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Certain Reprisal
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A Jon Dough Thriller
Copyright © 2020
by Kevin Macklin
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. ... This is a work of fiction.
Chapter 1
“Officer Mahoney has been acquitted of all five charges in his sexual assault trial,” the reporter said.
The screen changed to a shot of a guy walking down the steps of the courthouse. Average height and muscular, he had the air of an officer and the arrogance of a mob boss.
Scott Mahoney was an officer with the Duncanville Police Department. Initially charged with the sexual assault of thirteen women, the district attorney had reduced the charges down to five counts, because eight of the women refused to testify. The five that did testify had been drug through the mud, all of their dirty laundry aired out for the entire city to see.
They were all prostitutes and drug addicts. Some homeless, others functional during daylight hours and leading double lives after sunset. All had been victims of an officer of the law whose power had filled his head to the point that he felt he was untouchable.
The acquittal did nothing to deflate his enormous ego.
I stopped the video, sat back in my chair and closed my eyes. I’d been aware of Mahoney for years, but I didn't know him personally. That may come as a surprise, given my choice of profession. But, the key to longevity in my business is to stay as far away from law enforcement as possible. I've managed to do that over the years, barely. Now, I'm trying to decide if I'm willing to take on the very organization I've spent my whole life avoiding.
Not quite true. The decision has already been made. I'm just trying to get comfortable with the decision.
I'm rarely seen in the streets. Not too many people know my face. My name… Sure. It rings more bells than a sexton. Otherwise, I'm a ghost, a spectre. An urban legend that no one can identify.
Except for those who have been in the game for a while.
I had to start somewhere. There was a time when I sat in the trap house all night fighting with the other hustlers for a twenty dollar sale. There was a time when I deliberately built my reputation as someone not to be messed with. Eat or be eaten. That was life back then. So, I made sure that everyone knew who I was.
Then, I leveled up.
Now, the only people outside of my own organization who know who I am, knew me from back then.
Earlier today, I was approached by one such person. She was obviously a drug addict, and I knew she was a prostitute. Most would view that as a black mark when it comes to her credibility. I'm sure there are some Johns she'd roll in a minute. Guess it just depends on your perspective. I trust her more than your average insurance agent.
Her name was Tammy. She'd been around a long time. And, you could tell. Light skinned with a pockmarked face, she'd seen better days. Her hair was twisted into knots and her clothes looked like they could use a wash. Or two.
Tammy was one of my first customers, so she knew who I was. One time, she'd even tried to get with me. I have absolutely nothing against prostitution as an industry, but I'll never be a customer. I'm frugal with my spending and sex isn't a necessary expense. Money was always my vice and the key to feeding my addiction is to bring more in than you put out. Unnecessary expenses like paying for sex can put a hell of a black hole in your budget.
Ever since I'd claimed the leadership role in my own organization, my presence in the streets had diminished. Today was one of those rare occasions when I'd made the rounds, checking on all of my trap houses, making sure things were running smoothly. Sometimes the boots on the ground need to see the head honcho as a reminder that he really exists and is on top of his business.
My territory lies on the Northeast side of Duncanville, not far from the downtown warehouse district where you'd normally find me. I'd just pulled up to the fifth trap house of the day, gotten out and was walking toward the door when a woman's voice, a couple houses down, began yelling, "Dough! Dough! Jon Dough, you know you hear me calling you!"
I turned toward the voice and immediately recognized Tammy. "Hey! What's up, Tammy? You good?"
"I need to talk to you," she said as she walked up to me.
"Talk to me. What's up?" I said in response.
She cut her eyes at my lieutenant, JoJo, who was in charge of distribution, as well as the guy who would usually make the rounds.
"JoJo," I said. "Go ahead inside. I'll be there in a min."
Once he'd crossed the threshold and closed the door, Tammy said, "I need your help. We all need your help."
"What are you talking about, Tammy? Help with what?"
"They missing."
"Who's missing?"
"And you the only one that can help," she continued.
The fact that Tammy has known me a long time means that she knows things long put to rest and not often talked about anymore. At this point I wasn't really sure where she was going with this or what she wanted from me. I didn't feel like I had the time to sit here and drag it out of her like a country cook plucking chicken feathers one by one, either.
"Tammy," I said with a touch of irritation in my voice. "Spit it out. What are you talking about?"
"That officer was raping us. All of us. And now they missing."
Chapter 2
Mama's was a small soul food restaurant that held seating for about 20 patrons. Mama was a small woman of about 60, with a head full of long, gray dreadlocks and a flair for flavor.
Instead of allowing Tammy to tell her story on the street in front of a trap house, I brought her to Mama's. We settled into a booth in the most remote corner of the small restaurant. It was mid-afternoon. The lunch rush was over and the dinner crowd was a couple hours away. Normally, this time was used to prepare the dinner menu, free of anyone who wasn't involved in the process, and today was no different. Mama just had a soft spot for me.
