by K. S. Adkins
Brutal
Copyright © 2014 K.S Adkins
Published by K.S Adkins
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Published: Kel Adkins 2014
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For Jane
“Did you really just pull my fucking hair?”
He did, he totally went bitch and pulled my fucking hair. For that he took a knee to his kidney, twice. “You’re forcing my hand here, asshole. I warned you to fight fair but, oh well this works too.”
You would think a cop would be above pulling hair and slapping; clearly they need to step up their training, so for slapping me, I tazed him right in the ass. Watching him go down, I continue. “Although, when I think of you in County, with the general population? I don’t know, man; it just does something for me, yeah? I think with your skin tone, prison orange will look great on you. Oh, and that ass… That ass will get you passed around like Grandma's spiral ham at Thanksgiving dinner.”
I couldn’t stop my smile if I tried. I say this, because the city will now have one less dirty cop, and that’s a perfect reason to flash my pearly whites. Well, that plus the visual running through my head. He’s a total dickhead, but I’ll give him props, he does have a stellar ass.
“Fuck you, bitch,” he spits.
“Bitch isn’t an insult, you idiot. Now…I need you to stay very still for a moment, alright? Otherwise, I’m going to zap your ball sack this time, and that’s sixty seconds of your life you’ll never get back.”
See? I’m a lady when the situation calls for it. Polite, even. Just don’t pull my damn hair!
I tighten the zip ties just that much tighter because…well, I can. Just as I predicted, here comes the real struggle. They always try to make a last stand. This one knows he’s lost (and to a female, no less) but needs to give it one last go. He kicks me in the shin, really fucking hard, and I go down. He also managed to grab hold of my pony tail, again. Okay, yeah, that hurt like a bitch. I suppose I should have guessed that a man who beats up on women knows where to aim his blows, but when a woman fights back? She knows where to land hers, too, and that would be everywhere.
“I-I-I’ll kill-you, then her,” he wheezes, after I bitch slapped his junk with a closed fist, forcing him to release my hair.
He fucked with my best friend, which I will not tolerate. Macy is a lot of things; a bad ass is one of them. But she didn’t go into this relationship asking for a beat down, and wasn’t expecting one either. Being a cop doesn’t give you the right to hurt people, especially when you’ve taken a vow to protect them. I’ll give him credit, he doesn’t give up. He’s flailing around like a fish out of water now, because both hands are tied behind his back and also his giant ankles.
“You won’t. Not today,” I calmly state. I fish out the hypodermic and my prepaid mobile, because in my life the two are mutually exclusive.
The moment real fear creeps in, he begins pleading. He’ll do anything; give me anything, blah blah blah. I roll my eyes, check my nails, and then take a step forward and get back to business. Looking him in the eyes, which are kinda bulgy right now due to his struggle, I give him a very sound piece of advice that I hope he doesn’t follow
“Should you find yourself on the outside, watch your fucking back, yeah? I catch you looking at her, I’ll slit your throat. If you so much as mention her name, I’ll slit your throat. See where this is going? So, test me, Briggs. If you manage to get out, I’ll find you, you know I will and you have my word I’ll make it slow and I’ll make it memorable. Remember me when you’re getting fucked, remember me when you’re afraid to sleep, remember I’m the one who put you there. Me. Remember that, because I really want to slit your throat, Briggs. If you remember anything, remember that.” I totally stab him in the neck with it, and then push the plunge with force dosing him with ‘the special sauce’ from Macy, watching him crash.
Enjoy the ride, traitor, I think to myself. Because, in about two hours, when you wake up? Your own are about to finally turn on you. Yeah, that’s right, fucker, that juice in your veins was created for monsters like you. No, seriously, ask your ex-girlfriend. Now, I’ve got a call to make.
A voice answers on the second ring. “5th precinct, Officer Daniels”
“Corner of Griswold and Lafeyette, Officer Jacob Briggs has been a total dick. He’s a filthy cop, an abuser, and has been…well, let’s just go with detained for assault. I suggest the next time someone calls four times for help, you fucking listen. Briggs is out awaiting pick up. You have seven minutes before I let the bangers have him.”
“Who is this?”
“Good Samaritan,” I say, and disconnect. I wait.
Four minutes, thirty seconds have passed and still none of Detroit’s finest have shown up. Color me unsurprised. At exactly six minutes forty seconds I hear it. Whaddya know? Their time is improving. I sashay over to Briggs to give him one last look, and a swift kick to his pretty face. Yep he’s still out. For once, I had hoped they’d be late; I really wanted to let the gang bangers have a go at this piece of shit, but oh, well. I lean in and whisper words he’ll never hear, and then slip the pre-paid mobile with his audio confession into his front pocket.
“Who’s the bitch now?” I look at my watch, tie my hair back and head west to work.
Who am I, you’re asking yourself. My name is Venessa Cross, and I fight for those who can’t.
Here’s why: Moments ago, I just had a full on fight with a man on a city street, in broad daylight, and not one fuck was given. He was left trussed up on the sidewalk, yet no one stopped to assist, figuring they have their own problems they kept moving. No one follows the rules here. Instead, rules are treated as options.
