Baltimore Chronicles (7 page)

Fuck that! Derek wasn't about to punk out and kill himself and let Scar win that easily. He had to make a move and make it fast. “Scar, you fucking piece of shit!” Derek growled.

 

As usual, Scar left out the back door of Derek and Tiphani's house. He had a smirk on his face, thinking about the serious pussy pounding he had just put on her ass. He also felt real good that she had done the deed of delivering a copy of his blackmail material to Derek. Scar knew Derek must've been shitting bricks after seeing those pictures. He figured his big brother should've known that he had video cameras everywhere that he could run back and make stills from.

Scar always had it in the back of his mind that shit would go sour with him and his brother one day. If truth be told, he had never really forgiven Derek or his mother for all of the torment he went through as a kid.

Scar walked through the neighbor's backyards and came around to the front of the house two doors down. He looked around and started up the street to his truck. He never parked right in front of Tiphani and Derek's house.

As he ambled forward thinking about his next move, he heard footsteps thundering in his direction.

“Scar Johnson, freeze! Police!” they screamed out.

“Not this bullshit again,” he mumbled. Scar was suddenly surrounded by a swarm of police officers with guns drawn. He stopped dead in his tracks and raised his hands. This was all too familiar, except this time it wasn't an acting job, nor did he know they were coming.

“Keep your hands up and turn around until I tell you to stop!” one of the cops screamed out.

Scar did as he was told. When he turned to face them—

“Gun!” they screamed out.

Since Derek had busted up on them before, Scar never went over there without being strapped.

“Yo, be easy. I'm not gonna try nothing funny,” Scar yelled out, knowing that if he didn't, those quick-to-shootass cops would've filled his ass full of lead.

“Get on ya fuckin' knees and keep ya hands up!” an officer screamed out. Scar did as he was told. He could hear an officer approaching from the back. About sixteen others kept their guns trained on him, and he could see the glare from a red laser sight shining on his nose.

Scar suddenly felt a hand reach around the front of him and grab his gun out of his waistband.

“I got it,” the officer yelled as he retreated away from Scar.

“Take him down,” another one screamed. Suddenly Scar was pushed face down on the ground. Three or four officers dropped knees into his back and roughly grabbed his arms and pulled them around his back.

“Stephon ‘Scar' Johnson, you are under arrest, and here is the arrest warrant!” an officer said, placing the paper up to Scar's face as they pulled him up off the ground. “You have the right to remain silent, anything—”

“Yeah, yeah, mu'fucka, I've heard it all before,” Scar grumbled. Once again he was forced into a police car. This time Scar had no idea what probable cause they had to be locking him up. The only thing he could think of was that one of those weak-ass corner boys on his payroll must've been down at the station house singing like a fucking bird about Scar and his operation.

Scar flexed his jaw just thinking about it. Every time he felt he had gotten an upper hand on his brother, Derek came back with something else to bring him back to reality. This was a real war, and although he knew he would have to temporarily get someone to fight for him, Scar was willing to do anything now. Derek had to be stopped.

“Make sure I get a phone call to my fucking lawyer,” Scar spat as the door to the police car slammed shut.

Derek smiled when he heard that they had picked up Scar on the arrest warrant; however, he wasn't too happy to know that Scar was picked up on the block where he used to live with his wife. The officers that had been following Scar to prepare for the arrest were all buzzing about Scar being on Derek's street. They had been unable to see exactly which house Scar had gone into, though, since they had stayed a few car lengths away. Scar had parked down the street and walked through a bunch of backyards and disappeared.

Derek knew immediately that Scar had been in his home fucking his wife again, and the idea of it incensed him. His imagination started to run wild. He was picturing Scar fucking Tiphani; then he could see Scar cooking breakfast in his kitchen and picking up his little girl or playing video games with his son.

Derek slammed his fist on his desk, garnering a few strange looks from other officers and staff members around him. Derek wanted to clear his mind. He had been plagued with crazy thoughts and ideations. Once, he had even seen himself strangling Tiphani until the life went out of her eyes.

Shaking his head and trying not to stress, Derek stood up to go outside for a bit of fresh air. When he turned around to leave his desk, he bumped head first into Chief Hill.
Fuck!
Derek screamed in his head.

“Excuse me,” Derek said, startled.

“Were you responsible for the arrest of Scar Johnson today?” the chief asked dryly, hardly fazed by Derek's nervous body language.

“Nah, um…I mean, he was picked up based on probable cause based on information from a confidential informant that we developed after the raids,” Derek stammered. He didn't fucking know why this chief unnerved him so badly, but it made him angry.

Derek didn't like the look the chief was giving him. Fuck it, he could admit it; he didn't like the chief at all.

The chief looked him up and down with a scowl on his face. “Do you mean reasonable suspicion, Officer Fuller?” Chief Hill said.

“Detective Fuller,” Derek corrected him.

The chief ignored the correction. “I want to see the probable cause affidavit. I want to know everything about the informant too. I will not be embarrassed in a court of law. I'm hearing rumors already that the judges are agreeing that they will set bail for Johnson if he comes before them.

