Authors: Sandra Kitt
The work was often dirty, boring, and routine. Most of the men never saw any of the adrenaline-pumping action that was fictionalized in movies or reported on TV. What the job gave him and most of the other members of law enforcement was the sense of rightness, toughness, and a perverse involvement in the worst kinds of human and personal tragedy people have to endure.
Yes, he liked being a cop, but he also wondered if he was really just like all the other guys in service. The police force could be seen, and sometimes was, as an exclusive club of misfits, some of whom were doing a truly thankless job. There were also as many cops who delivered babies with confidence, intervened and saved lives and were there when needed, as there were the other kind: those who exercised private vendettas of hate and prejudice and revenge.
And corruption still flourished.
Jason heard the commotion in the hallway before he saw what was going on. He also recognized the voices of the two people involved. One adult, the other a teenager.
The officer who lumbered down the hall toward Jason was of the latter category of cop who hated people just on principle, particularly non-white people. He had not been a high school football player, although he was built like a muscular tank. And he loved to throw his weight around.
Officer Theodore Spano maneuvered in the busy corridors of his station house with ease and authority. His reluctant companion was not as comfortable. Nor was he supposed to be. Spano had one beefy arm around the neck of a youth half his size and age. He pulled the boy by his head down the precinct hallway.
“Common, sucka. Get the fuck off my neck.”
Spano dragged the teen carelessly along, and although the boy struggled, he was no match for the bulky cop. No one watching questioned the use of force, and no one had sympathy for the youth. He’d been in and out of the precinct before.
“Shut up, dickhead,” Spano muttered as he approached a desk sergeant and handed him a folder of papers. The desk sergeant pointedly ignored the thrashing teen and his shouted curses and threats.
“Git off me, mother fucker. You gonna break my neck,” the boy sputtered, his head and shoulders bent at a unnatural angle. His efforts to free himself were useless.
“That’s the idea,” Spano answered.
Jason stopped in the middle of the hall, directly blocking Spano’s path.
“Hey, Jason, man. Help me. This sucka is trying to kill me.”
Spano sourly faced Jason. Jason knew that there had never been love lost between the two of them, not even simple respect. He was fully aware that Spano hated him and the work he did. Spano didn’t recognize the youth squad as legitimate police work. He considered cops like Jason a bunch of wimp faggots who were afraid to get out on the streets where the real danger was.
“Here’s another of your little street turds, Horn.”
Jason’s eyes narrowed at the way the boy was being treated, and he knew Spano was waiting for him to say something.
“Where’d you find him?” Jason asked calmly.
“There was an attempted robbery of a convenience store this morning. Your boy here was brought in with two others.”
“Charges?” Jason asked.
Spano shrugged. “He was there and a gun was recovered.”
“That don’t prove nothin’. I be outta here …”
Jason calmly took over the head lock on the boy, but didn’t let up on the pressure or force. Spano turned to walk away.
“No one came to pick him up this time. I don’t blame them.”
“I’ll take him home,” Jason said.
“He don’t need rehabilitation. He needs a fuckin’ cage,” Spano said over his shoulder.
“Yo’ mama! Eat shit and die,” the boy shouted after the retreating officer.
“Shut up, Slack,” Jason advised as he pulled the boy into his office.
Jason abruptly released the boy and pushed him roughly toward an empty chair. Slack collapsed as he continued to curse Spano through the open doorway. Jason ignored him as he sat down behind his completely disorganized desk.
Slack rubbed his throat. “You saw him. He tried to kill me, man. I could bring his ass up on charges of police brutality.”
Jason continued to ignore the young teen and began searching for something on his desk. He shifted stacks of papers and miscellaneous objects from side to side as he looked.
“Keep still,” he ordered Slack.
“Mother fucker …” Slack muttered, his body tense with energy as he shifted restlessly in his seat. He glanced up at Jason from under his lids and made an impatient smirk. “Not you, man. That other dude.”
“I thought we agreed you’d try to stay out of trouble, Slack,” Jason commented, making a note on one piece of paper and starting to look for another.
“I ain’t in no trouble. I was just hanging out.”
“Why aren’t you in school?”
Slack cackled at the foolish idea. “You know school is shit, Jason. I don’t learn nothin’ there.”
