Read Between Friends Online

Authors: D. L. Sparks

Tags: #Fiction, #Suspense, #General, #African American Police, #Urban Life, #Thrillers, #African American

Between Friends

Between Friends
D.L. Sparks
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
For Monica Renee Bowie
You are loved and truly missed.
Missing since July 5, 2007
This book, along with all my others, is dedicated to missing women everywhere. The ones who don't have the powerful voice of mainstream media, or the far reach of the movie camera. To you and your families I say: Don't give up hope because I haven't and know that you are not alone and I am praying with you for you loved ones safe return.
 
Unique Harris–Washington, DC
Missing Since 10/09/10
 
Evelyn Shelton-Spartanburg, SC
Missing Since 5/20/11
 
Chioma Gray-Ventura, CA
Missing Since 12/13/07
 
Sonsaray Warford-Richmond, KY
Missing Since 6/28/10
 
Dorian Suarez–Lavergne, TN
Missing Since 1/21/09
 
Shaquita Yolanda Bell-Alexandria, VA
Missing Since 6/27/96
 
For more information on these women and the scores of others please visit:
Black and Missing Foundation, Inc
.
 
www.bamfi.org
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Hunting is not a sport. In a sport, both sides should know they're in the game.
 
—Paul Rodriguez
Chapter One
Trip
“Come get you from where?”
“Atlantic Station, in front of Fox Sports Grill.”
I sat up a little and craned my neck to look at the clock on the nightstand next to the bed.
It read: 12:50
A.M.
I put my head back down on the pillow and closed my eyes.
“How you end up there?” My voice was still heavy with the four hours of sleep I had managed to get before I got this call.
“Long story. Just come get me.”
“A'ight, I'm on my way.” I tossed my phone onto the bed next to me.
No sooner had I closed my eyes and convinced myself that I had just dreamt that whole conversation, the phone rang again.
I picked it up without opening my eyes. “Spencer.”
“Man, get up and come
get
me!”
Thirty minutes later my partner, Philip “Big Phil” Porter, was climbing into the passenger seat of my truck. Standing upward of six feet two, and weighing no less than 200 pounds, Phil's large, muscular frame commanded respect. I wouldn't want anyone else kicking in doors with me during a bust.
“You wanna tell me what the hell is going on?” I yawned.
He hit the button and let the seat back. “Man, you know that chick I was with earlier?”
“Yeah, the one with the big ass.”
He nodded. “Yeah. She was married!”
All I could do was laugh and shake my head. “How did you find out?”
“When her crazy-ass husband ran up on her car when we were leaving Copeland's.”
“She wasn't wearing a ring?”
“No, she was wearing one.”
I looked at him in disbelief. “And you still took her out?”
“She said she got it as a gift for herself.”
“And your dumb ass believed her?” I laughed even harder.
“Come on man, you know women do shit like that all the time. They always on some old independent woman–type stuff.”
“Yeah, it was a gift all right,” I agreed. “A gift from her
husband
on her
wedding
day.”
He cut his eyes at me. “Just shut up and take me back to the hotel.”
I looked over at him. “Aw, and you got all dressed up for her and everything.”
“Fuck you,” he said, trying to sound hurt. “She could've been the one.”
“Yeah, the one for this area code. I see you managed to get something to eat,” I said, motioning to the white take-out bag on his lap.
He sat up like he'd forgotten he had it. “Oh yeah, I'm always gon' do that.”
He opened the bag and started going through the Styrofoam container.
“Yo, hold up! Don't start pulling food out in my truck,” I protested. “I still ain't got rid of that smell from the Chinese food you spilled the other night.”
“Man, chill out,” he said, shoving a handful of fries into his mouth.
My phone went off; a few seconds later his did the same. He pulled his from his hip and checked the display.
He wiped his hand on his pant leg. “Don't look like either one of us is getting any rest tonight, partner.”
I checked the rearview, hit the sirens and made a U-turn in the middle of Northside Drive; and headed toward Lee Street, where the text came from.
I pulled the truck to a stop in front of the address we'd been given.
“You got any thing I can change into in the back?” Phil asked.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
I hit the latch and we jumped out. A few moments later I heard him call out, “Yo, you got anything bigger than toddler size back here?”
“Hey, you can go up in here in your Smokey Robinson gear, for all I care.”
“Fuck you.”
He came alongside the truck and tossed me a vest. I watched as he squeezed into a Drug Enforcement Agency T-shirt, which was clearly too small for him. I looked at him and shook my head as he tried his best to make it work. I easily filled out an XL, so I knew Phil was definitely an XXL.
He looked up at me. “What?”
I chuckled. “Nothing.” I turned and headed inside.
The stench inside the tiny house was overwhelming; I couldn't help but feel nauseated. The linen face mask, which the coroner had given me, was doing nothing to keep the smell of death from penetrating my nose. The front door was destroyed, completely off the hinges. Definitely, whoever had kicked it in had been on a mission.
I scanned the room and counted three bodies in various places, all black males. Two appeared to have been killed execution style; the third showed signs of having been beaten. He was beaten beyond recognition and lying in a puddle of his own blood.
I found the ME in the other room. “What we looking at?”
“The two by the door took a thirty-eight in the back of the head. The other one—blunt-force trauma.”
“Any identification?”
“According to records, the corpse over there is Eddie Tucker.”
“The kingpin?” I asked, surprised.
The Atlanta Police Department officer nodded. “Yeah, shocked us too.”
When I saw all the drug paraphernalia, I damn sure wasn't expecting to find forwarding addresses or family portraits in the house, but I also wasn't expecting to find one of the most wanted kingpins in Atlanta and New Orleans either. We'd been tracking him back and forth across the state line for years and could never get a hook in him. Katrina had flushed out a lot of dealers and most were hopping back and forth over the state line into Georgia trying to avoid getting snatched up by us. Eddie was just one of many.
“What time frame are we looking at?”
“According to liver temps, one, maybe two yesterday morning. Got one more in the back bedroom.”
“Who called it in?”
