"Welcome to
district number 7, the house of pain...cause this is gonna be a pain in your
ass if you don't like black folks....and by the redness of your faces I ain't
far off the mark. Oh by the way...the
welcome wagon that just left here that's sergeant Richards and he's got an
intolerance for intolerance. I take it
that that's how you all ended up down here in the shit hole," said Byron
Shields with a broad grin.
"Look
buddy...it was just an overtime detail...what's the big deal."
"The big
deal is the shit hitting the fan big time," Ron said with his feet propped
up leaning back in a chair that groaned beneath his weight. Byron Shields nick named Ron the 6-year vet
had dreams of becoming a stand up comedian; comic relief was his goal until the
hands of fate turned his life in another direction. His father’s unfortunate death left his
family in dire need. Raised to be
self-sufficient and responsible he assumed the responsibilities of being the
provider in the house stepping into his father’s shoes in his early
twenties. He possessed the face of a
teenager, and that’s where his co-workers made their mistake of underestimating
him. Most times, they were made an
example of by a serious tongue-lashing that was equivalent to Red fox or
Richard Pryor harassing their audiences.
"I See you white boys cutting your eyes
at me...don't be hating because you fucked up on TV."
"Ron...shut-
the-hell- up," said a soft voice by the window attempting to suppress a
laugh, “don’t nobody wanna here your bull shit early in the morning."
"Yeah
man...it's too early for your shit," another sleepy voice responded.
"Aw you
just mad because you can't live at the gym...ya Shaka Zulu looking-"
The door swung
open with the Richards returning to the podium.
The frown on his face automatically announced bad news. "Aw man...here we go," mumbled Wade
Jackson, "guess I ain't getting to the gym today either...damn."
Richards stood there momentarily thinking to
himself how to be the bearer of bad news, but he knew there was no way around
it, "ok it's been brought to my attention that extra coverage is needed on
the South end...as per captain's orders we are to cover that area until further
notice"
"With what?
We're already stretched like a rubber
band," Jackson
said letting out a sigh.
"We're just
gonna have to make do...like the chief says do more with less."
"Yeah but
he ain't out here making do is he?"
"Look Jackson don't piss on my
already bad day...you wanna stay in this piss hole...huh...bad plumbing, bad
electrical. Fucking crack heads running
around messing around with your vehicles.
I don't know about you, but I'm tired of having to crack skulls on the
way off duty. Look it's a huge
construction sight with a lot of building materials laying around."
"They need
to secure their shit then," said a salty female voice from the rear of the
room.
"Don't
start with me Max," he said glaring at the 19-year vet.
"Look I
know it's a lot but the higher ups thought with so much controversy around the
site It'd be a good idea to have some extra man power around it, not to mention
we'd be more familiar in that location when we do relocate." The tension in the room seemed to lighten at
the mention of relocating.
"New guys...my office...the rest of you
know the drill. Be safe stay safe, and
make it home safe." Clearly
offended by the black sergeant’s commanding and take-charge attitude the newly
transferred cops felt a well of collective hate against the seasoned sergeant
rising up threatening to spill over.
Their eyes could not help but to express their contempt in taking orders
from him. As the others were leaving out
for their daily patrol assignments Sierra Sheldon happen to glance back;
feeling eyes on her back she noticed the cold and steely stare coming from the
newly reassigned transferred Jim Wagner.
She held his stare until he looked away.
"What the hell is his problem," she said feeling an
uncomfortable familiarity about him.
There was something she disliked about him that went back further then
the fiasco the day before. “Creep."
"Com'on
woman...wha'cha dragging for...its coffee time," Jackson said tugging at her shirtsleeve.
"Alright...alright...I'm
coming," she said to her partner of the last 18 months. Outside the sun had begun to rise up over the
horizon. The cruisers began surging
their way to life as officers with clipboards seated themselves in vehicles
with mileages that could write a book telling stories the average person could
not begin to imagine. Sierra and Jackson have witnessed
more unusual and bizarre incidents in their short careers then the average
person would see in a lifetime.
"Ya know
something...there's something about them white boys...can’t put my finger on
it, but for some reason I don't trust'em, and I don't lik’em...don’t ask me why
I just don't."
"Duuuuh
maybe because they don't like people like us...ya think?"
"No... Besides that.
It's something that just ain't right.
They just got here and already I can't stand'em...ya know...just forget
it I'm probably just tripping."
"Well can
we trip over to the dinner and get some coffee before the bullshit starts? I'll put us in service in ten minutes...so
com'on already."