“You have a choice. Stay in school or you go upstate.”
Slack played with the zipper on his bright orange anorak jacket, indifferent to Jason’s veiled threat. “I been upstate.”
Jason gave him a brief, thorough once-over. “Nice jacket. Where’d you get it?”
“I didn’t steal it. The Mex gave it to me.”
“Just because he wanted to be a nice guy?”
Slack grinned broadly. “’Cause I done him a favor. He owed me.”
“You continue to hang out with Razor, Mex, and that bunch, and you’re gonna end up dead.”
Slack was unconvinced and sat sullenly staring into space. Jason handed him the paper he’d been searching for.
“You never showed up for counseling. What happened?”
Slack merely glanced at the paper. His butt was almost on the edge of the chair as he leaned against the wooden back. He sat with his legs spread wide apart, his knees rocking back and forth. He shrugged. “I was sick, man. Nobody called me or nothin’.”
Jason eyed the petulant teen, trying not to lose his temper, trying hard not to just give up. He wanted to believe that Slack only needed time to realize that he was on his side. “I called. I spoke to your grandmother. She said she hadn’t seen you in a week.”
A sly and slightly embarrassed grin appeared on Slack’s oak brown face, adorned with straggling chin hair and a very thin mustache. “Oh, shit,” he chuckled. “She gave me up. That’s cold.” He licked his lips and the grin disappeared. He’d been caught in his lie. But still he shook his head. “That ain’t right. I was sick. I swear, Jason.”
Jason sat back in his chair and watched Slack closely. The boy was incredibly street smart. Too smart for his own good, since he made so many stupid decisions. Jason sighed. He’d been having a hard time trying to get Slack to think before he acted out, to control his quick temper and his tendency to hurt and destroy. Jason pushed back farther in his chair and let it rock gently.
“So, I’m hearing that if I set up the appointment again, you’ll keep it. Correct?”
Slack nodded but wouldn’t look Jason in the face. “Yeah, man. I’ll go.”
“What about this morning?”
Slack was shaking his head again. “I was outside the store and I didn’t have no gun. I’m not trippin’ on you, man.”
Jason said nothing but continued to stare and to gauge Slack coldly. The boy finally got serious. He leaned toward Jason and he put up his hand with the fingers spread.
“I’m telling you the truth. I didn’t have no gun.”
Jason dropped his gaze to the pen he’d absently been playing with. “You understand what I could do if you’re lying to me?”
“Yeah,” Slack said sullenly.
Jason let the silence and his disbelief stretch out until Slack stopped posturing and cut his game. The boy looked at him squarely.
“I didn’t have no gun,” Slack repeated slowly.
After another moment Jason threw the pen onto the desk. “Wait outside. I’ll drive you home later.”
Slack jumped up from his chair and headed for the door and freedom. But he suddenly stopped and turned back to Jason.
“Hey, man. You got a coupla dollars you can lend me?”
Jason hesitated but finally dug into his pocket for a five dollar bill. He extended the money and Slack grabbed for it. Jason held firmly to his end. “You’ll keep the appointment this time, right?”
Slack sneered. “For five bucks?” Jason held fast. “Yeah, right,” he said, snatching the bill and taking off.
He just missed colliding with a man coming through the door. Joe Wagner cursed as Slack adroitly ducked under the big man’s arm, causing Joe to fumble several bags that he carried. His dark face, with its broad features, thick black mustache, and eyebrows, registered annoyance that was just as quickly gone.
Joe was Jason’s office roomie and his sometime partner. He came into the office weighed down with a huge McDonald’s take-out bag and an armful of file folders. He carelessly pushed an already existing pile of papers to one side of his desk to make room for his lunch. He sat down heavily in a wooden desk chair set on casters. The chair groaned and squeaked. Digging into the bag for a Big Mac, Joe looked at Jason.
“You realize you’re contributing to the delinquency of a minor.”
Jason picked up a basketball from the floor and tossed it to Joe. “At least he didn’t steal it. I’m making real progress. It’s an investment in his future.”
Joe easily caught the ball and quickly returned it across the room. “He ain’t got a future.”
“You could help me on this one. Slack’s a tough case, but I’m not ready to throw in the towel, yet. Why don’t you talk to him?”
