Corrupt City

by Tra Verdejo

  The captain was getting a bit overzealous looking at the girl. He yelled into his radio, “C’mon, fellas, find this muthafucka! I know he’s out here somewhere. The bitch is standing right outside the precinct for a reason. It must be a signal she’s giving him. Please, someone find this nigger, and do something before it’s too late.”

  A few seconds later, two loud shots were fired, both hitting Diamond. One hit her in the head, and the other, in her chest, slamming her beautiful body against a parked police cruiser. The gunfire sent the streets of Harlem into chaos, with people running and screaming all over the streets.

  Ever since the 9/11 terrorist attacks, New Yorkers have been real sensitive to any type of loud noises. When the people heard the loud shots and saw a body on the ground, they didn’t know what to think. Not to mention, it was right in front of a police station. Some thought there was a maniac inside the station killing people, or maybe another cop went crazy and shot an innocent bystander.

  The captain was furious about what just took place. He radioed his troops. “Who just took that shot?”

  No one answered him.

  “Didn’t I make myself clear about making decisions without me? Who in the fuck took that shot?”

  Everyone radioed back in and confirmed they didn’t take the shot, but the captain didn’t believe them. They all re-grouped and went back to the apartment.

  Ace and Speedy were being blamed because they were the ones with the sniper guns, but Loose Cannon and Chucky were also nearby and didn’t need a rifle to take her out.

  Everyone in the van was blaming each other. The friction got so bad, even Tuna and Floyd got into it.

  “Floyd, I hope one of your boys didn’t cross the line.”

  “It sounds more like one of your boys. You need better control of your team, Tuna.”

  “The hell, I do. Well, once the autopsy is done, we will know who shot her. Till then, I don’t trust anyone in this van. I cannot fuckin’ believe it. This will bring more heat our way. Why in the world would I want to kill her in front of the police station?”

  As they drove home, you could tell everyone was scared about what could happen next. Everyone started looking at each other, looking for the smallest clues, so they could blame the individual.

  The only one who wasn’t scared was Loose Cannon, who actually had a smirk on his face the whole ride back. The captain feared he was the only one who could have pulled the trigger but didn’t want to pull his card in front of the team. He planned to pull him to the side, once they got back to the apartment.

  The captain’s only fear was the local newspaper. He knew Lucky had already contacted them and spread the word he was going to turn her in, but once they found out she got shot in front of the police station, the accusations would start flying all over, and of course, Tuna and his team would get blamed. He couldn’t afford any more charges or complaints against him, especially since they were all suspended. He also knew once the organizers for the Colemans’ protest heard about the shooting, they would use it as fuel for their movement.

  Chapter Ten

  The Protest Rally

  It was going on three o’clock, and City Hall was jam-packed with protesters eager to vent their frustrations. The rumors were correct. Minister Muhammad had arranged a huge rally in support of the Colemans and their tragedy.

  Everyone was gathered around One Police Plaza, and they were going to march all the way to City Hall. A small stage with six seats was set up right in front of the police plaza, four for the Colemans, one for Minister Muhammad, and one for their civil lawyer, Joseph Anderson.

  As three o’clock approached, the stage was still empty. People were too busy shouting out rants to notice the time. The city already knew that the girl Lucky had kidnapped was supposed to turn herself in. Now word started spreading through the crowd that she was shot dead in front of the police station.

  Around three fifteen, the Colemans, Muhammad, and Joseph finally reached the stage. The protesters exploded in cheers. The city really wanted to show them how supportive they were of them. There were at least 6,500 people out there ready to protest and singing as loud as they could the words of the late great Bob Marley’s “No Justice, No Peace.”

  Minister Muhammad approached the mic and raised both hands, signaling the crowd to calm down. “Good afternoon, New Yorkers. Today we show the unity of this great city. Today we show we’ve had enough, and that we won’t take it anymore.”

  The crowd erupted in cheers.

  “Today marks a day of change. As I stand before you and I look among you, I see a nation of all colors. I see a city of all ethnicities, which means we as a city stand as one. Today is the day we destroy racism and sexism. I hope the world is watching because, America, this is how you begin a change…by uniting as one.”

  There was more applause from the crowd.

  “Behind me, I have a family who’s living in a twenty-four-hour nightmare. A family who has been hit with a tragedy that destroyed their peace of mind. This family…Laura, can you please step forward?”

  The crowd exploded in support of Laura because of the strength she had shown throughout the ordeal.

  “Laura, can you please stand next to me and bear witness to this beautiful sight? These New Yorkers, most of whom are strangers, have now become your new family. They are here to fight the war with you. Am I right, New York?”

  Once again, the protesters went nuts and started singing again.

  Laura, amazed at the amount of people who came out to support her only child, couldn’t stop the tears from running down her face. It took her a few minutes to speak, and while she stood there mesmerized, the crowd’s roar grew louder by the second.