***
Samuel Richards
sat behind a cluttered desk full of memos, directives, incident reports ,patrol
logs, overtime sheets, and a ringing phone; agitated and annoyed he answered,
"7th....Richards," he said exasperated, "ok let me check I'm
gonna put you on hold," he said stabbing at the red button and slamming
down the receiver. "God damn it
give me a break," he said hanging
up from the phone eyeing the three patrolmen including the sergeant; again a
strange and unpleasant feeling emerged as the four gazed back at him waiting
for him to brief them so they could belittle him in the privacy of closed
doors.
"Four re-assignments why do I get all
the...never mind," he thought to himself looking over the files on his
desk. "Edwards...when did you make
rank?"
"About a
mouth now."
"An you’re
down here in the shit already...who'd ya manage to piss off?" The man's face turned beet red as the senior
sergeant eyed him sensing the man's resentment.
"You're
gonna be holding things down as the relief supervisor when I'm not here so I
suggest you get familiar with the system here.
We got a way of doing things here in the 7th, so you can throw all that
other crap out the window.” Edwards felt
like an open book swallowing hard before speaking, "there was a
misunderstanding that's all."
"That's not
what I'm reading here...if you're trying to make a name for yourself here to
take back to your good ol boys club I strongly suggest you don't...AM I
clear?"
"Crystal ."
"Fine the
other side of the squad room through the double doors to the right set up
shop....desk, locker, phone...all waiting for ya. I'll be there in a minute to get you computer
access.”
Still steaming
Edwards turned without responding as animosity and resentment coiled around him
like a snake; having to answer to a black man only stoked the already burning
anger. "What was the department coming to," he thought to
himself as he turned the doorknob to the small office that seemed barely large
enough for a desk let along two.
Richards failed to mention he would be sharing the space with Sergeant
E. Michaels. Briefcase in hand he stared
at the other desk in its neatly maintained area free of dust, file bens neatly
stacked with other office supplies housed by a more modern desk compared to his. Edwards looked over to the area that was to
be his space. The almost antique wooden
desk covered in dust, old paint cans, brushes, and dirty rags made his blood
boil keeping his face a constant shade of deep red.
“Oh I see you
found your desk and everything ok I’ll get the janitor to get it cleaned up for
ya," the corporal said holding back a snicker, "oh…the captain wants
you to come and sign for your training date," the corporal’s heavily
Latino accented voice said. Shaking with
anger he never turned around to face the corporal, and continued to speak with
his back turned, "what training?"
"Oh they
didn't tell you... anger management and diversity training," he said
closing the door. To add insult to
injury not only was it embarrassing to him having his good ol boys see him
tossed down to what he considered the slums; now he had to be told how to
properly interact with those he considered beneath him. "Damn
it," could the day get any worse he thought to himself.
Back in
Richards's office, the remaining three grew anxious; not knowing their fate;
being re-assigned to a predominately-mixed community.
"You three hold tight for a minute,"
Richards said getting up from his desk looking out the window into the parking
lot," SONUVABITCH," he
growled jetting out of the office leaving the three bewildered, moments later
loud shouting could be heard from the window.
The three went to the open window to see what the commotion was.
"Get the
hell outta this god damned lot before I crack your crack head ass skull,” he
shouted to an individual dressed in winter clothing in the middle of
summer. The layers of dirt made it hard
to distinguish the man's racial identity
"Ooooh if
it isn't one of my missing slaves."
"Get your
crazy ass up outta here," Richards bellowed loud enough for it to be heard
by anyone in the area. "Oh shit is
this what we got to look forward to; working down here in the 7th,"
Halaski asked looking at the others in disgust.
"What the
hell is that?” Barnes was horrified at
the man's appearance.
"The hell
if I know...I can't tell...it's a dirty bastard...I know that much."
"It's a
crazy ass ...an I betcha there's a whole lot more of'em out there,"
Halaski said smirking
"Damn
spades out there and in here...I'll be damned...if my great great grand daddy
was alive this shit would kill'em for sure."
"Yeah well
he's probably turning in his grave like the rest of our dead kin. Damned hood coons in charge of shit...I'll be
damned if I didn't have to...
"Ok everybody
back to business," the sergeant said entering back into the office rubbing
his knuckles.
"What was
that about," Wagner asked.
"Listen
up...out here...watch your vehicles when ya work mid nights...that white boy
out there has been known to try vandalize our cars...locked'em up a dozen times... stunk up the place to high heavens...couldn't get the smell out for weeks. So now when we see'em around our cars we just
tune'em up an he's on his merry way; real nut job...thinks he's in the 18th
century...in colonial times... back on some plantation. I got his god damned
slave alright," Richards growled.
"He's a
white man," the three said in unison shocked and appalled.
I hope you have enjoyed Another reality written for your 3rd eye where fact sounds like fiction and fiction sounds like fact
This was an excerpt from the 5 book series "To Resurrect and Avenge"
now available at amazon.com http://astore.amazon.com/wwwicosochch-20