A couple years ago, some youngsters, who'd seen too many mob movies, decided that they wanted to shake down a few local businesses, and Mama's was one of their targets. I've never understood why people prey on and vandalize legitimate businesses owned by hard working members of their own community. Just makes no sense and I have no respect for it. But, the streets were talking and I got wind of it. Not only did they stop their predatory behavior, but they went to each and every business they'd tried to shake down and offered personal apologies.
So, Mama had a soft spot for me.
A member of the wait staff brought a couple glasses of iced tea and set them on the table. I took a sip from my glass and Tammy just sat there, glass untouched, eyes darting around the room as if she expected this officer to drop down from the rafters at any moment. She finally met my eye and started talking.
The street was dark, the lights had been stripped of their copper by people looking to make a quick buck. This neighborhood wasn't high on the city's priority list, so this street had been dark for some time. Being a creature of the night, she was ok with the dark, and walked these streets every night.
Tonight was like any other in that respect. As she strolled down the sidewalk a car drove up behind her, but she paid it no attention. Until it stopped next to her and a bright light was splashed directly onto her face.
The driver's door opened and someone stepped out. With her face still bathed in the bright light she couldn't make out any features, not even if it was a man or a woman.
A deep voice commanded, "Put your hands up and stay where you are."
Having a small amount of heroin
in her pocket, she considered running, but she would have been running blind. The light had caused her retinas to adjust, ruining her vision's adaptation to the dark. So, she stood there, hoping the officer wouldn't search her pockets. She'd done nothing to give him probable cause. Just a woman walking down a street.
The officer walked around the hood of his car. Still unable to see him, she followed his progress with her ears, his boots scraping the asphalt with each step. A shape floated into the glare, the man's silhouette casting shadows and dampening the ferocity of the light.
"Turn around," he instructed.
She complied.
Hands touched her body, starting at the shoulders, working their way down. She felt pressure on her pocket, then the tug of fabric as the hand slipped into her pocket.
The hand came out with a small baggie. Containing heroin.
"Well, well. What do we have here!" He sounded as if he had just struck a bullseye at the carnival to win the grand prize. "Looks like we have ourselves a little pro-ble-mo! Now what are we gonna do about it?"
"No. Please. I can't go to jail," she pleaded.
She'd had enough run-ins with the police to know that she should have been in cuffs by now. Maybe she could talk him into letting her go with a warning. Maybe he was going to try to get her to tell him where she got the drugs. She turned, faced him.
She asked, "Can you let me go with a warning? Just this one time..."
"Now, I'd be doing the public a disservice if I were to do that. If my captain got wind that I was just letting people go, I could lose my job. Quotas, and all. Now, what incentive would I have to put my job and my duty to the public on the line?"
Oh, he was one of those cops, said the voice in her head
She'd been around the block a few times. She'd seen dirty cops before. She wasn't opposed to a little quid pro quo, especially if it meant she wouldn't be spending the rest of the night in booking.
She took a step towards him, put her hands on his chest. She could feel the stiff fabric of his shirt, the bulkiness of his tactical vest beneath.
"Why don't we go for a ride," she asked in a voice barely above a whisper. "Someplace quiet."
His body shifted as he leaned into her. Close enough that she could smell his aftershave.
"Now, that's what I'm talking about." His voice matched her whisper.
He passed through the light and she was again met with its full intensity. The click of a car door opening reached her.
"Now, what are you waiting for?" The carnival voice again. "Hop on in!"
Once she'd moved out of the light a strong hand gripped her arm and guided her into the backseat of the police car, pushing her head down as she fell into the seat. The door closed and a few seconds later the driver's side door opened. The dim, overhead light provided her first glimpse of the officer, although it didn't reveal much because of the angle. Short, blonde hair and a strong jaw. Smallish ears.
He made a couple rights and a left, then pulled into a parking lot and angled the car behind a dumpster. Got out and opened her door.
"I knew what I was doing that first time," Tammy said. "It is what it is. But, from then on… Every time he saw me after that he would cuff me up and drive me to that same spot. Didn't matter that I didn't have anything on me, that there was no reason to arrest me. That's what he did. And I was scared, so I gave him what he wanted. Every time."
She paused.
Then continued, "I wasn't the first, and I damn sure wasn't the only one."
I sat back and took a drink of my tea. These kinds of arrangements were probably more common than anyone realized. People were susceptible to greed and pleasures of the flesh. Even cops. They were human, too. But, police officers work in an extreme position of power. They possess the ability to instill fear almost incomparable. The fear of being snatched away from one's life as they know it, of being separated from loved ones, privacy, rights, and freedom can encourage even the strongest to consider doing things they wouldn't normally do in order to avoid jail.
But, who polices the police? Where are the checks and balances?