  “Good afternoon, everyone,” she said, her voice cracking. “I first want to thank all of you who showed up today looking for answers to a better way of life. As we all know, we are here because three police officers opened fire on my son, killing him for no apparent reason. They destroyed not only our lives, but the future life of his son.” Laura pointed at little Perry, who was sitting on his mother’s lap. “These police officers got a slap on the wrist for their crimes. But they have the opportunity to go home and kiss their wives and play with their children, not my son. I’m not blaming the entire police department, but when you have the police commissioner and the mayor saying this shooting was justified, it leaves me no choice but to attack the department as a whole.

  “My son”—Laura paused and let a few more tears out—“my son was a great husband and father. He didn’t deserve this. My son was an innocent city taxpayer who woke up every day to earn his living and provide for his family. I will no longer get the opportunity to speak to, or even touch him. I understand he committed one little error as a juvenile, but who among us is perfect?

  “My husband and I worked hard to buy our first home. We worked hard and prayed every day that we would have a normal life. When Perry was six years old, he always talked about joining the army to fight for this country, like his grandfather and two uncles. Perry always dreamed big. Throughout his school years, he maintained a 3.7 grade point average. He loved playing sports and his band. Oh boy, I could still hear those drums. He played his drums every night for about a good six years. He drove us crazy, but that was his drive, and we never discouraged him. I can’t recall ever having to attend his school and hear negative things about him, even after he was arrested. Mostly, all his high school teachers were there to support him, because they all knew he made a silly mistake.

  “I remember I used to go to bed happy every night because I felt confident that I raised a great young man. That was until I received that awful phone call that I can’t seem to erase from my head. When I first heard that my son was shot and killed because he pulled a gun out on undercover cops, I knew for sure they were lying and were trying to cover another unjustifiable police shooting. That’s why I was relieved to hear that my son never had a gun on him and he was indeed murdered by racist cops.

 
; “If we continue to let these trigger-happy cops run our streets, soon all of our babies will be dead. This could have happened to anyone of us. I won’t stop until justice is served. I won’t stop until those police officers are stripped of their badges and thrown in jail. I won’t stop until I receive an apology from the mayor. I want to thank everyone who came out.” Laura threw her fist up in the air and yelled, “No justice, no peace!”

  The protesters all joined Laura and sang those famous words. Laura’s speech had angered a few protesters because they felt her pain, and they began fighting with a few cops there to keep the peace. They were quickly arrested, but the message was clear—New Yorkers had had enough.

  Minister Muhammad walked back to the mic. “Listen,” he said, “I have some bad news to report. Today, while we are here in downtown Manhattan fighting for our rights, I have just been informed that a young female has been shot in front of a police precinct in Harlem. I can’t confirm who killed her, and at this moment the police doesn’t have any suspect or leads. Today, Officer Donald Gibson was turning her in, and she gets assassinated on the doorsteps of a police precinct. Something doesn’t smell right. And that’s why we are here today, because we are tired of it.”

  The minister didn’t know his words would ignite a riot. Protesters started picking fights with all the officers present.

  The officers were already looking for an excuse to shut down the rally, and now the people were providing one for them. They began pepper-spraying as many protesters as they could.

  Meanwhile, Minister Muhammad was yelling on the mic, trying to restore order. He knew the rally would get shut down if they continued to act in this manner. “Please, calm down. Don’t give the police a reason to shut us down. This is exactly what they want us to do. Please, calm down!”

  Most of the crowd listened to the minister and stopped, but others kept fighting with the officers.

  Ten minutes into the melee, about one hundred more cops showed up to the scene. They restored order amongst the wild bunch, handcuffing every idiot who was causing a disturbance. A few police officers were hurt in the process, but there was no way the NYPD was going to lose control of the situation.

  Twenty minutes later, after order was restored, the crowd turned its attention back to the podium, because Kim had made her way toward the mic to address the supporters. She was the only one who had been silent throughout the ordeal. Everyone was eager to finally hear her voice and feel her pain.

  “Hello, everyone,” she said nervously. “I want to thank everyone who showed up today, and please stop the fighting. Please, no more violence. This is why we are all here today. To stop the violence. We need to lead by example. I know my silence has shocked certain individuals, but I can’t explain how I’m feeling. I know I’m supposed to be strong, but how strong can I be when little Perry keeps asking for his”—All of a sudden, Kim fainted right in the middle of her speech.

  Laura quickly ran to her aid and began fanning her face. Since there were ambulances present, attending to some of the officers and protesters who were hurt during the melee, Kim quickly received medical attention. She was rushed to a nearby hospital, the Colemans and little Perry accompanying her.

  The crowd was stunned. Some were in tears because they could relate to her. Minister Muhammad approached the mic, at a loss for words himself. He’d never used words like quitting or giving up, but for the first time ever, he had to cancel his protest.

  “I guess we were too concerned with making a stand that we forgot to help the one who really needed our support. However, on a positive note, I want to let everyone know that Kim is conscious in the ambulance, so that’s a good sign. We are going to have to cancel this rally, but the battle is not over. I hope America is listening. We the people declare war on the government. No justice, no peace!”

