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.
The blow didn’t knock Kaleb unconscious. He lay on the carpet and stared at Thorpe with wide, terrified eyes. Thorpe searched Kaleb’s person and found a voice-activated digital recorder in a pocket of his jacket. Thorpe hit rewind on the small machine and then pressed play. Some of the discussion he and Kaleb had had on the trip over played on the machine. Fucking snitches, Thorpe thought as he rewound to the beginning and hit play again. The recording began in the middle of his earlier phone conversation with Kaleb. After the phone conversation terminated, a woman’s voice could be heard: “Who’s that?”
“Fucking pigs again. They won’t leave my ass alone. I ain’t done shit,” Kaleb replied on the recording.
“What they want?”
“They keep trying to blackmail me into giving up my homies. I ain’t told them nothin’. Just keep feedin’ ‘em fulla shit.”
“Tell them to fuck off,” replied the woman’s voice.
“Baby, who’s going to take care of you if they send me to prison on some bullshit case?”
“Always fuckin’ the black man,” the female agreed.
“Ain’t that da truth. Don’t tell anybody what I’m doin’, baby. Nobody will understand I’m just playin’ em.’ I’ll shovel some shit into this cracker and be right back.”
Thorpe pressed stop on the recorder. “Kaleb, Kaleb… I wish you hadn’t told your girlfriend.”
The girl presented a problem but there was nothing he could do about it. Thorpe pulled out his knife—the act instantly eliciting muffled cries and a thrashing on the floor. Thorpe carried the knife to the bed where he cut off a section of plastic and spread it on the floor. Then he propped a wooden chair in the middle of the plastic before lifting Kaleb off the filthy carpet and setting him on the seat. All of Thorpe’s actions were purposely theatrical.
Thorpe used duct tape to secure Kaleb to the chair by wrapping it around his chest. Finished, he stepped toward the door and engaged the deadbolt and chain. Then he moved to the bed and opened his backpack. For added effect, he removed several crude instruments, including a small pair of pruning shears and a rusty hacksaw. After, Thorpe approached his captive but stood to the side where he couldn’t be kicked.