“1. Protect the citizen’s right to freely speak and assemble.
2. In the use of force, protect people first, property second.
3. Dialogue with participants, if possible, before, during, and after the demonstrations.”
Tyler gave his full attention to Commander Holfield as he paused and glanced pointedly across the room. Then he turned back to the whiteboard and continued by pointing at the last procedure.
“4. Assist citizens and the media through communication.
And finally, ladies and gents, above all, we are peacekeepers. Let’s try our very best to keep the peace.”
Tyler listened attentively and took notes.
“All right, officers,” Commander Holfield said. “Let’s all be prepared for any and every eventuality tonight. Be vigilant, be smart, be safe.” He paused, as though waiting for them to respond. “Understood, ladies and gents?”
“Yes, sir,” Tyler joined in his fellow officers’ response.
“Be safe out there, you all,” several officers called to each other as they left the room en masse to proceed to their various assignments.
“You all, too,” Tyler and Chris answered.
“You ready?” Tyler asked Chris, clapping him on the shoulder as they walked out to their police car.
“About as ready as I’ll ever be. Pulling a double shift today,” Chris said and grinned sardonically, his red hair shining in the late afternoon sun.
“Whew, well you best be ready, Haney.” Tyler smiled back as he slid into the driver’s side of their vehicle.
As Tyler pulled the police cruiser out of the lot, he once again took in the stately golf course right across the street from the police station — its lush green stretching several city blocks. Tyler waited for his partner, an avid golfer, to make the usual comment that he’d rather be on the course. When no comment came, Tyler looked at Chris and found his partner staring at him instead of the golf course. “What, Haney?”
“Ty, you may be fooling everyone else, but . . .” he paused, as though he didn’t want to continue. “Well . . . I’m sorry, but from the moment you walked in the door at the station, you’ve looked like you ate raw lemons or something. Pretty severe, Ty!”
Tyler paused, surprised that his partner knew him so well — especially when he’d worked hard to cover it up. Knowing Chris wouldn’t drop it, Tyler finally admitted what was bothering him. “Yeah, today’s been tough. No joke, Chris. What with the shooting and . . . well, this situation with Laura . . .” He trailed off. “Must say I’ve seen better days. I just don’t know, Haney.” Tyler’s words trailed off again as he focused his eyes straight ahead.
Chris remained silent, but Tyler could feel his eyes still on him. Finally, Chris sighed. “Look, I know it’s been a rocky road for you and Laura lately, but seriously, dude, she’s got to be one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.”
Tyler willed himself back from anger over his and Laura’s situation and turned toward his partner. “This has nothing to do with beauty. Laura and I — we’re growing apart. I’m so darn annoyed with her. We don’t see eye to eye on things at all. She always wants to talk but never wants to listen. I just don’t know how to work this one out.”
“But you have to, Ty!” Haney urged. “You got yourself a great little lady there. I can see how much you love her. You don’t know how good you’ve got it.” Haney punched Tyler playfully on the shoulder. “C’mon, dude. What’s the real deal?”
“You’re one to talk, Haney,” Tyler said, willing himself to lighten up and get the topic off himself. “I don’t see you making any moves on Dana Rogers. I thought you said you’re attracted to her.”
“Ah, come on. You know she outranks me. Different set of circumstances here —different set altogether. And anyway, that’s Lieutenant Rogers to you, cop boy.”
They both laughed. Then Chris grew silent as he rubbed his hands down his thighs in a nervous gesture. “I’m not sure how she’d feel about dating a fellow officer.”
Tyler shook his head. “You gotta work it out, Haney.” Ty looked at Chris and chuckled.
“All right, all right. You got me,” Chris said, laughing. “Speaking of work, I hope everything downtown works out and stays sane tonight.”
“Me too,” Tyler said. “Me too.”
As the hours passed, Tyler was pleased that everything seemed calm on patrol of their area, Ward 2. As usual, all that came up were a few traffic tickets and minor violation warnings.
