10-80: Line of Duty Series (2 page)

Z
ee was
at my Aunt Birdie’s house over in Brooklyn for the mini-vacation. He needed a change of scenery and I needed a break. Midterms were here and my focus was on my class work and maintaining my GPA. Three weeks had passed since the last incident in my hall with the cops. I was not a fan of them. At all. The boys and gals in blue were not on our side. They looked down on us and if one didn’t know their rights, they would definitely take advantage. Yes, we lived in public housing and some, not all of us, did illegal things to get by and some of us hurt each other. It was not all and they treated us all like criminals or a means to an end. Cops were not our friends and that was another unspoken fact.

It was late Saturday when I walked to the grocery store on 103rd Street. It was extremely expensive and even with the gentrification happening, things were becoming more unaffordable. More and more people were moving because it had become too much to live in East Harlem. This place had so much history and so many iconic spots, but things had rapidly changed over the course of my lifetime.

“Hey,” a voice called.

I turned around in the tiny aisle and saw a big cop, in his full blue uniform, with his hands on his waist. He did not look familiar, so I turned to see if he was talking to someone behind me. There was no one, so when I turned back around, he had started approaching.

“Talking to you,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”

“You were the lady at
The Trap
. 25th floor, right?” he asked.

I didn’t answer him because I did not want to admit to anything. Cops were sneaky that way.

“Yeah, it’s you.” He lifted his hand to touch the walkie-talkie that was attached to the strap on his shoulder. He smiled, pressed the button and said, “Yo, I got ya girl from
The Trap
. She’s here.”

“What?” I asked.

He let go of the button and folded his arms over his chest. I felt my upper lip, slightly curl at his arrogance. He didn’t want me for anything. I didn’t do anything wrong, so I rolled my eyes and turned to continue my shopping. The stupid man in blue must have thought it was an invitation to follow since he did.

“You know, we found that lady next door to you.” He was right behind me.

I walked faster, then turned the corner.

“Don’t you want to know where we found her?”

I wouldn’t dare engage with him because I knew he was trying to bait me. I also didn’t want to be seen talking to or being harassed by a cop. Not here.

“Hey,” another familiar voice chimed in.

Quickly, I turned to see the cop that was on the elevator with me. His lips parted when he met my eyes and so did mine. He was in his full uniform, his hair was slicked back and he had on aviator styled glasses. Looking like a young Tom Cruise in
Top Gun
.

So
, he was sexy, but he was still a damn cop. Therefore, I turned around and kept shopping.

“She was cut up in the back of the alley on 120th.”

I gasped and stopped dead in my tracks.

Oh my God
.

“Sal,” I heard the guy’s familiar voice chastise the other.

Dropping my hand basket to the ground, I started to power walked out of there. My legs were moving faster than I anticipated.

“Wait,” a voice called.

As I was about to turn the corner, my direction was changed, as someone had gripped me by the elbow and was pulling me the opposite way.

“Let go of me,” I yelled.

A hand went over the top of my mouth, muffling my pleas. Then I started to swing at him until he pinned my arms and picked me up around my waist. The man was easily 6’2” and it looked like he worked out on a consistent basis. I, on the other hand, was only about 5’4” and a size eight. C-cups, enough booty, and shapely enough legs.

When he stopped and let me go, I continued to swing at him. He gripped both of my arms, putting them beside my head and me against the wall. It was forceful, but not hurtful.

“Stop,” he commanded.

“Get your filthy, pig hands off of me.” I hissed.

“Yeah, that’s rich.” He smirked, then exhaled.

“Let me go. I’ve done nothing wrong.” I was grasping at anything.

My back was freezing, then I looked around to realize we were surrounded by metal and in the store’s refrigerator.

“Are you going to stop?” He asked quietly.

“Get your hands off of me.”

He let me go. Taking my new freedom to the limit, I pushed off the cold wall, but a hand on my stomach gently pushed me back.

“What do you want?” I snapped at the irritating man.

“Fuck, I’m sorry okay.” He ran a hand through his hair. “He shouldn’t have said that shit to you.”

Oh
.

I turned from him, as my emotions started to rise. She was dead, my neighbor. I didn’t really know her like that, but still. She lived next door to me and she was gone.
Dead
. Cut up on 120th. That was crazy. Tears hit my eyes. I tried to sniff them away, but they started to spill over my lids.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

Then he went into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, to dab my eyes. I flinched at his touch. So he held up the hanky for me to take.

