The files led Thorpe to the Bainbridge Apartment complex. Bainbridge, by any name, was one of the most malignant locales in the city. Federally funded, the apartments constantly changed names. As an officer, Thorpe had once been assigned to the Foot Beat Unit. Foot Beat officers had patrolled these housing complexes nightly, but the unit faded away with grant losses and manpower shortages. Now the only crime fighting the apartments applied were name changes. When a particular housing project was featured one too many times on the evening news, preceded by the words “another shooting at,” the complex would simply change its name.
About a month ago, uniformed officers had cornered a homicide suspect inside one of Bainbridge’s units. A mob formed and started throwing rocks at the police. During the subsequent melee, a reporter became part of the story when a reveler grabbed her by the hair and threw her against the side of a news van. The event culminated with a couple of shots fired at officers. As with most incidents like this, the complex became one of the safer places in the city for the next week as officers made examples of anyone who poked a head out a door. Prior to the riot, the North side community complained of a lack of police enforcement: after, they claimed racial profiling. Damned if you do… Police personnel had since been shuffled to other hotspots, and the complex resumed its status as a federally funded criminal housing project.
Thorpe drove through the complex with the hope of spotting Kaleb’s car parked outside his girlfriend’s apartment. The vehicle wasn’t in the lot, and Thorpe couldn’t linger without drawing attention. But he needed to find Kaleb soon; these guys had a way of leading short lives, and if Kaleb went and got himself killed before Thorpe got a chance to interrogate him, the secret would die with the little shit.
Thorpe exited and stopped at a nearby convenience store, yet another prime crack-buying location, and a place where Thorpe had initiated many foot pursuits. The store provided a payphone, which the drug dealers appreciated, and didn’t have surveillance cameras, which the dealers loved. Thorpe climbed from the vehicle and used the payphone to dial Kaleb’s cell phone number.
“Who this?” A male answered.
Thorpe pulled a name out of his ass. “This is Sergeant Thomas Brightling. I’m a detective for the Tulsa Police Department’s Office of Integrity and Compliance.”
“Office of who?”
“I’m an Internal Affairs investigator with the police.”
“So?” Kaleb said with feigned disinterest.
“So…I know you’re working for TPD as an informant. Your case officer is Brian Hickey.”
Several seconds of silence preceded Kaleb’s response. “What do you want?”
“I need to see you right now, Mr. Moment. What you need to know is this: your case officer is suspected of providing information to people he shouldn’t. He will be relieved of duty before the night is over. I need to speak with you in reference to the Chamberlain case you handed to Hickey. If you cooperate, you’re done, your contract is fulfilled; you won’t have to do anymore work for the department. If you don’t, or if you decide to call Hickey after I hang up, I will personally negate any progress you’ve made on your contract and send your ass straight to prison. Now, where you at?”
“Shit…I’m at my place.”
“Where’s that?”
“Bainbridge.”
“I just drove through there and didn’t see your car.”
“My car ain’t here ‘cause the fucking thing got stolen,” Kaleb said with overt hostility.
“Anyone there with you?”
“My woman.”
“Make up an excuse and walk to the park just north of the complex. I’ll be in a dark gray Chevy Tahoe. Do not tell her what you’re doing.”
Five minutes after Thorpe pulled into the park, he watched a figure cross the darkened grounds. Kaleb approached the passenger side door, opened it, and climbed inside. A blast of cold air and the smell of marijuana entered the car along with its new occupant.
“You don’t look like a cop.”
“I thought you might appreciate that since I came to pick you up in your ‘hood. You want to see my I.D.?”
“No. What’s this about?”
“We think Hickey’s been selling information, including the names and addresses of his informants.” Thorpe’s intention was to scare the shit out of his guest. It worked.
Kaleb sat in stunned silence before his lips started working. “Fuck! Fuck me! This is fucking bullshit! Fuck, I’m a fucking dead man!” DNA-laden spit flew out of Kaleb’ mouth onto the dash. Thorpe made a mental note to give the area around Kaleb a thorough scrubbing…after.
“Kaleb, I need you to calm down. We’re going to take care of this, and you.”
“Take care of ME! You fucks can’t even find my fucking car! Fuck!”
“Kaleb, we can’t let this get out. What did you tell your girlfriend when you left?” Kaleb didn’t respond. Terrified his homeboys would discover he was a snitch, he wasn’t listening. In Kaleb’s mind, he was already dead. Thorpe needed to refocus the man’s attention.
“Kaleb, listen to me! What did you tell your girlfriend when you left?”
“I didn’t tell the bitch nothin’! She don’t need to know what I do.”
“Bullshit, Kaleb, you told her something.”
“I told her I’d be right back, that’s all.”
“Well, it’s going to be a few minutes. My captain and I need to get a recorded statement. I’m taking you to a motel room.”
“A motel room? Why we going to a motel room?”
Thorpe played on Kaleb’s fear. “Do you want the wrong cop seeing you and me walk into Internal Affairs together? This can’t get back to Hickey.”
“Motherfucker! I don’t want to testify against no cop. I’ll have fucking everyone huntin’ my ass then!”
Thorpe put the SUV into drive. “You won’t have to testify. He won’t know you talked. He’s done a lot more than this. You’re just another nail in the coffin.”
“Fuck! I knew that motherfucker was dirty.” For some reason all drug dealers think all cops are corrupt. Maybe it makes them feel better about themselves.
Thorpe possessed keys to several repellent motel rooms scattered around the city. Under the guise of being cooperative with law enforcement, the motel managers allowed police free access to designated rooms. Everyone knew the managers of these motels relied on drug dealing and prostitution; otherwise, they wouldn’t have any customers at all. The Vice Unit used them for John stings and other operations. The motels were never filled to capacity, so it didn’t cost anything to let officers have keys to some of the ‘suites.’ Management only bothered to have the rooms cleaned once a week or so, but Thorpe figured the regular rooms didn’t receive much more attention than theirs.
As Thorpe drove to the motel, he gave Kaleb instructions. “We’ve rented this room for a full week. You’re welcome to stay here until we figure out what all information Hickey leaked.”
Kaleb nodded his head dazedly.
“I’m going to let you out around the corner. Here’s the key to room 142. It’s located on the south side of the building. You don’t want everyone to know you’re here with the cops. I’ll wait a couple of minutes before I follow you in.”
Thorpe parked in a secluded lot near a Whataburger fast food restaurant and let Kaleb out. “You take off, it’s your ass! I’ll have a warrant out for your arrest within an hour. You give a statement, you’ll never see us again. You have my word.” Kaleb ambled off toward the motel, staring at his feet and mumbling profanities.
Even though the Tahoe’s tags weren’t on file, Thorpe walked behind the SUV and removed the license plate. He then opened the back and spread heavy plastic over the cargo area. Having completed those tasks, Thorpe drove to the motel and backed the Tahoe up to room 142.
Pulling a baseball cap low on his head and turning up his collar, Thorpe grabbed the roll of plastic and a backpack. He walked to the motel’s door with his chin tucked to his chest. He knocked lightly. Kaleb opened up. Thorpe stepped inside the musty room, closed the door and tossed the backpack on the bed. As Kaleb’s eyes followed the pack through the air, Thorpe moved toward Kaleb and cracked him on the jaw with a sharp elbow. The informant reeled backward onto the floor. In a matter of seconds, Thorpe had Kaleb’s mouth, hands, and feet secured with tape.