At 9 p.m. a staccato rain began to fall. Tyler and Chris sat in their squad car, watching traffic at a busy intersection. Tyler sighed, wondering what was happening downtown. Must be calm for us not to hear anything.
The rain beating down on the windshield was so mesmerizing that it began to make Tyler drowsy. He shook his head. “I’m thinking it’s about time for a cup of coffee. What do you —”
“All available officers, 10-49 to Central Plaza,” the dispatcher’s voice cut in. “Copy that all available officers immediately to Central Plaza. An officers’ command post is set up on the corner of Colfax and Wall. Check in for full riot gear. Officers are to form a line at Wall Street. Copy. Check-in to officers’ command post on the corner of Colfax and Wall. Check-in for full riot gear.”
Oh boy, this isn’t good, Tyler thought as he grimaced and turned to look at his partner. Chris was wearing the same expression.
“Your coffee is going to have to wait,” Chris said. “Here we go, dude.”
“Yeah, here we go,” Tyler said. He turned the police cruiser around, flipped on the lights and siren, and sped toward downtown. This wasn’t going to be an uneventful shift after all.
Chapter
4
Marquise parked his black Escalade several blocks down from the protest. He glanced at his watch: 9 p.m. He and Lawrence guardedly scanned the surrounding area and then stepped out. Both decided to brave the rain that was now falling steadily. Overcast, dusky clouds concealed the nearly full moon. Uneasy darkness had fallen. Lights and shadows filtered weirdly over the trees, cars, and buildings. Cautiously, the men moved toward Central Plaza. As they neared, they heard angry chants echoing through the gathered crowd. Several police cars, their colored lights revolving, painted the scene with macabre surrealism.
Silently, Marquise and Lawrence proceeded across a dimly lit street and through an alley littered with broken glass and strewn trash.
The news report played over and over in Marquise’s mind. Anger welled up, propelling him forward. He recalled the stark TV footage of Darrelle Moseley lying there, and his anger boiled over as he remembered the distant look in that dying brotha’s eyes and the horrific, blood-curdling screams of his family.
In the gathering darkness, as they trudged down two more blocks toward the protest, the noise grew louder.
Marquise scanned the crowd. “Man, that looks like about a hundred, hundred-fifty folks,” he said, looking over at Lawrence.
“Know you right, man,” Lawrence answered.
As they moved nearer, they caught some of the words yelled out by the crowd.
“You dirty pigs! I can’t stand you!” shouted one woman. “You killed my cousin!” Then began a deafening chant from the others.
“No mo’ killin’! No mo’ killin’! No mo’ killin’!”
The fuming crowd grew more hostile by the moment — pushing, shoving, shouting, and chanting.
Sullen, heavy air encompassed Marquise and Lawrence. They could feel the anger, the hurt, the confusion. It gathered into a towering mass like the clouds across the sky. Scores of police officers in full riot gear stood shoulder to shoulder between the storefronts and the encroaching crowd. Each one held a body shield in one hand and a baton in the other.
“I hate you, pigs!” the woman shouted again. She then picked up a rock from the ground and with bitter ferocity threw
it at the battalion of blue-clad police officers.
Immediately one of the officers grabbed the woman’s arms, turned her around, and slapped handcuffs on her.
The crowd flew into a frenzy. Without regard, a man charged toward the officer who was holding the woman. In response, several other officers left the riot line to block the man. Many of the crowd joined in then and rushed toward the officers.
Marquise and Lawrence drew closer but were stopped by police-guarded barricades. They stood in shock as they watched the angry scene.
Police officers had begun to shoot tear gas into the enraged crowd. Shouts, cursing, and the sound of rolling thunder filled the air. Raindrops fell more furiously. Some protesters scattered, while others stayed the course. Several picked up rocks and flung them toward the police battalion; a few broke through the line of officers. A number of the crowd jumped on top of police cars and other nearby vehicles, shattering windows, and denting hoods. A group of teens grabbed rocks lying on the street and hurled them toward a storefront window.
Crash! The sound of glass shattering, mingling with the increasing rain, was deafening.
