Godsend 7: The Halo Effect

  Godsend: The Halo Effect

  Written by

  K. Elliott

  Published by 21Blackstreet, LLC

  Kindle Edition

  P.O. Box 12714

  Charlotte, NC 28220

  http://www.21blackstreetpublishing.com/

  Copyright 2012 by K. Elliott. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission. For information, address Urban Lifestyle Press, P.O. Box 12714 Charlotte, NC 28220 http://www.21blackstreetpublishing.com/

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  CHAPTER 1

  DICKIE SLATER WAS in a fucked-up predicament. He was hanging from a large tree in his own backyard. Dickie wasn’t about to die, though, because the thick, weather-worn rope was tied around his ankles. No shirt, no shoes, no socks; just a pair of dirty jeans. It was the third week of January, so even the weather was against him right now.

  Ruger, a 3-year-old, chained-up Rottweiler, just wouldn’t shut up. The dog seemed to be excited about his master slightly swinging upside down.

  Echo and Kiandra sat on the back porch steps, taking it all in. They had questioned the 280-pound white man at length about his connection to a known murderer who was serving prison time, but obviously Dickie hadn’t told them much.

  Kiandra said, “This could have been a nice place, if it wasn’t so junky. Nice trees, no nearby neighbors, and Fresno is only a few minutes away.”

  Echo said, “Two rusted motorcycles, a raggedy-ass tool shed, bike parts everywhere. I see why he lives in the country; the city would hit him with a fine every day.” Echo smiled. “Muthafucka turning red with all that blood rushing to his head.”

  She said, “Can you make that dumb-ass dog shut up without killing it?”

  “Yep. Be back in a minute.” Echo got up from the steps and entered the back door of the 3-bedroom house.

  Kiandra leaned back on her elbows, not giving a damn about her cheap suit. As Dickie slowly spun around Kiandra noticed, even from sixteen yards away, that the pasticuffs were digging into the man’s meaty wrists. She got up and headed towards him.

  Dickie’s arms were hurting because he was upside down and they were cuffed behind his back. By the time his body had made a full turn, his eyes were only two feet from Kiandra’s.

  She said, “You’re running out of time, Dickie. Your wife will be home from work in another ten minutes or so. Maybe you don’t believe we’ll get at her ass to make you talk but—”

  Echo stepped out of the house and said, “Look what I found,” and he held up a large plastic bag. “Enough good eating to make any dog shut up. Pimento cheese, raw roast beef, raw chicken, and a stick of butter, some mustard, and two pudding cups. That mutt should get good and full and lay the fuck down.” The dog didn’t like strangers, so Echo slung the bag of goods toward the dog.

  Ruger began devouring the mess and was no longer in a barking mood.

  Dickie said, “I can see that you guys ain’t real federal agents like you claim, so why you so interested in what happened to Leslie Moreland?”

  Kiandra said, “We already know what happened to her; she was killed at seven months pregnant. We wanna know who would have been the father.”

  Dickie said, “Well it sure as hell wasn’t me. And why’re you saying she was killed? I always heard she took an overdose of some prescription pills. A suicide.”

  Echo walked up to him and said, “We know a few things about the case that the cops didn’t know thirteen years ago, and we no longer believe it was a suicide. Somebody likely forced her to take the pills, and you know who that somebody is.”

  “I don’t know why you would think that.”

  “You used to ride with Jared until he got sent away for murder. He tried to force a woman to overdose but ended up shooting her when she was about to beat his fat ass in a foot race.” Echo thought that bushy chest hair on the man looked nasty.

  Dickie said, “But Leslie Moreland was killed about a year after Jared was already in prison for killing Savannah.”

  Echo said, You just said Leslie was killed. You didn’t say suicide that time.”

  “Killed, suicide – I don’t know ‘cause I had nothing to do with her death and I wasn’t at the motel when it happened. As for me being with Jared, he was the leader of our bike club. A lot of us was with him, but you’re only harassing me.”

  Kiandra said, “We’re looking at a few others in the gang, but we came to you first because our investigation suggests that you may be the weakest one. You like being around tough guys, but you’re not tough yourself. You’re gonna help us figure out who might have picked up Jared’s style for killing.”

  Echo reached out and gripped a patch of Dickie’s chest hairs. He yanked the hair out at its roots, causing a few blood speckles and forcing the big man to swing again.

  Dickie hollered out then quickly suppressed the noise as if suddenly remembering to be tough, take it like a man.

  Kiandra said, “Hear that? Sounds like your wife’s home, a few minutes early.”

  CHAPTER 2

  SHANNON SLATER was a rail-thin white woman with long hair and very little beauty. She knew it and was still happy with herself. She sucked on a Newport cigarette as she followed the black, female federal agent through the house and out the back door.

  Kiandra stopped on the back porch and said to Echo, who was standing next to an upside-down Dickie, “This is his wife, Mrs. Shannon Slater.”

  Shannon was shocked. She pulled the cigarette from her mouth and said, “Dickie, what the hell is going on?”

  Echo said, “He ain’t allowed to talk unless he’s answering our questions. But I can assure you, his ass is in a lot of trouble. And just so you know, your super-sized husband is willing to get you fucked up, too.”

