never married, no children, striking … known to use your physique to trick men into believing a pipe dream. Well.” He cracked a wicked grin. “In your case, a crack pipe dream, right? Your cousin is in deep trouble, so unless you want to go down with him, I suggest you take this last opportunity to give up the gauntlet.” He twisted and turned her wrist so hard, her eyes welled with tears, but she refused to scream … refused to give him an ounce of satisfaction.

  “Awww!” He smiled. “Look at you! Brave little soldier. I’m pressing on just the right spots to cause you incredible agony, but you are baaaad, right? A bad bitch, huh? Isn’t that what they call you?” He tossed her wrist aside as if she were trash and grabbed the sides of her mouth, forcing it open to the point that her jaws ached. Out poured a scream so loud, it vibrated her insides and stole her soul, when the pain flooded forth and took her under. Her wrist throbbed with an ache like she’d never known.

  “I will break you like a goddamn toy.” Tearing his hand away from her face, he clicked his gun.

  “I don’t know where he is!” she screamed between gnashed teeth.

  “You’re a good liar. That time, I was almost convinced.” Before she knew it, he’d lifted her off the bed and he held her by a fistful of her damn hair, her feet dangling and the sheets fell to the floor. It happened so quickly, her body seemed a few seconds behind, her mind even farther.

  “Let me explain something to you, Ms. McCall. Your cousin murdered three men … three very important men. One of them happened to be my best friend. Whatever I do to your cousin, no one will give a damn, and whatever I have to do to you to find out where he is, no one will care about that either. You have run out of chances so now, you’re coming with me.” He tossed her down on the bed and marched to her closet.

  Breathing hard, she looked around her, desperate for a weapon, anything to get away from this crazy son of a bitch.

  She fixated on the lamp as he stuffed various items of her clothing inside a duffle bag he’d had on the floor. As soon as her palm wrapped around the stem, he said, his back still to her, “Nuh … uh … uh. I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Ignoring him, she desperately threw it across the room, causing a loud crash, and sprinted towards her bedroom door. Pain ran along her chin when she fell to the floor, and a tight grip of her ankle put a fast halt to her escape. She yelled out as her body was dragged back towards the bed, the wooden floor rough against her bare flesh. Tossing her on the bed as if she were some rag doll, he stood before her, ice in his eyes. Her face seared as he backhanded her; the sudden twisting of her neck from the impact caused a burning sensation.

  He tossed a shirt, bra, panties and jeans on top of her.

  “Get dressed.” She got slowly to her feet, and did as told. Holding the gun tight, he slung the bag over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  She began to move forward, dragging her feet, now clad in Nikes, and prolonging the inevitable.

  “Where are we going?”

  “A place where no one will hear your screams…”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Despite her harmless façade and slender wrists in handcuffs, he knew he couldn’t take his eyes off her or it may be the last thing he did…

  As Phoenix drove the ’67 black Cadillac Eldorado through the desolate stretch of the I-70 highway, he didn’t miss how she looked out the window through miles of bleak nothingness, no doubt trying to memorize her surroundings. Her dark gaze flitted here and there, the desperation within her almost tangible and heady. He, too, had his eyes on the prize, only it wasn’t the road but the curious woman shackled next to him.

  Despite her well-timed calculations and carefully placed safety nets, she played a good game of possum for a novice. The woman kept eerily
quiet, and now seemed to be asleep—but he knew better. He made mental notes of her appearance, all he’d seen of her the very first moment of meeting. Out of the corner of his eye, he studied her remarkable features, adding to the list of impressions he’d never forget…

  Thick, off black hair, the texture dry, coarse … various curl patterns throughout her mane, all of which hangs in layers to the middle of her back…

  Large doe-like eyes, the whites like snow, giving the illusion of innocence…

  Slender bridge of nose, slightly turned up at the end with flared nostrils…

  Pronounced jawline, but not hard…

  Lower lip much fuller than the top…

  She smells like La Vie Est Belle by Lancôme…He knew that perfume well, a lovely personal assistant at the White House who greeted him each time he arrived in the mornings wore it…

  Tattoo of a black butterfly carrying a red rose on her right shoulder…

  Flawless, naked body. Two dimples on her lower back, right above her well rounded ass. Skin like rich cocoa with a dollop of cream, silky smooth, her natural movements fluid like melting ebony candles dripping down heated glass…

  She WOULD have to be beautiful. It’s quite obvious how a man could be driven to distraction with her around…

  “I want to know where you’re takin’ me.”