The crowd continued to rush the police, who battled back with tear gas, batons, and sheer bodily force. Many among the group were handcuffed and put in police wagons.
As darkness deepened, the chaos escalated.
With their eyes, ears, and throats burning, Marquise and Lawrence were forced to retreat before they’d even had a chance to join the protest.
“Here, y’all.” A woman standing nearby threw both men bottles of cold water. They quickly opened them and emptied the contents over their burning eyes and down their scorched throats.
“We gonna meet here again tomorrow, same time — rain or no rain,” she yelled. “Let them pigs know they can’t get away with killin’ us anymore!” Before Marquise could respond, she’d merged into the crowd.
Marquise and Lawrence backed away and finally retraced their steps through the dark streets until they reached the SUV.
“Man, I have never seen anything like that in my whole life,” Marquise said. “I can’t believe it, man. That was unreal!”
Lawrence coughed, as he tried to shake off the effects of the tear gas. He poured more water into his eyes. “Yeah. I don’t care what; I can’t wait to get back out here tomorrow. We have to show them pigs that we aren’t going to stand by and watch while they take us out one by one.”
“Me too, man, me too,” Marquise said. “We’ve got to put a stop to this stuff. When’s it going to end?” Gets worse and worse every time! he added silently.
As Marquise drove, the two men fell into a sullen silence. The images of the man’s vacant dead eyes overlaid scenes of the riot to make a searing imprint on Marquise’s mind. As he drove, his thoughts rolled over and over. He hit the steering wheel repeatedly as he grappled with what had happened that night in Mannford.
Lawrence and Marquise shook hands, giving dap, as they drove up to the crib. “Man, it’s late. Ima roll,” Lawrence said. He got out and began to rush toward his car but turned back and bent over to the Marquise’s car window.
Marquise rolled it down.
“Man this stuff got me tripping.” Lawrence squinted and wiped rain from his eyes.
“Yeah, me too, man,” Marquise said. “Gotta mull on this stuff. Ain’t no joke, Law.”
Lawrence stood for a moment longer as the rain pelted down. “We goin’ down there tomorrow night?”
“You know we are,” Marquise replied.
Lawrence shook his head upward then strode away toward his car, calling behind him. “I’ll holla.”
Lawrence drove off, his tail lights gleaming, leaving Marquise alone with his thoughts.
Tyler, Chris, and the other officers struggled with the crowd. The rocks and broken glass that had been hurled at them flew up and over their body shields. Something sharp hit Tyler’s nose. He tasted blood as it trickled slowly downward. As one, he and his fellow officers began to advance with increasing force. They shot canister after canister of thick tear gas to disperse the crowd. Some of it blew with the wind and rain and drifted backward. Tyler coughed and wiped at his eyes as the wind blew a bit of the pungent gas back into his face. Tyler’s heart sped up when all of a sudden the officer standing next to him fell to the ground. It was Officer Landon, a ten-year veteran with the force.
“Officer down, officer down!” Tyler shouted into his shoulder mic and to the other officers. But no one could remove themselves from the confrontation to help. With rocks, glass, and tear gas swirling, Tyler determinedly broke stance and bent down to help his wounded comrade. He looked with alarm at Landon, who had a deep laceration on his forehead. On either side the crowds and police battled, but Tyler stayed his course. Seeing that Landon was unconscious and fearing that they would get trampled if they didn’t escape the scene quickly, Tyler wrapped his arms around the fallen officer’s chest and dragged him backward.
“Officer down, officer down,” he yelled again, although his voice was consumed by the loud commotion. As he dragged Officer Landon backward and away from the conflict, a couple of other officers rushed over, and together they assisted Officer Landon into the back of a squad car.
“Get him going, Officer Cousins. Get him going!” Tyler yelled to the officer behind the wheel.
“Will do.” The driver nodded and sped off toward an ambulance waiting in a secure location a few blocks away.
“Good, Tyler,” the other officers yelled.
