Maximum Guilt (Hidden Guilt Book 2) (25 page)

Marci finally sent a list of names: Mark Romero, Luke Rasmus, Bryan Sills, Justin Dudley, Jermaine Carter.

Now it was time to do her research and pick her next victim.

It didn’t take long to discover that all of them had one glaring thing in common: each had been placed on administrative leave at least once. Three of them more than once. And one three times.

The more she dug, the more she knew Mark Romero was her man. He’d been placed on leave without pay three times and investigated for everything from excessive use of force to tampering with a witness. One of the accusations against him was that he forced prostitutes to perform sexual favors in lieu of going to jail. To Stacy that was the same thing as rape. He forced women to have sex with him against their will.

So why haven’t they nailed this guy
, she wondered?

A few more website checks and Google searches provided her with even more reasons not to like Mark Romero. Turns out the guy had married the chief’s daughter. It explained how a prick like him managed to keep himself from getting fired or prosecuted.

A quick residence search told Stacy he lived in Columbus Square on Columbus Ave. She looked up the apartment complex online. The pictures blew her away. The place was luxury to the max. No way a piece of shit cop could afford a place like that. Why’d this asshole have the golden ticket? Father-in-law must be protecting him. Stacy wanted to make an example out of him.

Chapter 62

Stacy loved stakeouts. She’d become so enthralled with getting every possible detail; she was like a lion hunting its prey, carefully stalking for days or even weeks and then attacking in one fell swoop.

“Come on, Stacy,” she said as she watched from her hideout across the street from the luxury apartment high-rise. “Open your eyes and find this guy.” No sooner had the words left her mouth when he finally appeared.

Mark was tall, late forties, bald, and clean-shaven. His eyes were ocean blue. He had an e-cig in one hand and his Starbucks in the other. Stacy followed at a discreet distance. She followed him into the parking garage and watched as he got into his red Corvette which she’d already placed a tracking device on.

“Not in uniform? Where you headed, Mr. Romero?” she muttered.

She already had a cab waiting in the garage.  Twenty-five minutes later, her question had been answered and several other assumptions were starting to become clearer.

What the hell was this guy doing in the middle of the Bronx?

She followed him as he stopped at four different buildings in the projects and spent way too much time in each one. He damn sure wasn’t doing an investigation. And as she watched him argue back and forth with what appeared to be a gangbanger at the fourth stop, it became crystal clear: Romero was shaking down bad guys. Another  reason to get rid of the piece of shit. The man he was talking to now was even taller than Romero. He wore a do-rag, was tatted down and, if she was seeing correctly, had a pistol tucked into the side of his pants. No surprise there. He talked with his hands and was clearly in charge of the other men who stood behind him. Romero stood emotionless and puffed on his e-cig, blowing his smoke right into the man’s face.

“These guys don’t look happy, Mr. Romero,” she said.

Maybe these guys were sick and tired of getting shaken down. They didn’t know it, but they wouldn’t have to worry about it much longer.

Finally, the man shoved a package in Romero’s chest and not too friendly-like, either.

Romero smiled and headed back to his car. Stacy nudged the cabdriver to follow.

“You some kind of cop, lady?” the taxi driver asked.

“Just drive, hombre.”

Romero didn’t stray far from his last stop before his brake lights flashed again.

Stacy gasped. Romero pulled right next to the curb on a street full of prostitutes.

“Goddamn you, asshole!” she said.

“You his wife or something, lady?” the taxi driver said.

“No. I told you to just drive. If that bastard was my husband, he’d be dead . . . and not figuratively. I mean dead. Gunshot to the head. No more questions. Got it?”

The taxi driver nodded.

Stacy watched Romero motion girls over to his car. Not a single one of them had gone over before he called them. They knew he wasn’t a paying customer. He was a disgusting pig abusing his power. Finally after a few minutes of negotiations, one of the girls got into the car and off they went.

Stacy had an idea. She told the taxi drive to take her to Smoke Heaven, a smoke shop she’d pulled up on her phone. It was about ten minutes from the spot where she’d seen Romero pick up the girl. Once they arrived, Stacy told the taxi driver to wait for her and went inside.  She asked for a manager and went to the back of the store. Fifteen minutes later, she came out with a small bag in her hand.

“Okay, let’s go. Take me back to the place we were before.”

They arrived back at the corner where Romero had picked up his girl  She looked around for the girl Romero picked up. No sign of her; that was good. It meant Romero had yet to return.

She grabbed her bag and told her taxi she no longer needed his services. Paid him out and off he went.

Stacy walked over and found herself a spot on the wall.

About a minute later, a man came hurrying toward her from across the street.

“
What the hell is this?
” The man looked like a seventies pimp. He wore a cheap suit that screamed, I-bought-this-out-of-the-back-of-a-van.

He leaned against the wall next to Stacy. “Hey, girl, you lost?”

Stacy rolled her eyes. “This must be your shithole street I’m on, no?”

He leaned even closer and got right in Stacy’s face. “If it’s such a shithole, what are you doing here? Get the fuck outta here before I make you disappear, bitch. Unless, that is, you want to work for Uncle D?”

Stacy returned the favor and leaned in close before she responded. “Listen. Uncle D, is it?” She’d taken her gun from her waistband and pressed it up against him where no one else could see it. “I won’t be here long, and I’m not looking for trouble. But you have about two seconds to slowly back away from me and walk back across the street. I’m not trying to move in on your territory here. I’ve got some unfinished business with an old friend. You’re a business man, so I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

He stepped away and gave Stacy a hard stare. “If I ever see you around here again, it won’t be pretty.”