Joe grunted, taking a mammoth bite out of his burger. “’Cause it’s too late to talk to him. I’m telling you, Jace. The kid is probably crazy. He can’t be trusted.” He took another bite of the burger and reached for the last two in the bag. He carelessly tossed one to Jason, who caught it easily. “So, how was Brooklyn?”
Jason’s response was slow in coming, and even then his voice was uneasy. “Her name is Leah Downey.”
“Don’t matter. She’s just conquered territory.”
“I didn’t conquer her,” Jason defended patiently, opening the burger. “Besides, you only noticed ’cause she’s black.”
“You mean
you
only noticed because she’s black.”
Jason raised his brows. “You got something against black people?”
Joe scowled at him.
“Give me a break, okay?” Jason murmured. “I need this grief over a cup of coffee?”
“You don’t know what grief is, man. First it’s coffee. Before you know it it’s something else. You comin’ over for Thanksgiving? Nora got this big old sucka to roast.”
“Now, that’s mighty white of you, sah,” Jason drawled.
Joe chuckled, nearly choking on the burger. “Fuck you. …”
As soon as Slack thought Jason’s car had left the block, he turned back from the entrance of his grandmother’s building and headed toward the street. He knew he couldn’t risk doing anything in the lobby. Too many people knew his grandmother, and knew his reputation. If the old lady had tripped on him once, she’d do it again. But Slack knew he had to get some bucks from somewhere. There was stuff he needed.
Slack stood under the deteriorating entrance arc with the name
BATTENCOURT
embossed in cement across the top. Much of the name, however, had been chipped or eroded away; all of it was covered with several layers of graffiti. Slack glanced up and down the street and decided there were at least three opportunities waiting for him. He picked the easiest one.
“Yeah,” Slack drawled confidently. He walked to the narrow alleyway between his grandmother’s building and the one next door. It was where the garbage was kept for pickup and reeked of debris, urine, food, and animal wastes. He carefully stepped over the mess and headed for the super’s storage room. He found a clean garbage bag and, taking off his expensive jacket, carefully wrapped it so it wouldn’t get dirty or noticed, and hid it away. Next, he turned his cap around so that the beak was in front and shadowed most of his face. Then he went back into the street.
Slack didn’t have time for anything fancy. And he was impatient to be done, to make up for what he hadn’t gotten that morning. As he scouted out his target again, he was feeling good. He felt righteous because he hadn’t lied to Jason about the coat, and he had told the truth about the gun. He was ready to reward himself.
An old man crossed the street carrying a heavy shopping bag in one hand. He walked slowly and leaned heavily on a cane in the other hand. Slack stood unnoticed in the front overhang of a deserted building and watched until the old man reached another building a few hundred feet away. When he finally got inside the front door, Slack left his cover and quickly followed.
He reached the building as the slow older man was getting inside the lobby. He’d put down his bag to get his keys. Slack picked up the bag and pushed the door open.
“I got it,” he said.
The man mumbled thank you as the door closed behind them.
“This way?” Slack asked. But without waiting, he headed to the back of the long hallway and the space underneath the staircase.
“Wait a minute. Where you think you’re going with that?” the old man called out, hastening after the teen.
“Right here, old man. I don’t want your food,” Slack said.
But when the man caught up to him, in the darkened back of the hallway where there were no apartments, Slack threw the bag aside, spilling the groceries. He pushed the man into the grimy stucco wall.
“What—what’s going on?”
“Shut up! Gimme your money.”
“I don’t have any.”
“Bullshit!” Slack held the old man to the wall with one hand. He snatched the cane from his hand and dropped it. With quick expertise Slack located the worn canvas wallet with its Velcro opening in the inside coat pocket.
Within seconds Slack had withdrawn the bills and thrown the wallet to the floor as well.
“What … what you gonna do?” the man asked nervously, but Slack wasn’t paying attention.
“Shit,” he muttered in disgust. Twenty-seven dollars. Chump change. Then he remembered that Jason had given him five. Thirty-two dollars was better than empty pockets.
He pushed the old man once more, just for good measure. He casually folded the bills and stuffed them into his pocket. He left the building unseen. Slack went back to get his coat, turned his hat backward, and walked to Dunkin Donuts two blocks away to get something to eat.