“This shit is starting to look like a fucking witch hunt now, Officer Fuller. You should've waited until you had concrete evidence of a crime. If Johnson walks again, shit might change for you. Like I said…Officer Fuller,” Chief Hill said with finality. He turned his back and walked away before Derek could say anything in his own defense.

Suddenly the chief doubled back. “I hope all of this ‘out for blood' shit you got going on with Johnson doesn't have anything to do with a certain affair and divorce,” the chief commented.

Derek almost choked on his own saliva. “What?” Derek said in a low whisper, squinting his eyes with contempt.

“I'm just letting you know once again that there will be no bullshit on my watch,” Chief Hill reminded Derek, leaving him standing there dumfounded.

 

Archie left the station house in a rush. It had been a long couple of weeks. Detective Fuller had been pushing them extremely hard to go after Scar Johnson, and then the deaths of Bolden and Cassell. Shit had been weighing hard on Archie's mind, even causing him nightmares. He wanted to get home—no, he needed to get home. Even the modified duty status didn't make shit better.

Finally making it outside, Archie revved up his motorcycle and used his foot to release the kickstand. He refused to drive his vehicle after the car bombings, and he checked and doubled checked his bike each time he was ready to ride it. Archie was super paranoid at home, too, and forbid his wife from driving any of their vehicles either.

With his mind heavy, Archie sped out of the station house parking lot and turned onto the street, heading for home. He made a left, and so did the car that was following him. Archie made a right; the car turned right as well. Archie was oblivious to the fact that he was being followed.

He never usually followed the rules of the road, and often cut in and out of traffic to bypass cars when he rode his motorcycle. After the deaths of his coworkers, he had an overwhelming fear of dying, so he began to follow the rules of the road.

Archie stopped at a red light and placed his feet on the ground to steady his bike. He flexed his back and wrists, which tended to get a little stiff when he rode for long distances. Staring straight ahead, he never saw the black van pull behind him and the bodies dressed in all black approaching him from either side. A lady blew her horn, trying to warn him, but a gun was put in her face.

The light turned green, and just as Archie lifted his feet back onto the bike's gear pedals, he felt something slam into the side of his head. He was hit with such force that he and his bike toppled over.

Archie opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He didn't even have time to fight or go for his weapon. A black bag was placed over his head, and he was dragged from under his bike, which had fallen on his legs.

Finally realizing he was in danger, he began to thrash and fight. Archie fought for air as his captors held him in a severely tight headlock.

“Mmmm,” Archie groaned, his air supply being cut off. Swinging his arms and legs wildly, he tried to fight for his life. He was thrown into the back of a van, while his bike was left revving on the street.

 

Scar was laughing as the judge set his bail at ten thousand dollars. He thought he had to be the luckiest fuck in Baltimore. Either that or his payoffs were paying off. Ten grand was candy money to him.

Scar had his lieutenant pick him up and post the bail. On the ride from the jail, he was filled in on the latest war move. Scar was happy to hear about the capture of Archie. He knew this would be a low blow to Derek and the Maryland State Police. Another one of their men missing would definitely start ringing some alarms and bringing heat on Derek's dirty ass.

They drove to a secret spot near the beach in Baltimore that hardly anyone knew about, even members of Scar's own crew. Scar rushed inside to ensure he wasn't spotted.

“Where is he?” Scar asked.

Scar was led down into an old industrial wine cellar, and there he was. “Well, well, well. Looks like your boss let you down,” Scar said, looking at Archie's battered and bruised naked body tied to a chair. “So, I heard you won't tell my little friends here who the informant was that snitched on me after the raids,” Scar said, lifting Archie's downturned head so he could look into his battered eyes.

Archie's eyes were almost swollen shut. They were riddled with blue, red, and purple bruises, and blood was crusted all over his face.

“F…fuck you,” Archie groaned out, barely able to get the words out. Archie knew he was going to die anyway, so he wasn't going to go out like a bitch and tell Scar what he wanted to hear. Once Scar's little henchmen had taken the bag off of Archie's head and showed their faces, Archie knew he would never leave there alive.

“Fuck me? Aw, that's just too bad. You and your little crew have been trying to fuck me for years, but guess what? Your precious leader, Detective Fuller, is really Derek Johnson—my fuckin' brother—and he has been on my payroll for years. So, all of your hard work would've never paid off anyway. He fucked you!” Scar said, lifting his gorilla fist and punching Archie across the face for emphasis.

Archie didn't even scream. He was so numb from the pain.

“Take care of him,” Scar instructed, leaving Archie to the wolves. One of Scar's henchmen walked over, placed the jumper cables on Archie's two big toes, and sent enough of an electric surge through his body to restart a car battery.

Archie screamed so hard and so loud that the back of his throat began to bleed. He knew he was better off dead.

