[Lady Justice 18] - Lady Justice in the Eye of the Storm

by Robert Thornhill

  Driving past the block where we had accosted Tyrell Jackson, we could see his makeshift memorial illuminated by hundreds of candles. Flowers and stuffed animals were piled high on the spot where Jackson’s blood had stained the sidewalk.

  Placards with the words, ‘How many more?’ were being paraded around just as the captain had said.

  “I’ve played that moment over and over again,” Ox said. “I’ve tried to figure what I could have done differently, but I just can’t come up with another answer.”

  “Maybe because there is no other answer,” I replied. “If you had done anything different, you might be riding with a new partner.”

  Ox pulled his SUV into the alley behind the convenience store. Louie was waiting for us.

  Willie and Louie did that fist-slap, arm-bump thing that cool guys do, then Louie turned to us.

  “I appreciate you both comin’ tonight. I know you’re puttin’ your asses on the line just being here.”

  “Not a problem,” I replied. “That’s why we’re wearing disguises.”

  “Yeah, I barely recognized you,” he replied, rolling his eyes.

  “So who are you expecting to show up tonight?” Ox asked.

  “Rashan Tweedy,” Louie replied. “Him and a buddy have been breakin’ in and lootin’ ever since that Tyrell thing happened. It’s got nothin’ to do with no protest. They’re just usin’ that as an excuse to do their dirty work.”

  “So how do you want to play this?” I asked.

  “My sis and her hubby are out front, just doin’ what they always do. I’m gonna stay here in the back with Willie. You two take the side door by the walk-in cooler. If the creeps show up, we’ll have them in a cross-fire.”

  “Works for us.”

  We took our places, and a half-hour later, two young black men ambled into the store. Their pants were barely covering their asses and their ball caps were on backwards in what guys in our precinct call ‘larceny mode.’

  I could see bulges under their sweatshirts, leaving little doubt that they were armed.

  Activists are always on our case for racial profiling. Evidently I was guilty, because there was no doubt in my mind these two were up to no good.

  One of them headed toward the beer cooler and the other approached the counter where Louie’s sister was stocking cigarettes.

  “Hey Doll, how about slippin’ some of those smokes over here --- like all of ‘em.”

  Louie, his brother-in-law and Willie emerged from the back room.

  “Rashan, you must be doin’ a lot of smokin’ these days. Don’t you know that’s bad for your health? Hell, I guess I don’t care if you die of lung cancer as long as you got the money to pay for the smokes. You was gonna pay for them, wasn’t you?”

  “Louie the Lip,” Rashan sneered. “Hadn’t heard much about you lately. Thought you’d died of old age.”

  “No such luck, Rashan. Now I’m gonna ask you again. Are you here to shop and pay, or are you here for somethin’ else?”

  “What if I was here for somethin’ else? Who’s gonna stop me. All I see is a couple of over-the-hill black dudes and a pansy-ass clerk.”

  “I got a question, Rashan. One of the brothers got shot a couple of weeks ago and right now his family and friends are grievin’ just a few blocks away, and here you are, fixin’ to rob another sister and her husband. What’s up with that?”

  Rashan sneered. “This ain’t got nothin’ to do with protestin’ or grievin’ or shit like dat. All dis is about is cigarettes, beer and cash, and like I asked before, if that’s what I’m here for, who’s gonna stop me?”

  At that moment, Ox and I stepped from behind the cooler.

  “How about all five of us?” Ox bellowed in his big-boy voice. “How do you like your odds now?”

  Seeing two cops with their hands on their weapons took the wind out of Rashan’s sails.

  It didn’t take long for him to rethink his position.

  He motioned for his buddy. “Looks like I’ll be takin’ my business somewhere else tonight, but I’ll remember this, old man. This ain’t over.”

  The two of them backed out of the store and took off down the street.

  We all let out a collective sigh.

  “Rashan blinked,” I said. “Thank goodness. The last thing we needed was another shootout.”