“Anonymous.”
That didn't surprise me either. “Thanks.”
I made my way past a cluster of detectives and APD officers and headed toward the back of the small apartment. As I entered the already crowded room, my eyes immediately went to the bloodied body on the bed. From what I could tell, it was female.
I clapped my hands together. “All right, guess this is my official welcome home so what else we got?”
The officer standing there started talking. “Twenty-something female, beaten and raped. GSW to the right temple.”
I walked over to the bed and looked down at the girl. The twisted look on her face caused my heart to lurch. Her hair was plastered to the side of her head with dried blood from where the bullet had entered. Blood seeped from the gunshot wound to her ear and pooled on the bed next to her head. I couldn't help but think about my sister, Trinity. The girl had no business here and she definitely didn't deserve this.
“We think it's the same MO?” I asked, scribbling notes in my pad.
Phil nodded as he signed the ME's report. “It's definitely the same MO. Robbery, drug related.”
“Damn, man. This is getting out of control.”
“That Four Horsemen bust definitely messed up a lot of dealers' books. This could be coming from any number of people.”
The millions in drugs and money recently seized during that bust sent the streets into a tailspin. From the small-time dealers to the cats hidden behind gates in their upscale communities, everyone had took a hit, and they were all pissed. Now they were scrambling, trying to regain a stronghold that the bust shook loose.
The increase in stupidity on the streets of Atlanta wasn't the only thing that earned us our first-class ticket back to my hometown; it was that and the fact that the bust was believed somehow to have ties to the Fulton County Jail.
I walked back out into the living-room, which was now crawling with even more DEA agents and a few APD officers.
“Special Agent Orlando Spencer.”
The voice coming from behind me was all too familiar. I smiled and turned around. “Hello Captain Lewis?”
My former Captain smiled. “I see they called in the Golden Boy, all the way from New Orleans.”
I laughed. “Yeah, something like that.”
We gave each other a courteous handshake.
“They need you in the back, Captain.” An APD officer came up and interrupted our reunion.
He nodded in his direction. “I'll be right there.” He turned his attention back to me. “Duty calls. It's good seeing you. Good to have you back in town.”
“Good to be here Captain,” I lied.
He gave me a head nod. “We'll have to have drinks and catch up, Trip.”
I cracked a smile as he made his way to the back where his attention was needed.
I'd earned the nickname of “Trip,” short for “triple,” by being the third Orlando Spencer in the family. It was something my father started calling me when I was little, and it stuck. As a matter of fact, even in school, teachers rarely called me by my real name. I've always been known as Trip Spencer.
In the Tahoe, Phil was now eating the rest of whatever food he had rescued from his failed date. He smiled as I slid into the driver's seat.
“So that's your old captain.” He wiped a fake tear from his cheek. “It's so good to see you two reunited.”
I cranked up the truck. “Shut up and don't spill no shit on my floor.”
He laughed. “Don't get mad at me. You the one everyone treating like the second-coming around this camp.”
“Go 'head with that Phil,” I laughed.
He bit into his sandwich. “I'm just sayin' can I get some love? I'm a special agent
too
,” he said, pretending to whine.
I just shook my head and looked at him. “How can you eat that?”
He looked at me. “Don't start with that healthy diet, no-eating-after-midnight bullshit. My grandfather lived to be eighty-three years old and ate whatever he wanted.” He stuffed the last of his sandwich into his mouth and popped the last of his fries in as well.
I shook my head. “Yeah, okay.”
“Stop worrying about my food and let's go,” he said.
“I just got a text from my informant. We gotta be over off Bankhead in fifteen.”
“Let's ride.”
Being back in Atlanta opened up a lot of boxes in my mind full of memories that I had long ago packed away—some good, some not so good.
When I initially left this city behind and took the spot with the agency, over six years ago, I had no intention of returning. An opening in the New Orleans DEA office offered me the perfect escape from everything that I had grew to hate about Atlanta. So NOLA's unfortunate loss of an agent turned into an opportunity for me to leave behind a city full of baggage. But this case had brought me back, once again, and all I could do was hope the baggage in my closet would stop shifting long enough for me to get the job done and retreat back to New Orleans.
I listened as Phil tried to get his CI on the phone. He wanted to see if his confidential informant had any information about what happened tonight. The informant claimed not to know anything about the killings, but he did give us a heads-up on a potential bust. He was hooked up with the informant through an Atlanta undercover he knew who'd been working the case with us the past few months. The UC assured Phil the informant was reliable and set up communications as soon as we touched down. We all agreed that bust was too big, which meant there was entirely too much at stake for no one to be talking.
We pulled into the dark parking lot in front of the Family Dollar on Bankhead and cut the lights on the truck and waited. The dilapidated area in the heart of Atlanta spoke volumes about the state of mind of the people it held in its arms. There were no 401(k) plans or money market accounts for these people, only what the streets had to offer; and we were constantly trying to take that away from them.
After about five minutes I started to get agitated. I wasn't sure if I was on edge from knowing I was in the same city with Idalis again, or if it was just the intensity of what was going on. But whatever it was, I was ready to get it over with and head back down I-20. I looked at the clock on the dash; it was almost three, and I was officially running on fumes. Our day began almost two days ago and, thanks to napping in the truck when I could and eating drive-through meals, I was hurting for a good eight hours of sleep and a real meal. Not to mention, I still hadn't made it to see my mother and sister.
I reached up and rubbed the stress knot in my shoulder. “Man, where's this informant?”

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