“Did you know her?” he asked.

The sadness quickly turned to anger as I turned my squinted glare on him.

“You think because you see me cry, I’ll talk to you,” I sneered.

“No!” He exclaimed. “Shit.”

I threw the hanky at him, wiped my eyes with my hand and pushed him away from me. As I was attempted to make my escape, he grabbed my hand and snapped me back to him. My body collided with his, then he said, “You hate us that much. You think we are that bad? I’ve done nothing to you, but all you give me is attitude and your ass to kiss. Is it that bad?”

What was this guy’s deal? He knew the rules. I didn’t make them.

“What! You need a snitch? Huh? Well, I don’t snitch. Shit, I don’t even know anything to snitch about. You need something from me, right? You’ve done
nothing
? You’ve done
plenty
. I just want to be left alone and mind my motherfucking business. That is all I’m trying to do, but you go out of your goddamn way to interrupt that. What the fuck do you want from me? Huh.” I exhaled.

“Your time,” he said as I reared my head back in confusion. “What? We can’t even get dinner or grab lunch. Shit, I’d take coffee.”

I was shaking my head. “Are you crazy?”

“Apparently, I must be.” He shook his head too. “Those are the rules, right? You always do what you’re told?”

“Don’t do that.” I spat. “You think because you color outside the lines of the law, everybody does?” I laughed at the ridiculousness of what he was proposing.

It must have sounded like the cackle of a hysterical woman. As I was in the middle of my own private joke, he had one of his own. Before I could stop him, he bent down and kissed me full on the lips and inserted his warm, sneaky tongue in my mouth.

He completely invaded me, as he pressed me against him, while I, initially, pushed back. Then he tangled his tongue with mine and my fight ceased. My tongue pressed back against his, as he took more of me. The fight left my arms and a new battle ensued. Grabbing the back of his short hair in my small fist, caused him to growl mid-kiss. Sending all sorts of signals throughout my body. It was on fire. He had lit the flame. The cop.

Oh shit.

The cop
.

My hands dropped from his hair and I pushed him away. He let go but stared at me with unadulterated lust in his eyes. His chest was moving up and down as mine was doing the same.

“W-what are you doing?” I asked out of breath.

“I don’t know,” he replied, just as puzzled as I was.

“Don’t do it again.” I shook my head, trying to jar myself to leave.

Like immediately.

My legs finally moved towards the door.

“Have dinner with me,” he yelled after me.

I shook my head.

“Lunch?”

I kept shaking my head.

“Come on. Coffee?” He pleaded once more.

“No,” I said with as much finality I could muster up.

I reached the door and nearly ran out of the store.

What in the world was wrong with me? Letting a cop kiss me in a grocery store refrigerator.

I
read
the question written on the board several times and wanted to scream. Why was my life playing tricks on me?

With all of the violent acts towards black people in the recent news, do the police officers in your community perpetuate the stereotype that they are their own ‘boys in blue’ gang or is it really only a few bad apples?

I was in Social Justice and Equality class and Professor Hillman always had a controversial question to start off the week. This one was about the police and, only God knew, that was the last thing I wanted to discuss a week after the incident in the freezer.

The Police.

“Now, write for ten minutes, then we’ll discuss,” Hillman announced.

Staring at the blank piece of paper for ten minutes is what I ended up doing. I knew how I felt about it, but I was curious to hear other’s thoughts on the controversial topic.

The bell rang, signaling for us to stop.

“Okay, that’s time. It’s thirty of us in here today, so raise hands.” Hillman smiled. “Kat, I see you are ready. Go.”

“Thanks, Professor Hillman. I’ve lived in East Harlem for over 30 years now and I must say they are the same they’ve always been, but now their dirt is being televised. So, in my neighborhood, they are just like the red, blues, and every other color gang. They just have a license to kill.” Kat finalized.

She was one of the older students, who used to live in the same projects as me. She now has her associate’s degree and is a nurse at Mt. Sinai. She’s taking more classes to qualify for some exam.

Rich shook his head and raised his hand. Hillman pointed to him, signaling for him to go.