We've all seen news reports of police officers getting away with things the popular opinion considers to be criminal, and morally wrong. We've all seen how many unarmed young, black men have been gunned down by cops who face no repercussions. We've all experienced the fear caused by the sight of a police car in your rearview mirror even though you know for a fact that you haven't done anything wrong.
Fear is power.
I'm not a statistician, but I'd be willing to bet that the overwhelming majority of law enforcement officers are not dirty, or crooked, or morally inept. They are not looking to abuse their power. They genuinely desire to serve the public and do a competent job. Maintaining the order and protecting the innocent is a necessary job, and we need people to do that job.
But, again, cops are human.
I said, "You said they're missing… Who is?"
"Precious, Hennessey, and Nika."
"How do they relate to this?" I asked.
"They were three of the five girls that testified on him. It's only two left," she said. "And he's coming for them! You gotta help them Dough!"
"What exactly do you want me to do? Hide them out somewhere? Then what? They can't stay there forever. Hell, they probably won't stay there for long. What happens when they get that itch and want some dope? You know what. I'm not sure there's anything I can do."
"So, what, we're just supposed to stand by and let these people treat us any kind of way? Rape us? Kill us? I always thought you were one of the good guys, Jon Dough. You always seemed to do the right thing. But, now I see that you're just another nigga with that slave mentality that only does what's right when it suits you! What, you scared of the man? Go tap dance for master, then!"
She got up to leave, but I grabbed her arm as she walked by.
"Sit down, Tammy."
"Get your hands off of me," she growled through gritted teeth, then snatched her arm away and stormed out of Mama's.
Chapter 3
I sat there, silently sipping my iced tea. The last drops of the amber liquid drained from the glass, leaving only half melted ice cubes. I was suddenly wishing I had a completely different kind of amber liquid. One with less ice and more of a burning sensation.
What had Tammy expected? I didn't have a problem putting the two women up somewhere safe, but she knew just as I did that it would be a temporary solution. A very temporary solution. Addiction was a bitch. When that itch came, neither woman would see their safety as a priority. All they would see is their need to get that fix. Safety be damned. And, that's assuming they would come in the first instance. They'd probably see any help I could offer in the same light that they'd see an officer taking them to jail. That's pretty much what I'd be offering, to lock them up for their own safety.
Indefinitely.
Their tormentor wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. They'd tried to take him off the streets. They'd failed. Rolled the dice and crapped out. Shot their only round and missed. Now, their failure was coming back to bite them in the ass, medieval style.
WTF.
Mama wandered over to my table with a pitcher in her hand. As she refilled my glass, I asked, "Got anything stronger?"
She set the pitcher on the table and took the seat formerly occupied by Tammy.
She said, "I heard."
"Yeah, not much background noise," I replied.
"So, what are you going to do?"
"I don't know. I don't really see what I can do."
"What about the three that are already missing?"
"Fuck… Didn't think about that. But, still. I take on the police and hell rains down on the hood."
"Wouldn't be the first time," she said. "I was just a little girl during the Civil Rights movement, but can you imagine what my parents endured? What everyone endured? But, it took someone willing to fight for the better good. It took unity amongst our people. And, we prevailed. We did. Nobo
dy was going to stand up for us. So, we did."
Mama stood, grabbed the pitcher of iced tea. Took a couple steps towards the kitchen. Turned back around, said, "Wouldn't be the first time."
Mama disappeared into the kitchen.
I downed my iced tea, then stepped out into the sunshine.
What if these three women were still alive and I could help them? I didn't want the people in my employ to end up in jail because of the heat I brought down on them. Selling drugs is illegal, but most of my guys are just trying to pay their bills and feed their families in a community that doesn't offer many opportunities for success. Be it my justification or whatever, I don't want to bring heat down on them.
So, I have to be a ghost.
Nobody knows that I'm even aware of the situation, outside of Tammy and Mama. Tammy doesn't think I'm going to do anything about it. And, Mama… I'm not concerned with her running around the streets spreading rumors. If nobody knows anything about my involvement, then I don't have to worry about bringing unwanted attention to my business, and, most importantly, my people.
But, we're talking about a street savvy, veteran officer who's been around the block a few times. That's not to be taken lightly. The situational awareness of an officer who's beat happens to be the most dangerous area of the city had to be well above average, and if he's done as much dirt as rumor has it, a bit of paranoia probably has roots inside his psyche. He would have tactical training, as well.
Most opponents I've gone up against don't have the training that I have. Which has always given me a distinct advantage, allowing me to handle situations without breaking much of a sweat.
Not this time.
Closing my hand around the phone in my pocket, I pulled it out and tapped the icon to call JoJo.
When he answered, I said, "Get the guys to the warehouse. I'll be there in a couple hours."
More information was necessary, so I drove home before meeting my guys at the warehouse. Went inside and powered up my laptop. After I typed in the keywords I wanted to search, a list of links popped up.
Certain Reprisal Page 1