“You all, too,” Tyler shouted back and then once again turned to face the riot. The crowd, though, had begun to disperse. The tear gas had made it nearly impossible for anyone to continue. He let out a heavy sigh. Though he was glad the gas had been successful, he hated the suffering it had caused.
So much unnecessary violence, he thought, as he walked back toward the police line.
The police continued to shoot canisters of tear gas and take down anyone who tried to break through the police line. The crowd soon completely disbanded. After standing watch a while longer, Tyler and the other officers left to return to the police station.
“Just another day at the office, hey guys?” Chris said when they were back at the police station locker room.
“Just another day,” Tyler and several of the others answered, shaking their heads. Exhausted, the officers made their way out of the locker room.
“Good work out there tonight, Ty,” Chris said. Many of the officers agreed, clapping Tyler on the shoulder as they left the station.
“Thanks, you guys,” Tyler answered and smiled wearily. Numb, shell-shocked, and dog tired, he drove home. Scenes of the riot and the fallen officer replayed over and over in his mind, but his thoughts also returned to Laura. He both longed to see her and dreaded it.
Once back home in his own garage, he slipped past Laura’s Cooper to quietly let himself in. Tyler sighed when he peeked his head into their bedroom and saw that she was already asleep. He stepped into the shower feeling overwhelmed, sad, angry, and lonely — all at once. He twisted the water on as hot as he could stand it, stood under the shower head, and watched as blood and dirt ran into the drain.
He stood still for a while longer, letting the warmth beat down on his head and back. This shift was a total nightmare, he thought, shaking his head as the night’s events weighed heavily on him. We lost control of the crowd. How did that happen?
He and the other officers had all gone through days and days of thorough training for just such a scenario. And that afternoon’s briefing and plans had appeared foolproof. Tyler would never have predicted that the protest would so rapidly descend into the chaos that had occurred.
After toweling himself dry, he slipped into a pair of boxers and padded into the living room, careful not to wake Laura. He flipped on the news, only to see cellphone-captured video of what he’d just policed. He massaged his temples,
went to the fridge to grab a beer, and then returned to the darkened living room to watch more of the footage. For long moments after the news report had ended, he sat on the edge of his seat, head in hands. Finally, wired but worn, he made his way to bed.
Chapter
5
At 9 p.m., unaware of the riot, Pastor Al Shepherd parked his faded Crown Victoria near the side door of Mannford Christian Fellowship. The puddle-filled gravel parking lot was empty. An early evening rain was still falling so he quickened his steps, twisted his key in the lock, and tugged open the door to his modest church.
Mannford Christian Fellowship was located just a few blocks east of the train tracks in a part of town that had long since seen better days. It sat near a muddled group of older homes, dilapidated with age. Equally aged vehicles in various stages of repair rested nearby. Overgrown trees nearly hid the church and neighborhood from sight.
Al wiped the moisture from his cleanly shaved head and clicked the lights on. He squinted his green eyes at the fluorescent lights which, for some reason, seemed unusually bright. Whew! He glanced around at the timeworn building. We’ve got to update as soon as possible. Al proceeded straight to the janitor’s closet, pulling the door open and wheeling out the cart containing all of his cleaning supplies.
As he pulled the cart down the hall, he couldn’t block out the video of the police-involved shooting he’d viewed on the news earlier that day. He shook his head. The graphic image of the man lying on the ground disturbed him. The man’s face reminded him of his cousin, De’Andre, on his dad’s side. Struggling to shake the heavy feeling, he went to work — mopping the floors, dusting the furniture, emptying the trash cans, and scrubbing the toilets.
After hours of cleaning the rest of the church from top to bottom, Al made his way through the foyer to clean the sanctuary — only to have the crinkly flashes of a migraine move into his visual field.
“Oh, man. Not now,” Al whispered to himself. “Man, oh man!”
He pulled a pill from his pocket and swallowed the bitter thing quickly without going for water. Darn pills never work anyway, Al thought and slapped his thigh in frustration. “Why, Lord?”
Three Nights In Mannford Page 3