  “Why didn’t you arrest them?” Louie’s sister asked. “They’re just going to be back or go somewhere else to do their dirty work.”

  “Because technically, they didn’t actually break the law,” Ox replied. “You can’t arrest someone for having a big mouth or being ugly. We’ll keep an eye on them.”

  Louie shook our hands. “Thanks. I owe you.”

  “It’s not like that, Louie,” I replied. “We were glad to help.”

  “I won’t forget it,” he replied, then turning to Ox, “Your moustache is crooked.”

  Officer Martin Mulloy and his partner had just cruised by the Tyrell Jackson memorial.

  “Looks like things are pretty quiet.”

  “Yeah, for now,” Marty replied. “That was a real tough time for Walt and Ox. I’m so glad they’re off the hook.”

  “Things like that really effect how we do our jobs. Sometimes just a moment’s hesitation is the difference between life and death. So what’s on your agenda for tomorrow?”

  “The boys have a soccer game and it’s my turn to car pool. Looks like I’ll be spending the afternoon with a bunch of soccer moms.”

  “Lucky you. Since things seem to be under control here, how about we take a drive down Truman Road. A couple of places have been hit by looters.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  They had turned off Troost and headed west on Truman Road when Marty yelled, “Pull Over! There --- in front of the Bodega. I just saw a black guy pistol whip the clerk. I’ll call for back up.

  “This is Officer Martin Malloy requesting back-up at the Mexican Bodega on Truman just west of Troost. I see one suspect. He’s armed and dangerous. Send an ambulance.”

  “Marty, you take the perp while I check on the clerk.”

  Marty drew his weapon and advanced slowly into the store while his partner slid behind the counter to aid the fallen clerk.

  Seeing the police converging on the scene, the perp fled toward the back of the store.

  Marty followed and found the perp holding a gun to the head of a female hostage.

  “Back off, cop, or I’ll blow her away.”

  “Just take it easy. Let’s talk about this.”

  “Nothin’ to talk about. I’m headin’ to the door with this bitch an’ if you get in my way, I’ll waste her.”

  The perp pushed the terrified woman forward and Marty slowly retreated.

  “Look, back up is on the way right now. Pretty soon this place is going to be swarming with cops. There’s only one way for this to end well. You need to put down your gun.”

  “That ain’t gonna happen. I’m tellin’ you, I’ll shoot. Now back off!”

  “Sorry, I just can’t do that. You pull that trigger and you’re a dead man.”

  Marty froze as a voice behind him said, “No, cop. You’re the dead man.”

  “Marty! Behind you!” his partner shouted, but it was too late.

  A shot rang out and Martin Malloy fell to the floor.

  We were just getting ready to head home when I heard the crackle of a police radio.

  “Ox, did you bring a radio?”

  “Not mine,” he replied.

  “It’s mine,” Louie said, holding up the receiver. “I just keep it around to stay in touch with what’s happenin’ in the hood.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet you do. Where on earth did you get a police radio?”

  “You don’t want to know,” he replied. “Quiet, this sounds important.”

  The radio crackled again. “This is Officer Martin Mulloy requesting back-up at the Mexican Bodega on Truman Road just west of Troost. I see one suspect. He’s armed and dangerous. Send
an ambulance.”

  “Jesus!” Ox muttered. “That’s just around the corner. I’d bet my paycheck that’s Rashan and his buddy.”

  “But Malloy said he only saw one suspect. That means ---!”

  “Holy crap! Walt. We’ve got to get over there --- fast!”

  We jumped in Ox’s SUV and headed to Truman Road.

  Ox swerved to the curb in front of the Bodega, and I was out the door before he had come to a complete stop.

  I hit the front door just in time to see Rashan slip behind the unsuspecting Malloy and shout, “No, cop. You’re the dead man.”

  I heard his partner yell, but it was too late. A shot rang out and Malloy fell to the floor.

  Rashan had turned his gun on Malloy’s partner who was cradling the wounded clerk in his arms.