Around here? People use rules like they use everything else; if and when they feel like it. There’s no law, no justice. Look at our boy Briggs, over there; he’s a cop. He’s supposed to be a good guy, right? He was supposed to uphold the law and follow the rules. Our very own Police Department can’t help the citizens they are charged with protecting. So here, when there’s trouble? We depend on ourselves. You can call the police, but you’ll be dead before they show.
These days, the cops are the cleanup crew, not your first line of defense. They couldn’t save my family, and they can’t save yours. Detroit needs a wakeup call, and I’m the alarm. That is, if they woke up to hear it. I live in the shadows, ever watching. You never want to get a visit from me. Because if we do meet, you won’t remember it until it’s too late.
My name is Venessa Cross, thanks for asking. I am justice.
Fridays are always insane here, which is why I come in early. Not like I have fuck else to do, besides work, anyway. The streets are live the
se days because the weather's mild. All the whack jobs crawl out of the sewers when the weather breaks. Plus, we’ve got the Lions opener and two concert venues all going on at the same time. Translation? A long fucking weekend.
Being a detective doesn’t stop me from helping out the uniforms, though, especially when we’re out manned when the city’s primed like this. Just knowing the auto show is weeks away has my skull pounding. The Autorama is hell on earth for cops here. Crime doesn’t stop when folks come to visit; it escalates. Which means it’s our job to keep those visitors safe. Like I said, Hell on Earth. Which is why, when Daniels calls me out of my office, I know my shit day just got shittier.
“Sir, the ‘Good Samaritan’ called again. Corner of Griswold and Lafayette. It's Officer Briggs he has uh…been detained. You have seven minutes, well six, now, and counting. Subject is bound, ready for transport,” relays Officer Daniels.
“Female anonymous?” I grunt, already knowing the answer.
“Yes, sir. Your car is waiting, and the team has been dispatched. ETA two minutes,” replies Daniels
I don’t even bother with a thank you. Daniels knows I wouldn’t mean it, anyway. I head to Griswold, knowing exactly what I’ll find. Odds are, he’ll be out cold, zip tied and tazed. How Briggs was captured and detained by a female is beyond me. I’ve been keeping an eye on him for two years. I had heard rumors that he’d been roughing up his girlfriend, possibly some local talent. So, given Ms. Anonymous’ usual perps, the rumors must be true. She’s never taken down an innocent before. I know in my gut it’s a female, too.
A male would use force to apprehend, not some knock off date rape drug to incapacitate the men. If any of these males that we’ve picked up fought back, this female wouldn’t stand a chance. One punch is all it would take. She’s lucky to be alive. The real bitch of it? The last thing they remember is seeing a beautiful woman. None of the perps remember a fucking thing. I won’t tolerate a rogue in my city. I uphold the law; she’s giving the citizens ideas. A lone female doing what the police can’t. She’s wrapping the city’s worst in a God damn box with a bow, and using us a transport service. She is making me look incompetent, and that I won’t stand for. There are rules for a reason: rules are meant to be followed.
A piece of shit is a piece of shit, cop or no cop. This ain’t about Briggs; it’s about a citizen a female citizen putting her nose where it doesn’t belong. She’s getting by on luck, but her luck is also about to run out. I’ve been sitting on my hands with this shit long enough. It’s time to put a stop to the ‘Good Samaritan’. Unlike most of my coworkers, this is more than just a job for me; this is my life. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep her off the streets.
For months, I’ve been searching for this ghost. I’m close to finding out who she is, and I’m pissed that she’s got me twisted up in knots. Something pushes and pulls me to find her, I just don’t know what the fuck it is, and that’s the bitch of it. Who is she? Why do I have this fucking drive to locate her? Why, when I have thousands of other reasons to ignore this pull, and focus on something else do I think of a female I’ve never met?
My name is Detective Rogan Black, and I could give a fuck if you asked. I stand up for what’s right. I make the rules, and I follow those rules. I’m crime's worst nightmare. I make women and children cry, and grown men cower. I’m feared because I’m an asshole, and I like it that way. Detroit is my town. I’m Detective Rogan Black, and I’m the motherfucking law.
Since you’ve only seen a small glimpse into my life, I feel like I owe it to you to tell you a little more about myself. I wasn’t always this way; there was a time when my life was actually perfect. I had the ‘All American’ life, with the ‘All American’ family. I used to be Suzy Q High School, too. I grew up with a Mom, Dad and a little sister. My mom, Theresa, was an accountant, and my dad, Brent, was a Detective. But the key to my heart was my baby sister, Madeline. Maddy was a surprise for my parents so we spoiled her rotten. She was ten years my junior, and so I tended to mother her more than anything. I also didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘no’. Despite the spoiling, she wasn’t a brat, she was tender-hearted. Just like my mom, whereas I favor my dad. I’m fairly laid back and quiet; that is, until you rile me up.
My mom couldn’t stand to see people lose money on their taxes, and would spend hours helping them find ways to save money. My dad couldn’t stand injustice. He took on the cases no one cared about; the cases no one else wanted. He also took down one of the largest drug rings Detroit had ever seen…and he was killed for it. They all were.