 

Derek was sitting in Rodriguez's home, drowning his sorrows in a bottle of Hennessy when he heard commotion downstairs. Startled, he stood up on wobbly legs and pulled out his weapon to investigate.

Creeping into the hallway, gripping his gun tightly, Derek slurred, “Who the fuck is it?” He lifted his gun up haphazardly. “Rodriguez? You better say something before you get a few in your ass,” Derek continued, his words choppy.

Stumbling on the stairs, Derek finally made it downstairs without falling on his face. Looking around, he started flicking on lights. “Who the fuck is in here?” he belted out, but he didn't see anyone in the house. He stumbled into the kitchen—nothing. It was the same result in the living room.

“Better had gotten the fuck outta here,” he mumbled, walking over to the big bay window in the living room.

Derek pulled back the curtains on the window to continue his investigation, but he didn't see anyone on the porch either. Derek squinted and ducked his head to get a better view outside. He looked out into the street. He knew it wasn't raining, but he could see something dripping from the sky onto his car. It was like it was raining in one spot—on his car.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement. Maybe someone running away from the house? He couldn't tell; he was having trouble focusing. “What the fuck is that?” he spoke to himself, squinting harder. Finally, he unlatched the front door and stumbled down the front steps to the curb where his car was parked.

Gun in hand, Derek stood in the street in front of the hood of his car. Then he felt drops on his head too. Derek touched the liquid substance that was dripping on his car and then on his head. He looked at his hand and saw that it was covered in blood. “What the fu—” Derek slowly raised his head and looked up. He screamed, dropping his weapon and stumbling over the curb.

“Arrggghhh!” he screamed again as he looked up at the eviscerated remains of his unit member Archie. The sight of the blood and hanging intestines and guts caused Derek to pass out.

 

Scar's mystery stalker had been following him for weeks now, and this was the most gruesome thing the stalker had witnessed. The stalker had watched as Scar's henchmen took a beaten and bloodied body and strung it up outside of Detective Rodriguez's house. After the henchmen left, the stalker waited a few minutes before going to examine the body. The men had placed something in the pants pocket of the body and taken something out and thrown it onto the lawn. The stalker needed to find out what it was and who the body was. The war between Detective Fuller and Scar was in full swing, and there wasn't much for the stalker to do except make sure it went on long enough for both men to be destroyed.

As the stalker slowly snuck up on the crime scene, it became obvious that it was even more gruesome than it appeared from a distance. The body was strung up, gutted, and draining blood like a pig in a slaughter house. It was enough to send shivers down anyone's spine. Sure, the stalker had witnessed deaths and beatings before, but never anything so vicious. There was a split second where the stalker just wanted to turn around, leave, and forget about the mission. Hopefully Detective Fuller and Scar would just destroy themselves. But the stalker's obsession with payback and vengeance quickly put those thoughts to rest.

The first thing that was noticed were two big knots of bills, one in each front pocket of the body. The stalker took one, but it felt kind of damp, so the stalker thought better of taking the second one. It was left in Archie's pocket.

Next up was to investigate what was thrown on the lawn. It wasn't easy to see in the dark, so it took a while to find what had been thrown. Just as the stalker was about to stop looking and leave, the object was spotted. It was a cell phone. The stalker knew this could be beneficial to the one-sided war being waged against Scar and Detective Fuller.

Immediately, the phone was opened up and the contents were searched. There wasn't much on the phone that would help. Dejected, the stalker was about to put the phone away, but then a plan materialized.

It happened when searching through the contact list on the phone. Detective Fuller's name and number were on the list. The stalker first dialed Scar's number and hung up immediately, then repeated the action, but with Detective Fuller's number.

Just as the calls were finished, the curtains in the bay window were pushed open, startling the stalker. Immediately, the stalker wiped the phone of fingerprints and ran. During the retreat, the phone was thrown under Detective Fuller's car so it would be easier for the cops to find.

About five minutes later, the police received an anonymous tip about a dead body hanging from a utility pole.

 

The lights and sirens flashed around Derek as he lay knocked out. When Derek came back into consciousness, he was on a stretcher surrounded by EMTs and a swarm of police. Derek recognized more than one of the crime scene investigators.

“Derek? What the fuck happened here?” Rodriguez asked when she noticed Derek had opened his eyes. Rodriguez had had enough. She wanted an explanation, and was starting to grow very suspicious about the deaths of her fellow unit members and Derek's strange behavior. It seemed to Rodriguez that each time shit went down, Derek was nearby, or had just been in contact with the officer before he was killed. Both she and Fuller had been involved in some shady shit before, but never would she have thought about killing one of her unit members. To her, that was the grimiest and most low-down things anyone could do. She didn't want to believe that Fuller could do something like that, but everything was pointing that way.

She also had reason to believe that Derek had motive for killing Cassell. The day that woman dropped off the envelope for Derek at her doorstep, there was also a note left for her. It simply stated
Detective Fuller had a reason to kill Cassell. Check the warrant
. At the time, she ignored it, thinking it was just his wife trying to stir some shit. Now she wasn't so sure.