  “You’re next, cop.”

  Before he could fire, I pulled the trigger and Rashan Tweedy lurched forward, face first, the gun flying from his hand.

  By this time, Ox was by my side, and the second perp, seeing two officers with guns pointed in his direction, and his buddy bleeding out on the floor, released his hostage, dropped his gun and fell to his knees.

  After the perp was securely in cuffs, I checked Rashan for a pulse, but there was none.

  I had a bad feeling as I stood over the lifeless body of another black man with a bullet hole in his back.

  Somehow, we had escaped the fury of Hurricane Odile, but now I feared that we had been caught in the eye of a far more fearsome storm.

  CHAPTER 16

  “Jesus, Walt!” the captain said, shaking his head. “What were the two of you doing out there? I thought I told you to stay off the job until things cool down, and now it seems you’ve thrown gasoline onto the fire.”

  “Technically, we weren’t ‘on the job.’ We were just helping Louie the Lip. The word on the street was that the looters were going to hit his sister’s store and they did. Rashan and his buddy showed up, but when we confronted them, they took off. If they had just gone on home, none of this would have happened. Instead, they hit the Bodega two blocks away. We heard Malloy’s call for assistance on the radio and figured that we were the closest, so we responded. Are you saying that we shouldn’t have?”

  “No, I’m not saying that. If the two of you hadn’t shown up when you did, we’d probably have two dead officers instead of just one, and the perps would have most likely gotten away. My problem is now I have two officer involved shootings of young black men, and it doesn’t seem to matter that both were justified. People are still pissed off.”

  “So what happens now?”

  “You know the drill. Same as when Ox shot Tyrell Jackson. You’re both on administrative leave until we sort this thing out.”

  “Surely not another preliminary hearing!”

  “No, thank goodness. This case is different. With Ox and Cleavon Fowler, there were no witnesses to confirm either man’s story until that video showed up. Here, we have Ox, Mulloy’s partner and the two clerks at the Bodega. We’re bringing everybody in to take their statements, including Louie, Willie, Louie’s sister and her husband. As soon as all that’s done, we’ll cut you loose. In the meantime, you’re better off here until we can release a statement that the shooting was justified. You’ve had a rough night. Find some place to curl up and get some rest.”

  I was pooped all right. It was nearly dawn by the time the crime scene guys had finished their work.

  Naturally, a crowd had gathered around the Bodega, so we were escorted directly back to the station for our own protection and to avoid unnecessary confrontation.

  I had called Maggie, and Ox had called Judy to let them know that we were safe and sound --- at least for now.

  Since it was already common knowledge where we both lived, the captain had sent black and whites to both of our homes. For the second time in a month, our friends and families were virtual prisoners in their own homes, not daring to set foot outside for fear of retaliation.

  As I headed to the break room to find a place to curl up, I saw all of the witnesses from the night before being escorted to interview rooms where their statements would be taken. Willie and Louie both spotted me and gave me a ‘thumbs-up.’

  Like Ox, I had replayed the previous night’s events over and over in my mind, wondering if there had been something that I could have done differently, but I had come to the same conclusion each time. What Rashan had done and was about to do left me no other choice.

  I had no doubt the shooting would be seen as ‘justified.’ What worried me was to a whole segment of the population, that declaration would mean nothing. All that would matter was another black man had been gunned down by a white cop.

  I curled up on a cot in the break room, and as I drifted off to sleep, the words of the raucous crowd echoed in my ears.

  “How many more? How many more?”

  When I awoke, I was surprised to see it was almost dark. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. I had been awake for over twenty-four hours and suffered through another traumatic experience. My body had just shut down.

  Ox, Willie and Louie were there to greet me as I stepped out of the break room after splashing some water on my face.

  “So Rumpelstiltskin is finally awake,” Ox said. “You’ve slept through quite a day.”

  “How so? What’s going on?”

  “Well,” he replied, “I have some good news and some bad news, but it’s more good than bad.”

  “Okay, let’s hear it.”