  “I’ve already responded to that question and the answer is the same.”

  “I have to pee,” she retorted, quickly changing up her game plan.

  He gave her a fleeting glance, then yanked the steering wheel to make a hard right, swerving his car to the shoulder of the road. Her body jerked forward at the sudden maneuver. He put the vehicle in park. Getting out of the car, he slammed the door shut. The night swallowed the world in a heavy black blanket. His feet crushed the gravelly, uneven ground as he made his way around the car. Snatching the passenger door open, he gripped her arm and helped her out of the car, exerting a bit of pressure … not too hard, but not too soft. They walked down an embankment covered in nothing but tall blades of grass. The sounds of insects seasoned the air with a strange song and now the flashlight from his phone illuminated the choppy path ahead.

  “Right here?” She cocked her head to the side, her perfect brows furrowed. “You don’t have the damn decency to at least let me go into a gas station?” she spat.

  “Roaches aren’t welcome in convenience stores.” He turned his head and spit, then glared back at her. “You’re an animal, harboring another fucking animal. You can piss and shit outside just like the repulsive creature that you are.” Reaching low, he yanked her pants and panties down in one fell swoop until they gathered around her ankles. “Squat. Hurry up.”

  Her eyes morphed to inky slits as she regarded him with the hatred of a million men. The sound of trickling liquid hit the brush, lasting quite a while. He kept the light on her, but square on her face. They glared at one another, neither uttering another word until it was all said and done. Without waiting for her to ask, he snatched a tissue out of his jacket pocket and tapped her pussy dry. Her lips pursed, she raised her head in defiance before he tossed the damn thing into the grassy open mouth of the land. “Let’s go.” She stood erect and he wrapped his arm tightly around hers to walk her back up to the car, then shoved her inside with a push to the side of her head. In that quick moment, he could feel the form of her skull, the angled and defined cheekbone, and her mandible.

  Getting back in the driver’s seat, he got back on the highway, figuring he had at least twenty more hours to go before they made it to Vegas.

  “I could’ve made a run for it.” She smirked, her expression bordering on absurdity with a dash of silliness.

  “And then I could’ve blown your goddamn head off.” The next several minutes consisted of nothing but silence, much like the majority of the ride. Leaning forward, he snatched on the old radio, hoping something decent would play from the rusted relic. “Burn the Witch” by Radiohead crackled from the thing. Phoenix had purchased the car right after he’d discovered that Gable Johnson was definitely on the run. Two hours in a used car dealership and he was back in action, laying out the next steps of his plan. That plan was a she, and here she was, coming along for the ride.

  “How’d you find me?” She readjusted in her seat, her long legs bent in odd ways as she attempted to get comfortable.

  “You didn’t try to hide … you’re either arrogant or stupid. My bet is on the first choice. And like I told you, the cellphone records lead right back to you like a smoke signal. I realized you were his cousin. Did a bit of research and boy was I surprised to see that you two have been in cahoots for quite some time. You’re more interested in how I narrowed it down to him though, right?” He grinned at her, but she refused to look in his direction. She kept her face squarely on the road.

  “Well, he made a little mistake, Tiffany. And now, here the fuck I am.”

  Her jaw tensed, then relaxed, then tensed again. She suddenly turned to him, her eyes wide with what he presumed was hope, or perhaps one of her many pre-rehearsed, mass produced manipulative acts ready to be unveiled like some $2.00 magic trick—trying her slick tongue out on him for size.

  “I will give you what you want.”

  “You’re ready to tell me where Gable is?”

  “I don’t know where he is, but I can get you money. I’ve got it. Let’s negotiate.”

  …And I was right. Here she goes. It’s ShowTime.

