10-99: Line of Duty Series

by Xyla Turner

  “Yeah, but its two thousand and sixteen, O.” I countered.

  “And our young men are still being killed in the streets and our fellow officers are getting away with it and it’s two thousand and sixteen.” O reiterated.

  That shit brought me back to what Sever said. ‘We were the trash man, taking the trash out.’

  He thought DaShawn was just like all the other black kids who he assumed were selling drugs and up to no good. Fuck, even if he was, he didn’t deserve to die.

  “What do you think about that, O? You’re a cop.” I asked.

  “Yeah, but I took an oath like you did and every other officer on the job. We were commissioned to uphold and enforce the law. Not become judge and jury on the streets that we vowed to protect. I’m hurt, my friend. We risk our lives but Marisol and I are expecting. Will my future son fall into the fate of a vigilante cop’s bullet or one of his own? I hope not. I’m hurt. We were trained intensively on how to de-escalate, not entice or agitate situations but to keep order. Thousand dollar trainings that won’t bring any of these people back. I’m hurt.” Odomi concluded.

  “I’m hurt, too.”

  A silent hum took up the time as we probably both reflected on the situations at hand. Then Odomi broke it and asked, “What did your lady friend say?”

  “She said a lot, O.” I chuckled. “What stood out was that she felt torn between having a relationship with me and keeping the relationship with her family intact. This was all she had known and what she thought might work; wouldn’t. She had said similar things before we started seeing each other. She doesn’t like cops, so she wouldn’t fit in my circle. Her friends and family would never accept me, so that wouldn’t work; so what was left?”

  “You make your own circle. The two of you can work together and make your own world.” Odomi stated.

  “Yeah, we’re really new, so that wasn’t really a conversation for now.” I said.

  “You believe she’s the one? It doesn’t matter if you met yesterday, tell her the plan, my friend. Believe me, if it bodes well with her, she’ll meet you in your circle. But you have to build that for her. She needs to see it. I had to do the same with my Marisol. She’s Asian-American and her father disowned her when he heard she was dating an American and then a Nigerian-American. We’d only been dating for a couple of months but it was the principle of the situation. That was three years ago and now we’re married and expecting our first child. We’re happy, my friend. She’s happy and I make sure she stays happy. So, if she’s the one, your lady friend, you’ve got some work to do.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” I laughed but I still wasn’t sure what my next move, if any, should be.

  At this point, I just wanted to take my time and come up with a strategy because like that dream, there would be a fight with some very invisible forces and we had to get on the same page, quick.

  My visits to the Psychologist were becoming more productive than the first few times. He even gave me homework that I had to take home and do. I had to write down when my mood changed, what caused it to change, what I was thinking, watching or drinking at the time of the change. It was elaborate and time-consuming but I committed to doing the shit.

  The yoga class, on the other hand, I was not so committed. The first time, I arrived twenty minutes late and I didn’t bring a mat. The second time, I came ten minutes late and left the mat home again but the instructor caught on to me and had one for me.

  The shit wasn’t so bad but it felt weird.

  It had been two weeks since Kat and I went to the movies and she stormed out of my life. I thought about her every single day. Shit, I even drunk texted her a few times asking if she was okay. Told her that I missed her one night. My last drunk text, which I didn’t even remember typing read, come back.

  Kat never responded to any of them, which fueled my anger even more. It was probably best that she didn’t respond. As my friend, Odomi said, I had some work to do.

  Kat:

  Yup, I officially had bags under my eyes because I was getting absolutely no sleep. The guilt and the shame were eating at me and I’d probably die a lonely death because of it. That seemed dramatic but that was how I felt. This pain was deeper than heartbreak; this was a betrayal and I was the betrayer.

  The night of the movies, Don came knocking on my door, about to damn near kick it in. He was demanding to know who Vic was, where I met him and a bunch of other shit that I refused to tell him. He was screaming and asking how could I do that to him, after all he’s taught me and raised me to have better sense.

  Don said some foul shit about white people and that was when I’d had enough.

  “No,” I shook my head. “No.”

  “The fuck you mean, no,” he snapped. “If anyone should be saying−”

  I cut him off again by raising my hand in his face and said, “No. Don. We’re not doing this. I don’t ask about who you date, who you fuck, or who you bring home and if she was half-black or Asian, it would shock me but make me no bit of difference to me. Therefore, you will not come into my home, demanding to see anyone to do anything. That’s not going to happen. I respect all that you’ve done when you needed to do it but maybe you haven’t noticed, but I’m over thirty, Don. I’m a grown ass fucking woman who will make my own decisions about who I decide to fucking date. That’s not your job. The sixteen-year-old Kat, sure; but not now. You don’t have that right.”

  Don’s head reared back and he said, “That white man going to use you up, spit you out and then what? You’ll want me to pick up the pieces.”

  “Don, so what if he fucking did. That’s on me. Not you. Look around, I’ve done well so far.”

  “You’ve been engaged twice and still single but now you’re running to the white man, like he’s going to solve your problems. All they do is cause a mess.”