The next hour was uneventful. Several cars pulled up near her, all looking for the same action, and she quickly dismissed each one. Suddenly, she noticed the red Corvette heading in her direction. Romero stopped fifty yards away from Stacy, and the girl he’d picked up earlier got out. As he pulled away from the curb, Stacy pretended not to see him and stepped out in front of his car.

Romero slammed on his brakes and glared at Stacy. She pushed her sunglasses down and peered at him over the top of them. She turned around and strutted back to the curb, her minidress leaving little to the imagination on either end.

Stacy hurried down the sidewalk and was several yards away from the car by the time Romero called out to her.

“Hey, you! Red!”

Stacy stopped and waited for the car to pull close to the curb. “Hey Red? That usually work for you? I’m a lady, not a fucking dog.”

“I’m sorry, Miss. I’m Mark. Do you want some company? I sure wouldn’t mind some.”

Stacy sauntered over to his car. “Whatcha got in mind, big boy?”

Romero offered to take her to his private party spot. She climbed in and they were off.

Chapter 63

Stacy nibbled on her finger. “So where are we going, handsome?”

Romero smiled. “Somewhere real special. Only be me and you, baby. No interruptions.”

Romero’s cell phone rang.

He put a finger to his lips. “Don’t say anything. I gotta take this.”

Stacy nodded.

“Hey, baby. How’s the shopping going?”

Baby?
Stacy thought.
This guy’s taking his wife’s call with a girl he’d just picked up in the car
.

“Yeah, I just left the station. I’m going to the gym. I’ll be home in a couple hours.”

There was a pause. “I love you, too,” Romero said before disconnecting from the call.

He smiled at Stacy. “Sorry about that, sweetie. We’re almost there.”

Stacy couldn’t wait to dig into this guy. She’d get two birds with one stone with this kill—a cop and a rapist pig.

They pulled up to a tiny non-descript house that was isolated. The closest house was too far away to even hear someone scream. This guy’s poor wife probably had no clue that her asshole of a husband had another house where he took his whores. How long had he been doing this? How many girls had he taken advantage of?

“Come on, baby. I don’t have much time.”

Stacy followed Romero into the house. He didn’t know it, but he was about to be all out of time—permanently.

Before she’d even closed the door behind her, Romero had already started unbuttoning his shirt.

“Gotta take a leak. Wait here,” Romero said. He gave Stacy a deep, wet kiss.

He set his keys, e-cig, cuffs, and gun on the table and headed for the restroom.

After Romero was completely out of sight, Stacy grabbed his e-cig and quickly changed out the canister with the drugs she’d acquired from the smoke shop.
Damn! This shit is easier than I thought it would be. Buy a set of tits and you can literally have whatever the hell you want,
Stacy thought as she returned the e-cig to the table and made herself comfortable on the couch.

When Romero came back into the room, minus his shirt and pants, Stacy gave him a once-over and a seductive smile. “Moving kinda fast there, Mark, aren’t we?”

He picked up his e-cig and took a few drags. “I told you I don’t have much time. So let’s just get this over with.”

He walked up to Stacy and wagged his finger at her. “And don’t think I’m paying you anything either, fucking skank.”

Stacy stared at him with a puzzled look on her face. “What? You think I’m gonna fuck you for free? You’re cute but not that damn cute. It’s two hundred for a fuck and one for a blow. What’s it gonna be, hon?”

Mark laughed and took another long drag on his e-cig. “I think you’re going to do whatever the fuck I want you to do, bitch. There’s something I guess I forgot to mention.” He pointed at the gun on the table.

Mark paused, blinking hard. Stacy could tell he was becoming disoriented.

“I don’t pay whores for sex. I’m fucking NYPD. Where do you think the gun came from? My badge is in the right-front pocket of my pants, if you don’t believe me.”

Stacy tried to act surprised. She hoped he’d take a few more drags. The smoke shop manager told her that if she wanted to get fucked up fast, this was the shit to do it.

“So you just pick up whores and fuck them because you’re a cop? It’s either fuck you or what, go to jail?”

Mark took another drag. “That’s exactly what it is. But I know you don’t want to go to jail, so that just leaves fucking, right?”

Mark tried to remain on his feet but lost his balance and fell. He dropped his e-cig and put both hands on his forehead.

“What the fuck did you do to me, you bitch? You fuck with my E-cig?”

“Ahhh, the stupid little whore girl has outsmarted the big-time NYPD cop. You like to rape prostitutes. Making a girl fuck you because you want some ass is pretty low, Mark. You’re a piece of shit.”

He managed to stand up but not for long. His breathing labored and he couldn’t move.

Stacy went over to her bag and took out everything she needed. She took out a set of rubber gloves and put them on. She rolled him to his side and cuffed his hands behind his back. He put up a little resistance but not nearly enough. The drugs had delivered as promised. She used her heavy-duty zip ties to bind his legs together.

“Listen up, Marky Mark. I’m going to carve you up real good. Been in the business a long time, so I’m pretty good at it. Should we record this for your wife?” she said as she selected a Bowie knife from her stash.

Mark tried to respond but couldn’t get anything out of his mouth.

“How many girls have you raped? Thirty? Forty? One hundred? How about I slice you once for each girl you’ve raped?”

Stacy rolled him onto his back and started on his thighs. She drew back and thrust the knife deep into Mark’s leg. Blood shot out like cannon fire, spraying all over the carpet.

“Lift, lower, stab,” she whispered over and over again.
God, this feels amazing!
The more she stabbed the more of a rhythm she developed. It invigorated her.

Mark’s body trembled. He yelled, but no one was close enough to hear. She lost count, but from the looks of it, she’d stabbed his legs at least fifty times.