  Dickie said, “Honey, you know that ain’t true.”

  Echo grabbed the man and began turning him and turning him as if winding him up. After forty-five straight seconds of rotation, Dickie had elevated four inches. Echo paused for a moment and said, “Earlier, you wouldn’t say much; now, you can’t keep your mouth closed. Let me give you something else to talk about.” Then, Echo flung Dickie’s weight back the other way, causing him to whirl at a dizzying pace.

  Shannon said, “Why are you doing him like that? You guys can’t be fuckin cops.”

  Kiandra took a few steps backwards then pushed Shannon’s thin ass off the porch.

  Shannon landed on her feet but dropped her cigarette. She didn’t bother to pick it up.

  Kiandra said, “Somebody in a motorcycle gang probably killed Leslie Moreland thirteen years ago, and they used the same tactic Jared Suthers used, but after he was convicted of murder. Jared was the gang’s—”

  “I know who Jared is. What the fuck’s this gotta do with my husband?” She looked at Dickie. He was still spinning.

  Echo was watching the dog mangle the stick of butter. He whistled and puckered at the dog but was ignored.

  Kiandra said, “Your husband is still in that gang, and we want him to tell us who forced Leslie to overdose on diazepam, also known as Valium, while she was seven month pregnant. And if he can’t or won’t help, we’ll have to fuck you and him up pretty bad so that you don’t tip the gang off before we pay them a visit.”

  Shannon laughed heartily, a genuine laugh. “The club
is affiliated with a big bar over in Havilah, a few miles south of Lake Isabella. You two plan on visiting Cycle Hut USA?” And she laughed again. “You’re not real cops. Them guys’ll have you for breakfast. Your bulldog tactics won’t work there.”

  Echo walked up to her. “Take all you clothes off. Right now.”

  “What for?”

  “I wanna see if you laugh when ten inches of dick get up in you.”

  “I’m not taking my damn clothes off. Just shoot me and get it over with.” She dug inside her coat pocket for her pack of Newports.

  Echo retrieved a handgun and aimed it at her jeans, the right thigh area.

  Shannon said, ‘Now just hold on a minute. I can help you; just don’t make me take my clothes off for you. Dickie tells me all the club’s business. They see themselves as a club, not a gang.”

  Echo looked at her husband. The spinning was slower now, almost done. He heard the man heave twice then vomit. Being upside down sent the mess up his face and into part of his hair. Echo said to Kiandra, “If I would have fucked Shannon, that means you woulda had to fuck big Dickie.”

  Kiandra’s mouth and nose twisted up.

  Echo said to Shannon, “Okay. We’ll question you inside then get info from your super-sized hubby. Whoever leaves out important details about the . . . club members will get the other one fucked up. I don’t need a history lesson on the club; just focus on the person or persons likely to do things the way Jared used to, especially criminal shit.”

  Kiandra said, “I didn’t know white women smoked Newports.”

  Shannon held the pack out for her to see. “Well, it doesn’t have a label that says For Coloreds Only.”

  CHAPTER 3

  HALO CAMERON was a charming white man at the age thirty-seven. He was an etymologist employed at the California Center for Language Arts. Tonight, he was off, though, and eager to pick up his new date for a fine evening out. He exited his San Jose home and made it to the driver’s door of his Lincoln Town car but paused to watch the Yukon SUV as it swerved from the street and abruptly stopped partly on his lawn.

  Brian, Derrick, and Etceterra got out of the Yukon and approached the man at his car. Brian said, “Halo, where the fuck you going on a Wednesday night? You breaking routine.”

  Halo said, “Who are you, and what is the nature of such untimely convergence?”

  Brian displayed his credentials. “Richard Gaston, private investigator. We’d like to ask you some questions about a former girlfriend of yours, Leslie Moreland.”

  “I suppose this concerns the insalubrious circumstances of her demise. If you would further delay your inquires until some later time in the near future, we could exchange queries and utterances to your satisfaction. Tonight, however, I have a much-anticipated appointment with a new acquaintance.”

  Derrick Freemont stepped up to Halo. At six-nine and 265-pounds, the well-dressed black man was very much an imposing figure. He said, “I suspect the superfluity of your syntactical irrelevancies has allowed you to impress yourself for far too long. Tonight you will be weaned off your heavy reliance on semantical rhetoric.”

  Halo was impressed, a bit intimidated, and said, “I’ll have you know that my lawyer will not appreciate any encumbrances that —”

  Derrick’s heavy hand swiftly smacked his smart ass to the cement driveway without even drawing back. He looked down at Halo. “In more simple terms, we got questions, and you better have some answers. Let’s take this meeting inside.”

  Several minutes later, Etceterra confirmed that the middle-class home was clear, and so the interrogation began in the front room. Brian stood face to face with Halo near the coffee table, while Derrick waited near the window. Etceterra searched computer files in a small bedroom that served as an office.

  Brian said, “My questions will be simple, and I expect simple answers. If your answer to a question includes a word that I don’t know the meaning of, you’ll hate you even learned the word. Understand me and my simple language?”

