When she first purchased her three-story twin home, the area was close-knit, family oriented, with children able to safely play in the street and neighbors sitting on their steps in heated discussion about politics or the latest baseball scores.
Sumeka was lucky enough to have rented her home to a young, childless couple for the three years she served overseas. But they couldn’t wait to leave, even informing Sumeka that they came close to breaking the lease due to the crime rate.
Times had certainly changed.
Now, Tongo was her protector while she waited until she could sell and move out to Virginia to be near the Pentagon — her new place of employment.
Sumeka was in no mood to deal with the criminal element that roamed her streets, still pissed over her car being broken into for the fourth time in the past month; the last time they even stole the new car alarm that she had paid $493 to install.
As she crossed Delany Street, Sumeka heard what sounded to be a car alarm or a horn beeping. Only this was different. Not sounding as if someone was stuck in traffic, this was more deliberate, almost a pattern. Standing on the street corner and looking at how far her neighborhood had fallen, she decided to make a stand, at least this once. Determined to catch the thief in the act, possibly the same one who had vandalized her own car, she ran with Tongo in tow towards where the sound emanated. It’s not going to happen again, not in my neighborhood, she said aloud, a mad scowl upon her face.
Three teenage boys, each no more than 15 or 16, stood in her way on the concrete sidewalk, plying their drug trade. They had no problem noticing the attractive Sumeka, the oldest boy flashed a smile as she made her way into the street in order to avoid them.
“Yo baby, slow down, come on over here and pay us a visit,” said the oldest boy, blowing her a kiss, followed by an obscene gyrating gesture with his hips.”
Sumeka ignored him as she walked past.
“One day your gonna be without that damn dog, then what you gonna do?” said another before turning back to ply his lucrative crack trade, hi-fiving his fellow teenage dealers.
The sound was getting closer, even with the traffic noise of Highway 50 hanging in the air. Sumeka walked to where the street met with the Highway 50 on/off ramp. Puzzled, she stood looking both ways before she determined that the noise was coming from behind the only business left in the area. Her Army training took hold; Sumeka knelt down beside her dog Tongo, petting her softly.
“Girl, I want you to go check this out before me?” She searched her dark brown eyes for some type of understanding, unhooking the dog’s chain. “Go girl, go,” pointing the way for Tongo, watching as Tongo first jogged then broke into a sprint, Sumeka close behind. As they turned the corner of the building, it became apparent that it was a police car, but not a DC police car— its dark blue strips identifying it as a State Trooper. Why would they be here? We have city police protection. Calling her dog to heel beside her, Sumeka could see a young woman in the driver’s seat. Sumeka knocked on the driver’s side window to get the girls attention.
Wendy turned to face Sumeka, a sense of relief flowing over her thinking she was about to be rescued.
“Are you okay?” Sumeka said, motioning with her hands for Wendy to roll down the window.
Wendy responded by holding up her handcuffed hands. She nodded that she was okay before slumping on the steering wheel in apparent relief.
Sumeka stepped back, wondering what the State Police had one to her. The girls face beaten and bloodied, her clothing disheveled. She could see the girl’s hair matted on her head, wet from perspiration. This was no way to treat a prisoner.
“What did you do to get arrested? Sumeka said, already feeling sorry for the woman.
“No, no,” Wendy said, shaking her head, panicking that Sumeka might leave, thinking she was under arrest. “Some madman kidnapped me by posing as a police officer. Please, get me out of her,” she said in between sobs. “I don’t want to die in here.”
Tying Tongos’ leash to the car doors handle, she looked about the immediate area for something, anything to break the window, settling on a 3-foot piece of cast iron pipe that lay against the doctor’s office wall. With the Doctors office being at the edge of a highway and in a seedy neighborhood, it was only natural for it to become an illegal dumping ground for trash.
Sumeka held up her hands to try and calm her. ”Honey, everything is going to be okay. I want you to turn away from me and face the passenger’s side window,” pointing over to the other side of the car. “I’m going to use this pipe to break the window,” holding it up so she could see it. “Some of the glass might hit you but don’t worry, it’s a special glass and should only spider,” using her hands to draw a web on the window. “Its safety glass.”
Wendy nodded before turning away.
Sumeka stepped back to get some leverage before executing a swing Mark Maguire would be proud of, smashing the DuPont safety glass on the driver’s side into a spider web pattern.
She then used the end of the pipe to push the lightweight window harmlessly into the police car, in the process just missing Wendy as it slid in between the driver’s seat and the door.
“You all right, girl?” Sumeka said, reaching in to touch the bruises on her face. “You said something about being kidnapped?”
Wendy let out a sigh of relief at being rescued. “Yes, a man pulled me over using this police car. He identified himself as a cop and then beat me up and stole my car.”
“First things first baby, we can call 911 and get some real cops down here,” Sumeka said, patting Wendy on the shoulder for reassurance.
“They will nail that bastard for sure.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Officer Mark Lipatree could still feel the sting of the slug that nearly penetrated his bullet-proof vest. Of course, paramedics showed up as a standard procedure for a police shooting, bulletproof vest or not. Also on site, his supervisor and battalion chief had each scrambled to the scene when word reached them of an “officer down” status.
Mark sat in his chief’s cruiser. Shirt still unbuttoned, empty gun holster beside him on the passenger side — he waited patiently for his chief to provide him with the latest information from headquarters.
Chief Sanders walked over to Mark, leaning in the passenger side window. “The FBI is sending a helicopter to pick you up and help identify the man who tried to plug you. They say he’s the prime suspect in a couple of high profile crimes including the killing of one of our brother officer’s just this morning. From what they told me, you’re lucky to be alive. This boy’s considered a cold-blooded killer.”
Mark broke out into a cold sweat, his heart racing upon realizing how fortunate he was to still be alive.
The Chief’s radio sprung to life. “Chief Sanders, come in please, this is Sky Bug One looking for a spot to place my baby,” Jimmy Hawkins said, hovering 2 miles out over Highway 50. As an ex-Army Special Forces pilot, Jimmy had years of experience landing in many a tight spot.
The Chief searched the sky for the helicopter, before seeing the blue and white Bell Jet Ranger directly ahead. “Rodger that Sky Bug One, we have a field to the north of the highway that is ready for a landing, no wires or obstructions are evident,” the Chief said, motioning for Mark to move over to the field for pick-up.
“Rodger that Chief, I have you in sight and am now moving into position for cargo extraction.” His helicopter dropped from 1,000 feet to ground level in less than 15 seconds. Richard Knox, his passenger, choked back his breakfast.