  As the minister walked away from the podium, some cheered, but others, a lot of frustration built up inside, were upset because they still wanted to march. But without the minister or the Colemans present, it felt like a lost cause.

  About an hour after the ambulance left with Kim and the Colemans, the streets were cleared, and everyone rushed back home to watch the news, eager to catch up on the latest events in Harlem.

  The police department was puzzled, because Lucky was supposed to turn her in. So how could she get shot right in front of the police station? The media wanted to blame Lucky but didn’t have proof. The autopsy would give them a better idea, but everyone had to wait a few days for that.

  It was a circus outside the police station. Mayor Gulliano and Commissioner Fratt were slow to respond to the shooting, only because they were downtown, overlooking the rally. Once they arrived at the police station in Harlem, the small crowd outside started shouting out negative remarks toward the both of them.

  “Take control of the city, you coward!”

  “Stop letting the trigger-happy cops run through our city!”

  A White male yelled, “Once the pigs start killing White people, then you will care!”

  Both the mayor and commissioner, ignoring every comment thrown their way, made it through the hostile crowd. Their facial expressions said it all. They were hurt by what the people of the city were saying. The small crowd outside consisted of not just African-Americans and Latinos, but White people as well.

  When the mayor finally made it inside, he quickly demanded a meeting with both the sergeant and the captain on duty. They entered one of the interrogation rooms, along with the commissioner.

  The mayor was upset and didn’t waste any time letting it be known. “Before I start, please state both your names.”

  “My name is Sergeant Michael Spinks.”

  “And I’m Captain Brett Roots. I’ve been in the force for—”

  “Did I fuckin’ ask how long you have been a cop? I just asked for your name. Now, listen carefully. I’m going to ask another question and please just answer it. I’m not interested in your favorite color. I didn’t come here to spark a friendly conversation. Got it?”

  Both officers nodded in agreement, too scared to even say yes.

  “What the fuck happened today? Who shot this poor girl?” The mayor pointed at Sergeant Spinks.

  “We still don’t know. We’re one hundred percent sure it didn’t come from inside this precinct. We are waiting on the autopsy report, and we are hoping the ballistics will provide us with a lead.”

  “Let me get this clear. She was supposed to be turned in today, right?” the mayor asked.

  “Correct.”

  “So who shot the girl? If you had to give me an answer, whether right or wrong, who do you think shot the girl?”

  “Honestly, Mr. Mayor, I don’t know,” Spinks said.

  “How about you, talk a lot?” he asked Captain Roots.

  “Whoever did it wanted to bring more negative attention to our city and department. If you ask me, one of the thousands of supporters for the Coleman family could have pulled the trigger, just to add fuel to the fire.”

  “We have a serious situation on our hands. I will expedite the autopsy report and have it up in an hour or two. Meanwhile, I have to go back outside and face these reporters and get my ass chewed in front of these live cameras. I want you two to interview each uniform in here privately and find out what they know.”

  The mayor went outside alone and faced the wrath, answering every question as best he could, making it clear that, to his knowledge, it wasn’t a police shooting, and that the investigation was still ongoing.

  “Today, not far from where I’m standing, a young lady was shot. This young lady was allegedly kidnapped by a former detective named Donald Gibson. There are still a lot of unanswered questions, and at this moment, we don’t have any leads or suspects. We are trying to iron out all the facts about this case.”

  “Mr. Mayor, was she killed by a police officer?”

  “I can’t confirm nor deny that at this moment.”

  “Mr. Mayor, then who shot her?”


  “Again, we are investigating the situation as we speak. We are waiting for an autopsy and a ballistics test on some fragments left behind from the two bullets that entered her body.”

  “But an autopsy could take a few days,” another reporter commented.

  “Because of the magnitude of the situation and how this could somehow be connected to another high-profile case, we are making a few exceptions. We should have one in a few hours.”

  “This other case you are referring to, is it the one involving Perry Coleman who was gunned down by police officers?”

  “Well, at this moment, we are focusing our attention on the death of a young lady. We are looking for answers, and I’m confident those answers will arrive quite rapidly. I stand behind this great city, and also the brave men who risk their lives every day and night. Police officers are not bad people. In fact, wearing the badge is one of the greatest honors.”

  The mayor was getting annoyed by the questions being asked. Right before another reporter was about to ask a question, he noticed Richard Claiborne, a spokesperson for his office. To quickly get out of the situation, he said, “Well, if you guys need more answers, Mr. Richard Claiborne is the guy to ask.”

  As the reporters all rushed him, the mayor was able to get back inside.

  Forty-five minutes later the autopsy was done, and the information was related to the mayor. The two bullets matched a unique rifle that wasn’t due to hit the market for another two years. The FNAR .308 rifle guaranteed at least a mile of accuracy.

  No one in the police station had ever heard of such a weapon, except the commissioner. He knew he’d heard of that gun before but couldn’t remember from where. They put a call out on the radio asking for help.

  The Watcherz heard it and quickly contacted Tuna.