  “Yes,” Halo simply said. He was fearful of these men and hoped that this would not be his last night on earth.

  “The police questioned your extensively when Leslie was found dead in a motel room. She was seven months pregnant, but a blood test cleared you. Do you know who she was seeing at the time, the guy who may have been the father of her unborn?”

  “No, Sir. I had seen her in a grocery store when she was maybe three or four months pregnant, but I didn’t ask her who the father was, and she didn’t offer the information.”

  “Okay. By all accounts, she never used drugs, wasn’t suicidal, and would never check in at a sleazy motel like the Full Moon Inn. Who in her life could force or influence her to do some or all of those things?”

  Halo thought about it them shrugged. “Do you guys not believe she committed suicide?”

  “Stop asking questions and answer mine.”

  “She always told me she wasn’t ready for a child, but five months after we parted ways, she gets pregnant. Surely no one forced or influenced her to get pregnant.” His frustrations were coming out. “I don’t know who would force her to do any of those things. She told me she’d been sexually molested as a child but wouldn’t share the details. Maybe that helps.”

  Derrick said, “I don’t know how he did it, but the cops are here. That was fast, so they were probably already in the area.”

  Brian said to Halo, “I’mma break your ass up when this is over.”

  CHAPTER 4

  SERGEANT MITCH CHILDERS and Officer Lisa Flores of the San Jose Police Department waited in the cruiser behind the white Yukon. The computer in his vehicle allowed the sergeant to quickly run a check on the license plate of the SUV. They had no idea they were looked at a slap-on magnetic plate, but they quickly learned that the plates actually belonged to a 2005 Corvette.

  While the Sergeant checked on the Lincoln towncar plates, Officer Flores, a beautiful Hispanic policewoman, radioed in to the dispatcher. “Unit 117 investigating possible 460 and 11-54 all in relation to silent 10-33 on Kaplan Drive. Dispatch a second unit. Over.”

  With the police focusing on a burglary, a suspicious vehicle, and a silent home security alarm now, Brian and his trainees were in for a long night, likely down at the precinct.

  The pair excited the cruiser and cautiously peeked inside the Yukon. The bright searchlight from the cruiser lit up the home and driveway of Halo Cameron, and the cops headed toward the front door, each with a hand resting on the butt of their holstered service handgun.

  Officer Flores appreciated the leisurely feel of the new subdivision. There was at least one vehicle in most of the driveways all the way down to the stop sign. Two vehicles were travelling on the street but, otherwise, none of the residents appeared to be out at this time.

  Sergeant Childers rang the doorbell then backed off the small, cemented porch and waited on the two steps next to his partner.

  Etceterra opened the door calmly then pushed the storm door open. “Can I help you guys?”

  The Sergeant said, “Are you a resident of this house?”

  “Yes, Sir. I’m Halo Cameron. What’s the problem?”

  “We’ll need to see some ID, and I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the house.”

  “Am I under arrest for something?”

  Derrick stepped from the right corner of the home; Brian rushed from the right. Brian said. “Hands off the guns. Nothing else to think about.”

  He saw the officers freeze-up, but the woman looked like she started for her gun. He fired a silenced shot, hitting her waist bone, seemingly pushing her to the ground.

  Etceterra produced a handgun, came all the way out onto the small porch and aimed it at the sergeant’s chest.

  Brian rushed up to the woman, took her gun, and pat-searched her for a backup piece but didn’t find one. While Derrick searched the sergeant, Brian told Officer Flores, “I really didn’t want to shoot you, but you was about to try something that woulda got you k
illed.”

  She was hurting badly and doing everything she could to contain her moans.

  Brian said to Etceterra, “Get Halo’s sneaky ass. He’s coming with us. Got more questions for him.”

  Derrick had taken two guns off the sergeant. He slapped him in the back of the head, and it sounded off bluntly. “Tend to your fuckin’ partner. She’s got more nuts than you do.”

  The sergeant stepped over to his partner and took a knee next to her. He looked up and said, “Neither of us had a chance.”

  Etceterra stepped out of the door and said, “Halo got away. He’s gone. He’s in plasticuffs, but we don’t have time to look for him.”

  An old man next door came outside with a shotgun by his side. He wore glasses and walked with a slight hunch in his back. He adjusted his glasses and said, “Is everything alright over there?”

  Brian was pissed. He removed the silencer from his handgun and let off two loud shots toward the man, intentionally hitting his Cadillac. “Get your ass back in the house before I come over there.”

  The old man threw up one hand, as if waving, then turned to go back inside with his shotgun.

  CHAPTER 5

  THE SECOND UNIT arrived on Kaplan Drive, and suddenly Brian didn’t like his getaway changes. He and his crew were at the Yukon, about to get inside, but Brian looked at Etceterra and said, “Take the Yukon and wait for us at the stop sign.” When Etceterra was behind the wheel, Brian focused on the nearing cruiser. He said to Derrick, “We need to stop the police car.” He fired three loud shorts at Unit 138, hitting the front bumper and windshield. “Let them live unless you have no choice.”

  The cruiser was brought to an abrupt stop, and the two policemen inside ducked for cover.