  “First, after everyone made their statements, it was a no brainer that the shooting was justified. The chief held a news conference immediately. He wanted to get the details of the shooting out there so people could see for themselves that you had absolutely no other options.”

  “So how did that go over?”

  “Pretty much like you would expect. The city as a whole, was relieved that this was just a good cop doing his job, but, of course, there were also the hard-liners saying this was just another incident of police brutality. We recorded the press conference if you’d like to see it.”

  “Maybe later. So how about the bad news.”

  “Not yet. There’s more good news if you want to call it that. There’s been a dramatic shift in public opinion. A veteran police officer was shot to death by a street thug. When Tyrell Jackson died, people rallied at the scene and have held vigils since his death. This, you’ve gotta see.”

  Ox queued up the recorder and pushed ‘play.’ A news crew was at the Bodega filming an angry crowd.

  A reporter was interviewing a distraught woman.

  “Officer Malloy was a ten year veteran and he was shot down in cold blood protecting a shop keeper from a pair of looters. The officer had a family, and now there is a wife without a husband and two boys without a father --- and for what --- some cigarettes and beer? A black boy was shot and people were screaming their heads off. Now a white officer has been gunned down, and what I want to know is, where is the outrage?”

  The camera panned to the crowd carrying placards and chanting the words written on them.

  “Where is the outrage? Where is the outrage?”

  “Wow!”

  “No kidding! Now for the ‘not-so-good’ news.”

  Ox queued up another tape and hit ‘play’ again.

  It was the scene of another rally. It reminded me of the pep rallies we had in high school on the night before big football games. There would be cheerleaders chanting, football players strutting and a huge bonfire where they would burn in effigy, the mascot of the opposing team. I had seen wildcats, pirates and falcons go up in flames as the students cheered.

  This time, the figures being consumed by the flames were two dummies dressed in police uniforms.

  “Guess what, Partner?” Ox muttered. “That’s you and me out there. The cops that shot down the two black men.”

  “Holy crap! Looks like this thing is far from over.”

  At that moment, the captain stopped by.

 
; “So, you’ve seen it. Not real pretty. Do I have to remind you that the two of you HAVE to stay out of the public eye until this thing blows over?”

  “No,” I replied. “I think we get the picture. We’ll stay put.”

  “Good. I think it’s safe for you to leave the station. The place cleared out after the chief’s news conference, and all the action seems to be at the two rally sites. I have officers stationed at each of your homes, so go straight there --- no detours. I’ll be in touch.”

  Ox had picked me up the night before. It had only been twenty-four hours, but it seemed like an eternity ago. In that span, two men had lost their lives, and a city that had been on the verge of violence had been pushed a little closer to the edge.

  “I’ll drive,” Ox said. “Willie, are you coming with us?”

  “Thanks, Ox, but I think I’ll ride wif Louie. He’ll take me home.”

  Weary, worried and wasted, we headed for the sanctuary of our homes.

  Deandre Tweedy and six of his buddies had just finished piling firewood around two stakes they had driven into the ground in the parking lot of the old abandoned school.

  Tweedy stepped back and looked at their handiwork.

  “Dat should do it. We gonna burn us some cops, but it ain’t gonna be no stuffed dummies. We gonna burn us the real thing. Dat cop what shot my brother is gonna be beggin’ for his life.”

  Just then, his cell phone buzzed.

  “Dat was Marcus. De cops are leavin’. Let’s do this!”

  Ox fired up his SUV and we headed home.

  I had called Maggie to tell her we were on our way. She warned me that it wouldn’t be a peaceful homecoming. While I was zonked out in the break room, everyone in our building had been watching the drama unfold on TV. They had run the gamut of emotions from scared to worried to concerned, and finally to relief. It was a foregone conclusion that I wouldn’t be getting any peace until everyone had heard the whole story directly from the horse’s mouth.

  Ox had just turned onto 18th Street and was heading to Main, when we saw a man standing by a van waving his arms wildly.