He guided the Cutlass right on 36th Street North and passed a Tulsa Housing Authority complex on his left. Thorpe had worked shootings, murders, stabbings, rapes and engaged in numerous foot pursuits in and around this complex. Just east, on the north side of the street, a dirt road disappeared into a large wooded tract populated with working oil wells. Sometimes car thieves would drive their newly procured “hot boxes” to this secluded area, where they could strip the vehicles in privacy. Thorpe pulled left onto the dirt road that he knew from experience branched off into additional tracks.
“You guys are back here?” Leon asked, finally getting a whiff of something that didn’t smell right.
“You don’t want to be seen do you?” Thorpe reassured him.
“No…look, man, I don’t know….this is…can you show me some I.D.?”
Because it was dark inside the car, Thorpe obliged and pulled out his neck badge waving it in Leon’s direction.
“Look, man, this is fucked up. Why don’t you just take me to the FBI office?” Leon’s survival instinct had finally tossed the bullshit flag.
“The command post is right around this corner, Leon. Relax.”
Thorpe could tell his passenger was considering bailing out of the car. He sensed him eyeing the door release. Too late now, asshole.
They drove past a working pump jack. Also known as a nodding donkey because of its appearance, the machinery was an over-ground drive for a piston pump on an oil well. Tulsa was once considered the oil capital of the world and is still home to a number of wells, though most are out of view from the casual motorist.
Thorpe heard the click of the seatbelt release and the distinctive zip of the belt retracting into its housing unit. Leon, realizing he’d stepped into some deep shit, was attempting to escape. Unconcerned, Thorpe stopped the car, lowered the front windows, removed the key from the ignition, grabbed his gear bag from the rear seat, and stepped out of the Cutlass. He rounded the back of the car just in time to watch Leon slide through the open window, land on his head, and somersault onto his ass and up to his feet—an acrobatic move and probably a painful one considering he was still cuffed behind his back. The man was motivated.
Just as his prisoner gained his feet, Thorpe delivered a front heel kick to Leon’s kidney. The blow sent the small man crashing to the ground on his left shoulder. Not being able to use his arms to control his balance or break his fall, Leon landed awkwardly. When he stood again, his shoulder drooped at an unnatural angle, the fall apparently dislocating the joint. Enough adrenaline coursed through Leon’s system to block the pain. Only determination registered on his face. There were no cries of agony.
“Take these cuffs off, motherfucker, and let me go to work on you…fucking bitch,” Leon screamed.
Thorpe slung the gear bag over his shoulder, sidestepped a kick, and grabbed Leon by his coat collar. He dragged him over to a pair of 15-foot tall oil tanks. A metal staircase led to a small catwalk spanning the tops of the tanks. Thorpe propped Leon against the steel railing, unzipped Leon’s coat, and using the garment as a makeshift straightjacket, pulled the coat’s shoulders down to his captive’s elbows. He then looped another cuff around the plastic still attached to Leon’s wrists and wrapped it around the railing. Thorpe cinched the cuffs tight. He didn’t want to leave any space—desperate prisoners have been known to tear off their own skin in an attempt to free themselves.
Thorpe stepped back from his prisoner, knelt down, and pulled off his hood. The two men stared at each other until recognition flooded into Leon’s eyes.
“Aw, fuck, man! That shit wasn’t supposed to happen.”
It was bitterly cold, but Leon sat drowning in sweat, fear and pain. Thorpe attached Flexcuffs to Leon’s ankles, cinching them tight. Then he retrieved a rag and told Leon to open his mouth.
“Fuck you,” Leon spit.
Thorpe walked behind his captive, isolated Leon’s index finger from the rest and torqued it sideways until a joint gave way. Leon let out an agonizing moan but didn’t scream.
“I can do this nine more times. Open your mouth,” Thorpe repeated.
Leon complied, and Thorpe stuffed the opening with a rag, careful not to get his fingers bitten off in the process. He secured the rag with duct tape, walked to the Cutlass and backed the car up to where Leon sat. He retrieved a section of rope from the bag and tied one end around the Flexcuffs on Leon’s legs. Nearly drowned out by the rhythmic noise pollution of the nodding donkey, Thorpe could hear Leon’s muffled cries as he walked toward the rear of the car with the other end of the rope. The man realized what was in store for him. Thorpe tied off the rope to the underside of the Cutlass and returned to his thrashing prisoner.
“Leon, shut up and listen.” His captive continued to thrash and squeal like a bound hog. Thorpe grabbed him by both ears and peered directly into his eyes. “You want to get out of this shit?”
Leon looked pleadingly at Thorpe and nodded his head.
“Good. It’s important you listen carefully. Do you understand?” Openly crying now, Leon again nodded. “I’m going to ask you a series of questions. I already know the answers to most, but you don’t know which ones. All I want is honest answers—no matter how bad it makes you look. If you answer all the questions truthfully, you won’t have to endure this.” Thorpe motioned to the rope. “But if you tell one lie…just one…I’m going to stretch you out. And, Leon, I won’t drive away fast; I’ll rip you in half slow—like a sheet of paper. The first that’ll go are your shoulders because of the way they’re positioned. It’s going to hurt like a bitch. When you pass out—and I promise you Leon, you will pass out—I have some smelling salts to bring you back. And then we’ll start all over again. Understand?”
Leon nodded vigorously.
“I’m going to remove the gag. If you scream, I’ll smash your teeth in and force this rag back into your mouth, and then I’ll start stretching you out…got it?” Leon again nodded his head. Thorpe pulled off the duct tape and removed the rag from Leon’s mouth. “Leon, tell me what’s going to happen if you lie to me.”
“You’re going to fuck me up…but you’re going to kill me no matter what I say.”
“That’s a fact. But how I do it is your choice, Leon. Tell the truth, and you can die quick with a clear conscience. Lie and you can be slowly ripped apart and go straight to your maker with a lie on your lips. They killed my family, Leon, and those child killers aren’t worth protecting. They’re not worth the pain I’m willing to dish out.”
“Shit…man, I didn’t…”
“Shut up with the whining, Leon, or so help me…”
“Fuck,” Leon said, crying. “What do you want to know?”
“I want to know everything.”
“Fuck, man, this thing started out so small and just blew up. My pops was so fucking pissed at me and Lyndale when you caught us with that dope. He was mad at Lyndale, but he was crazy fucking pissed at me. Lyndale already had trouble with the law, but I done a good job staying away from that shit. I even had some college. Fuck! It all started when Pops bailed me out of jail. He was talking about kicking me out of the house, disowning me, just flushing me down the fucking toilet. Man, I panicked…and I felt bad about letting down my old man. He’s a good guy, a Christian, always tried to do right…”
“Get to the fucking point, Leon,” Thorpe interrupted.
“Anyway, I start trying to convince him that you planted the dope on us. I wasn’t lookin’ to get anyone in trouble, man; I was just tryin’ to get out of it. So I keep on him about this shit, tell him this sergeant pulled some dope out and planted it on Lyndale. Told him you said they weren’t going to let a bunch of niggas run around like we own the place. Man, I see this shit start to take a hold on him, so I just keep workin’ it. Pops starts making some phone calls, tells me to stay put, and leaves. A couple hours later he shows back up, tells me that some others had been set up by you, too. He wants me to come with him—tell my story to some other officers.