  “He’s not like that. He’s not going to fix my problems; he’s about fixing the community’s problems. Do you really take me for such a fool?” I was asking rhetorically.

  “Yes, because this is fucking foolish.” He snapped. “Kat. A white man?”

  Don’s lip was turned up so high, his quivering lip actually showed a speck of his white teeth. He was that disgusted with me.

  “It’s not like that with him. He’s passionate, caring and he is all about the community. Believe me, I saw him in the hospital actually crying over that kid.” I was grasping at straws.

  Don smirked and said, “Yeah because he probably shot him.”

  I blanched.

  No, he did not just say that about the man who stood to give a eulogy about a boy who had come to be a family member for him. Stayed in the hospital for two days straight, on the verge of getting sick himself and to have someone who didn't even know the situation judge him based on simply the color of his skin.

  My eyelids closed, then I opened them and moved towards the front door.

  “Get out.”

  Don remained where he was and then he blinked.

  “What?” He asked in shock.

  “I said, get out. You don't know him. Never met him. Don't even know what he does for a living. This isn't about white and black, it's much deeper than that. And on that note Don, I'm not sure how to help you. I need you to get out and when you can have a sensible conversation, we’ll talk.” I emphasized each word.

  He walked passed me and said, “I see the white man has you brainwashed too.”

  He was already across the threshold, so I slammed the door.

  I could not believe Don, my blood brother, had so much hate for another race. I was positive that our fight was against injustice but it seemed that what was inherently embedded was our own hatred. I was just as guilty.

  Hence, even two weeks later, I hadn't heard from Don or Vic. Here I thought it would be a fight about the two of them and I wasn't talking to either of them. My therapist thought that was symbolic and thought I should explore that more. She gave me a cause and effect sheet so I could record the events over
the past six months. I knew without even doing it that it would cause some hurtful reflection. To top that off, the therapist told me that I should look into picking back up Yoga again.

  I knew I was giving her the side eye because the last I discussed that form of release and alignment with was Vic. Now, everything that used to be my normal was ruined by him.

  On my way to work, I was a little spaced out and ran through a yellow traffic light. The next thing I saw that sent a panic through my heart were the flashing blue and red lights.

  “Son of a bitch,” I exhaled and pulled over.

  It was ten o’clock at night, barely anyone was on the street and I was about to be late for work. The cop took his time leaving the car as I sat getting agitated by the second. I texted Sandy, so she knew what was happening and then I kept my audio on just in case. I didn't trust cops at all.

  After almost fifteen minutes, the cop sauntered up to the driver’s side door and said, “License and registration.”

  I already had them in hand so I gave my documents to him.

  “You know you ran a red light back there.” He stated with his head buried in his pad.

  I looked, didn't respond then turned to keep looking forward.

  “You hear me?” He raised his voice.

  I nodded my head as I scanned my surroundings hoping someone would just stand by and watch. Just to make sure nothing foul went down.

  People just kept walking and going about their business.

  Fuck.

  “Ma’am, do you speak?”

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “Well, why didn't you answer me when I addressed you the first time?” His pad was no longer in his face but patting his thigh.

  “You didn't ask me a question.” I responded.

  He raised an eyebrow and commanded, “Step outside the car, ma’am.”

  The officer took a step back.

  I looked around again and there was no one in the vicinity. My thoughts raced to Sandra Bland and Philando Castile. I wanted to see another day but I was so angry. If I just complied and listened, could I make it home? If I told him how I really felt, would I arrive at my job on a gurney or could I walk in on my own two legs.

  My hand clutched the door handle as I slowly opened it and climbed out.

  “Hands where I can see them.” He said.

  I put my hands up and kicked the door shut.

  “You want to be a wise ass, huh?” He stepped closer to me.

  I immediately looked at his badge and badge number because if I survived this I planned to file five thousand complaints with internal affairs, the district and the city.

  “Turn around and put your hands on the car.” He pointed for me to do this on the back door.

  I hesitated and he screamed, “DO IT NOW!”

  Instinctively, I jumped and he grabbed me, forcefully turned my body around and pushed me against the car.

  He kicked my legs open and said, “You're a nurse, huh?” He sucked his teeth. “A disrespectful one too. You treat your patients like this?”

  The cop started to pat me down on my ribs, waist, thighs, and then his hand lingered on my ass.

  “Sir, is this necessary? I just ran a red light.” I stupidly asked. “There's no need to frisk me when I just simply should get a ticket.”

  He grabbed me by the back of my scrub collar, pulled me away from the car, then turned and slammed me against the car.

  “Are you a lawyer? You don't ask the fucking questions. I do.” He hissed. “Do you have drugs and weapons in the vehicle?”

  A man walked passed, looked at me and I tried to communicate everything with my eyes. The cop must have sensed it because he turned around and said to him, “Get along.”

  Unfortunately, the man kept moving.

  Shit.

  He turned towards me and said, “We’re going to take a nice trip downtown. How you like that with your smart ass? No questions, now?”

  He bent down in the car and grabbed my keys from the seat.