  “There isn’t enough money in your bank account or stashed under that mattress of yours to get me off you. And besides, I don’t want currency.”

  “You asked for my cousin’s whereabouts but I don’t have them.” Her tone was peppered with the illusion of truth. She was doing a bang-up job with her lies. “So, I ask you again. What do you want that I can help you with? Everybody wants something, right?” Her tone softened as she played the role to the hilt, her wrists jingled from the shiny, metal handcuffs as she rested them against her jeans-clad thigh. “Let’s talk. I just may be able to help you out.”

  “Help me out?” He nodded his head and gave a half smile, keeping his eye on the road. “I think you need to save all that help and assistance for yourself, Ms. McCall. Because where I’m taking you, baby, you’re going to need all the help you can get…”

  She had no idea what time it was, what day, or even the city and state she found herself in. She tried to keep track of the highway signs they passed and the miles on the speedometer, but that all came to an abrupt end once he upped the ante. As she rode in that big, old, classic car, the quieter he became, the more her stomach twisted and turned. Before she knew it, he pulled over into a thicket and he emerged out the driver’s side door, grabbed her, and made good on the hysteria he promised to deliver at her feet.

  Covering her eyes with a dark cloth, he tied it around her head, blindfolding her. The world went black. The thing was so tight, she soon developed a headache, but her pleas for a looser fit fell upon deaf ears. He made it clear that if she tried to scream or get anyone’s attention, it would be the last thing she ever did. She now believed him.

  She prayed for a miracle, anything to get her out of this jam.

  I told Gable to stop calling me from his phone! Fuck!

  Tiffany had initially rolled with the punches, feeling confident she could somehow see her way out of this mess and live to tell the tale. After all, it wasn’t the first time her life had been threatened and she’d been in a precarious situation before. Such unpleasantries just came with the territory. She refused to be a sitting duck, knew how to pull a trigger, but better yet, to get people to do her bidding, sometimes just to be in her good graces. But the truth came crashing down like a swatter flattening a fly—no one could save her from this.

  How did he get into my house?!

  She had so many questions. The alarm hadn’t gone off. He certainly didn’t have a key and she hadn’t heard glass break or footsteps approaching her bedroom. She was a light sleeper, but he manage
d to creep in like some buoyant shadow, making himself comfortable in her private sanctuary. He’d stepped out from the dark corners of her home and haunted her reality.

  She’d sat there for the longest devising a strategy and a backup plan for that one, too, until she saw the tip of something shiny and metal peaking from his pocket as he drove through the night. It was no gun, though he certainly had that, too; it was a badge of some sort, something official…

  Shit! He must be one of the big dogs. FBI, maybe? If that’s the case, the odds are slim that anyone is going to try to stop him from whatever the hell he is getting ready to do to me…

  No one would care about some Black female drug dealer from Chi-town getting shot and killed. She was used to the do-gooders snubbing their nose at her, waving their Bibles and telling her that she lived by the sword and she’d die that way, too. Some would surely celebrate her demise, while others would feel badly enough to pour a bit of their liquor on the concrete in her memory but many would simply say, ‘She chose her fate.’ Perhaps she was thinking about this too hard, giving the bastard too much damn credit.

  She snuck glances at him before he blindfolded her, and tried to size him up. She played those tapes in her mind, attempting to piece together the information and form some connections to the ever-growing puzzle. Maybe he wanted pussy. Could that be her ticket out of this mess? Even if she was up for it, he sure as hell didn’t act as if that would be on the bargaining table.

  He was different from so many who’d fallen at her feet without hesitation—men of all different races and backgrounds begged for her carnal attention. This fucker hadn’t given her a second glance. In fact, she was naked when he’d broken into her house, and not once did he ogle her or appear to take delight in her unclothed body. Maybe he didn’t like Black women; hell, maybe he didn’t like women at all. And though she’d never sold her ass to get a come up or get out of a tricky situation, she contemplated offering all of that and then some if he would just let her walk. This was no patty cake shake down or two-bit hustle. This motherfucker was the real deal, and she was in deep. She could practically feel her lifetime reaching its expiration date, the clock ticking by merely sitting next to him.