The only reason I’m still here is because I broke curfew to go to a party, and when I did manage to stumble home two hours late, I walked in on what would be the killing of my dad. They had killed Madeline first, followed by Mom, making my dad watch his wife and daughter’s lives end, before they ended his own. I’ll never forget the look on his face when one of the men grabbed me and asked what should be done with me. He didn’t beg or plead, and even with his eldest daughter’s life hanging the balance, he wasn’t a man to cower. He wasn’t going to give them what they wanted.
Fear.
I knew my life was over. I prayed they would take my dad first, so he wouldn’t have to watch. My prayer wasn’t answered. A guy, not much older than me, came and knelt down next to me, grabbed my face and licked it, then grabbed my small breast, turning me toward my dad. The more I fought the harder he squeezed, so I stopped fighting.
“We’re going to let her live, Detective. This way, she’ll never forget what happened here tonight and that it’s your fucking fault it’s even happening. She will remember this night for the rest of her life, just like I will,” he snarled at my dad while relentlessly bruising my breast.
“Kill me,” I pleaded, shaking my head.
“I don’t think so, sweetheart. You may not want to live after this, but you will. It’s amazing what a person can deal with when forced to. Isn’t that right, Detective? You took my entire family. You took everything from me. I have nothing now, and when I’m through with her? Neither will she. You didn’t stop shit, Detective, you only slowed me down a bit,” he spat.
That’s when I saw fear on my dad’s face. What was going to happen to me?
“Please, kill me.” I try again, because the alternative scares me more than death.
“She takes after her old man, I see.” The murderer chuckles. “Donnie, keep an eye on the good Detective here while we’re gone. Oh, and leave the door open.” He openly laughs as he drags me down the hallway by my hair. It was then I knew why death with my family would have been preferred. I’d never want to live after this.
“Angel! No!” Dad screams, while the men just laugh.
I mouth a silent “I love you” to my dad, knowing somehow it’s the last time I’ll ever see him whole. The terror on his face was something that will haunt me for the rest of my life. My dad knew what was waiting for me. I was too young to understand it. I was taken into my own bedroom, and was taught a very valuable lesson. You didn’t need death to die.
I heard him screaming until his voice gave out, but I didn’t make a sound. Not when I was beaten, not when I was raped – repeatedly – brutally. Not when I was spit on, not when I was pissed on, and certainly not when I was forced to watch it all through the mirror of my childhood bureau, with my Eminem posters staring back at me. My tormentor knew no bounds.
Round two was worse. That’s when his partner joined in. Pinching, biting, forcing my body to do things it wasn’t ready for. Lying on my bed, broken and hoping for death, I was flayed all over my sides and back with a blade so sharp, my skin practically melted as it touched me. Laughing, they explained what each brand meant. They wouldn’t allow me to pass out; instead, each took one last turn at destroying me internally. Until that moment, I never even knew humans held that much blood in our bodies.
What felt like hours later, I was brought back out to face my Dad, and he was forced to see what had happened to his own child
. He lost his mind that night, along with his life. It took one bullet. One fucking bullet, and in seconds the only hero I’ve ever known was just…gone. Thrown to the floor like trash, they casually walked out the front door like they had been over for dinner. Since I figured death was close for me, I brought my Mom and Maddy into the living room to be with us. I needed all of us together one last time. I laid there with them for what felt like hours, but could have been days, just hearing the boys' promises, over and over, banging around in my damaged brain. They got one thing right: I could never forget.
In a matter of hours, I was robbed of my family, my virginity, my childhood innocence, and a normal life. I had nothing.
My dad was given a hero’s funeral, along with my mom and Maddy. The words ‘I’m sorry’ were forever branded into me. I stayed with Captain Frisk, his wife Diane, and their son, Gary, until my eighteenth birthday, which was only two months away. Gary and I, once best friends, had drifted apart over the last two years. He was two years my senior, liked to get high, and I didn’t. Even at seventeen I knew how he looked at me wasn’t quite right but I didn’t care, he was my best friend. My relationship ended with Gary when decided to shut me out when I needed him most.
The Captain and Diane were losing their son to drugs; their own family was in shambles. They didn’t need my presence to make it worse and I know that it did. I could no longer stand the vacant, lost looks they gave when I spoke to them, they didn’t know how to help me therefore it was time to go. So on the day I turned eighteen – the same day the DPD officially closed the case – I left the Frisk’s. They never brought my family's murderers to justice. For one of their own, whose family was bathed in their own blood, nothing was done.
And so, that day marked the day I was reborn. The day I decided to take the law into my own hands. The day I became justice. I wouldn’t blame you if you felt that what I do is wrong. But to what lengths would you go to avenge your family? I am a cop’s daughter, after all. If I’m good at anything, it’s listening, learning, and adapting. So that’s what I did. I cut myself off from all ties to the DPD, The Frisks and friends, save Macy. For two years, I honed my skills in martial arts, weapons, crime, and the law.