  “Shit,” he muttered.

  Then he turned to look at me for a long time.

  His hand grabbed his radio and he said, “Patch me over to 7634.”

  A few seconds later, the scratchy white noise turned on and said, 7634 is on leave.”

  “I need a number,” the cop said and turned his back towards me.

  He walked a few steps towards his car and pulled out his cell phone. After a few more steps, he seemed to be arguing with someone. Then he turned and swiftly walked towards me, and said, “You know why he’s on leave, don't make matters worse.”

  He handed me his cell phone.

  Was I supposed to take it?

  Who was on the phone?

  “Hello?” I asked.

  “Kat. Sweetheart? Are you okay?” The familiar voice asked.

  “Vic?” I asked.

  “Yeah, what happened? Wait, is Post right there?” He asked.

  “Yes,” I looked at the cop that I assumed was Post.

  His badge said Dudley and the cop for once looked scared. His eyebrows were pulled together and his face was beet red.

  “You headed to work?” He asked.

  “Yes,” I said as I tried to not put my face on his personal phone.

  “I'll meet you there. Give me ten minutes.” He said. “Put Post back on the phone.”

  I handed the cop his phone and he said, “Yeah?”

  All I heard was Vic’s voice through the phone yelling, “I’m asking you now, Post. Tell me because if she tells me you fucked with her, I will put you down myself!”

  Oh shit!

  The cop moved the phone away from his ear and held out his hand with my ID, registration and keys.

  “You can go,” he nodded.

  I grabbed them and hopped in the car.

  He didn't have to tell me twice. As I drove away, I nearly ran through another red light because my nerves were shot. When I finally pulled into the parking garage, I stayed there absently staring at my hands shake and the tears fall in my lap.

  Thoughts assaulted my conscience as I replayed the events of the evening. I could have shut up and but why must I act like the master is going to beat the slave if he doesn't act the right way. The protocol was to give me a fucking ticket, not harass me, not threaten me, take me down to the station or teach me a lesson. That wasn't what they were supposed to do.

  A knock came on my window, causing me to jump and scream; thus hitting my head on the roof of the car.

  “Oh my God!” I exclaimed as my eyes stared into Vic's. “What the fuck!”

  “Sweetheart,” he called as he was trying to get the handle to my locked Sedan open. “Open the door.”

  My shaking hands searched around as if I didn't have the car for eight years. Tears were still coming down my eyes as I started to panic all over again but this time because I couldn't figure out how to unlock the door.

  “Kat!” Vic yelled. “Right here.”

  He was pointing to the button in the middle of the dashboard.

  Shit.

  After I pressed it, Vic opened the door, pulled me out of the car and looked me over.

  “Did he touch you?” His voice was ice.

  My head shook in the negative.

  “Kat, you're not saving him if he did. I'm going to see Post either way.”

  I shook my head again because I couldn't really speak out loud. I tried but I was probably a little in shock. Vic pulled me into his arms and I stayed there silently crying and he let me.

  When I finally calmed down, Vic pulled away from me and said, “I think you should call out and let me take you home.”

  “No, no.” I took a deep breath. “I'm good.”

  He was shaking his head, but I pressed my hand to his chest and said, “I'm good. Really. I just want to keep my mind off of it.”

  He stared at me with his heated eyes, then nodded and walked me upstairs. Once we were in the nurse’s lounge by ourselves, he asked me again.

 
; “What happened? I want to know every detail.” Vic was pacing back and forth.

  Vic was already a big man but he looked twice his size, his face was a darkish red and his eyes were bulging. I wanted to tell him but I was scared that he would lose his mind.

  “Kat!” he yelled. “Tell me now.”

  “Vic, I need you to calm down. Okay?” I pleaded with him. “Please, calm down.”

  His behavior took me back to my brother’s. Very similar when they felt they were wronged or people were getting over on them or others that couldn’t defend themselves. This wasn’t the time to point out or make any observations but I did note that for another time.

  “You tell me.” He stopped pacing and stared at me with his chest rising and falling with each breath.

  “Okay,” I said as I raised my hand.

  In an attempt to strategically walk him through the story, step by step, I did not take into account my physical position in the lounge. To his credit, Vic listened to every single word, flinched when I told him about his lingering hand on my ass, and then he calmly headed for the door.

  “Vic!” I called and ran after him.

  By the time, I came through the door, I caught a glimpse of him jogging towards the stairwell and he was gone. I knew that whatever he was going to do was not good, so I ran as fast as I could to catch him.

  “Vic!” I yelled as I skipped steps to reach him.

  When I saw his back again, he was leaving out of the front doors of the Emergency Room and headed towards the garage.

  “Sandy, I’ll be right back,” I yelled back as I ran outside. “Vic!”

  He didn’t even turn around and by the time I caught him, he was in the truck, so I stood in the back of it in the parking lot.

  “Vic!” I hit the back of his truck.

  “Kat, move!” He barked.

  “Not until you talk to me.” I yelled back.

  “MOVE!” He yelled again.