“Kat’s right. They are the same, but we cannot forget our own in this. A lot of people are trying to act like it’s the white cops. Did anyone forget that black undercover cop who knocked a kid out in Brooklyn because he thought he had weed? Was the boy a jerk? Sure. But it was a black cop that did it. So, it’s not just white cops, it’s the gang of them.”

Hmm.

“Uh, Rich. I saw that shit, but man it’s definitely more white cops than blacks. You got the house niggas and all, but these white pigs. They are ruthless man. I’m more scared of them than the people they killing.” Ed chimed in.

“Naw, man,” Rich replied. “I’m telling you. This is about power. Plain and simple. It’s not even about the police. Let’s think about the past events, pick one and I’ll explain about power. People who are given power without the character to use it properly are dangerous. That’s on a job, in a church, or even a classroom.” He pointed to Hillman. “Anywhere. People abusing power will look like this. Don’t get me wrong. Some of these folks are racist and they were given a badge to take all of that out on who they don’t like. However, mark my words, this is about the lack of proper training, too much ego and pride, and taking your job too seriously. When you are supposed to protect and serve, that’s when you need to take your job seriously. Maintaining order and peace shouldn’t result in someone dying.”

Hillman raised his hand and stepped in between the group. “Rich, brings up a good point. Who in here agrees?”

Six students raised their hands.

“Who in here disagrees?” Hillman asked.

Twelve students raised their hands.

“Who in here has another opinion that they’d like to share?”

Three students raised their hands.

“Tabitha, you first.” Hillman pointed.

“Black people kill each other all the time, but when a white person does it. Oh, they are racist and we need to march and disrupt the traffic flow.” People started stirring at Tabitha’s words. “I know this isn’t popular, but come one. Are you really going to sit here and try to make it about race, when this is clearly about rotating blame on why black people are where they are today? There are no hooded white men walking around burning crosses on people’s lawns. There are…”

“No, Tabitha. They are walking around in suits, denying us access into their corporate offices.” Scott interrupted her.

Tabitha whirled around to glare at Scott. “Are you serious?”

“Very serious,” Scott stared back at her. “Not only do they do it with black people, Hispanics, and other minorities. They do it with women too. There’s a glass ceiling for a reason. So, you can sit on your high horse, all you want and act like it doesn’t exist, but wait until you get to that place. When you are up against a less qualified man and they, pick him over you. I hope this conversation comes up and I hope you remember your comments about what doesn’t exist. The same rules apply, just the tactics have changed.”

“Jesse,” Hillman called.

“I come from a family of cops.” Hillman nodded, like he knew what he was saying was true. “I’m saying that to let you know, I’m probably bias, but there is another side to this story. There are definitely cops that should not ever put the badge on. I, myself, don’t even know if I want to take up that mantle. It’s a lot of power and responsibility. People in authority are held to a higher standard and I understand that.” He sighed, “So, to answer your question. Yes, they look out for each other, like we all look after our family. Even when they are wrong. Does that make it or us right? Probably not, but they do. I don’t know if there is a right answer or wrong, but that’s mine.”

Tabitha turned around with no further comment. Hillman put his fist to his chin and nodded, “Okay. Phil, your turn.”

Phil looked like he wanted to be anywhere, but there. “My, uh, brother is a cop.” He looked around the room. “I don’t advertise that often because I’m white and because on some level I get it. However, I’m always torn. As a cop, his actual job could end for him if he’s not vigilant enough. So many of his brothers have lost their lives because some guy doesn’t care about their life. They are there to serve and protect, and they do that. It’s not advertised in the media about all the help they actually do in the community. It never is. It’s one of those thankless jobs. Are there corrupt ones? Yes. You’d be a fool to think that they aren’t. Are there racist ones? Yes? Are they a brotherhood? Yes. Are they all bad? No. Do they fear for their lives? Yes. Every fucking day. So, Rich is right. It’s a power thing. Definitely, but it’s also a survival thing. If your brother or if you were a cop, you’d have to face that decision every goddamn day. Will I give this person the benefit of the doubt or save myself. Could there be more training? Sure. However, how do you train someone to not rely on their instincts or their core value system? I don’t think there is a right answer, but I’ll tell you this. I want to see my brother come home and I don’t care how nice their funerals are, I’m not trying to go to one.”