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Cop Killas II

Page 3

by D Mann


  “Oooh shit!” The man exclaimed, witnessing Crafty’s growing smile.

  “Yeah you fucked up,” Crafty shot back. Crafty fired off several shots backing the assassin into the steel stack directly across from them. DA popped up atop the stack and gave the man several shots to the face. The assassin’s body slid down to the floor; he was gone.

  “It’s looks to be only one of you left,” DA yelled, walking upright and slapping his pistol against the side of his leg. “Come out, come out wherever you are.”

  “His ass ain’t coming out nowhere,” Pockets echoed. “But you can come get his sorry ass.” DA looked down at Crafty in bewilderment. He gave a slight smile and a chuckle. They could hear what seemed like faint, muffled sounds of agony in the distance.

  “This little dude took down four of these fools,” DA stated, jumping off the stack and walking with Crafty to Pocket’s location.

  “I still don’t believe that shit and I saw with my own eyes,” Crafty added. DA and Crafty walked to the end of the stacks and made a right turn. The assassin was on his knees breathing heavy with Pockets hovering over him, holding a pistol to the top of his head. The assassin had two black eyes, a bloody nose and a busted mouth.

  “Damn! You did all that to him?” Crafty asked. “I asked him a couple of questions nicely but dis’ muthafucka wanna be hard about it,” Pockets replied. “You know how that shit go.”

  “So what he tell you so far?” DA asked. “Pleeeeeze! Pleeeeeze! I’m sorrrrry! Don’t hurt meeeeee!” Pockets sang, in a whimpering tone. “Some shit like that, I wasn’t tryna’ hear dat shit doe.”

  “Who are you? Who sent you? Who you work for?” DA asked, the bleeding man. DA got no response.

  “He have any I.D on ‘em?” DA inquired.

  “Nothing,” Pockets responded. “No wallet, no papers, no jewelry. Nothing, not even fuckin’ initials.”

  “So you not talking huh?” DA asked, the man. “A soldier to the end. I can honor that. A soldier dies but once, a coward dies a thousand deaths. Ain’t that how it goes? That is the cliché right?”

  The man kept eyes down and his mouth closed. “Don’t worry . I’m sure they’ll tell your wife and kids that you died in some heroic fashion serving your country. That’s the usual lie they tell to comfort your family once you’re gone,” DA teased. “Hell, with you out here doing this kinda shit, I’m sure you have a buddy out there somewhere waiting to console your lonely ass wife.”

  The man finally glared upwards at DA.

  “Oh he soft right there,” DA acknowledged. “What? Wifey getting the pipe while you out murdering.”

  The man lowered his eyes back to ground level. “She getting that black pipe ain’t she?” Crafty interrupted. “You know them freaky ass white girls love that black pipe.”

  The man looked up with a smirk this time. “I would fuck her,” Pockets joined in. But I dislike that flat, soggy, dog smelling, rotten ass white meat. Doctors say that shit bad for my black system.”

  “Fuck it!” Crafty interjected, stepping closer to the assassin and touching the tip of his pistol to the man’s head. “If he not gon’ talk, minds well put a bullet in his head.”

  “Promise to spare my life and I’ll tell you what you wanna know,” the assassin pleaded.

  “Oh he talks,” DA mocked. “I already told you that,” Pockets argued. “Earlier it was just pleeeeeze, pleeeeeze, pleeeeeze. I thought the cracka’ was giving me his rendition of James Brown.”

  “You gotta deal. Start talking,” DA commanded. The man glanced upward looking sorrowful.

  “Silence is a deal breaker. Tell me something,” DA urged. “We were sent here to record and monitor Jonah’s activities,” The man started. “If he spoke to anyone about sensitive information, we were order to eliminate any possible threats. You guys became that threat when you pulled up.”

  “You said record. How?” DA asked. “We have a van on the north side of the yard,” the man answered. “We’ve been monitoring what little communications he used. We must have missed your incoming call because you shocked everyone when you arrived. We couldn’t I.D you because you have dealer’s plates on your truck, so we waited for your departure.

  “You look young. You a new booty? Who you work for?” Pockets asked, slapping the man in the top of his head with his pistol.

  “We never know,” the man grunted, pinching his head between his shoulders in reaction to the slap he received. “We get our orders through a secure communication link, a wire transfer deposits our money into an account and we go to work.”

  “Mercenaries. Nothing but paid killers,” Crafty uttered, in disgust.

  “I work for the interest of national security,” the man said. Pockets stood behind the man with his pistol raised directly over the man’s head. Pockets nodded his question to DA, DA nodded his answer back.

  “Hey white boy,” Pockets called, circling around to the front of the man. The young white man looked up to see that his fate had been sealed. He mustered up the strength to die with some dignity. He tilted his head back and stuck his chest out.

  “You fired,” Pockets stated, pulling the trigger in the face of the young white man and killing him instantly.

  “Can you believe this muthafucka’ tryna’ die like a soldier,” Crafty asked. “Sticking his chest out, hmmm.”

  “They’ll die for that great white hero shit in a minute,” Pockets added. “He was gassed up on those bullshit white supremacy lies,” DA told, while laughing. “I bet he’s in hell right now filling out a request form for ice.”

  “Hell yeah,” Crafty added, with a loud laugh. “Aye we need to go search those other dudes befo’ we get up outta here.”

  The crew nodded in agreement. They headed back the way they came, searching the dead men’s bodies for identification or whatever. They found the keys to the van but no I.D on any of them.

  The crew headed for the north side of the yard in search of the wouldbe killer’s van. They found it parked next to a huge column that supported a no longer used train bridge. The men opened all three doors of the van and began searching. They didn’t find anything that disclosed the killer’s identity but they did find a gold mine in a weapons cache and surveillance equipment.

  “Damn goon squad had heat,” Crafty muttered, searching through the metal crate. He fingered the numerous automatic assault rifles and grenades. “I’m glad they thought we were nobodies.”

  “Naw it wasn’t that, they just didn’t know we had doubleo negro wit’ us,” DA returned, shaking his head in amazement. “At least we have one problem solved.”

  “Yeah,” Pockets said, questioning DA’s statement. “What’s that?” “We know how we getting home now cause’ my truck is fucked,” DA answered. “And I just paid a grip fa’ dat fucka.”

  “Suck it up rich guy,” Crafty advised, strolling around to the driver’s side door where DA was located and slapping him on the back. “We got bigger problems than that.”

  “Like what?” DA inquired, bewildered. “Whenever these fools don’t report in,” Cra fty started, making sure to eye Pockets standing in the passenger side door. “Whoever paid these goons, gon’ send more of ‘em to try and kill us. I suggest we get the fuck up outta’ here.”

  “Good suggestion but they wasn’t looking for us. Remember they were watching Jonah,” DA reminded, the two.

  “Yeah,” Crafty agreed, climbing in the truck and taking a seat in the back row. He was now checking through the surveillance equipment. “But still, let’s get the fuck outta here.”

  “So wassup witda’ other dude you had checking shit out? You still ain’t heard shit from him yet?” Pockets asked, closing the passenger’s door behind him.

  “Naw. Not a word,” DA replied, closing his door and turning the ignition key. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he was dead now, scared or running. Shiid, they killed Jonah and spook the hell out of Edward. Hmm, ain’t no telling wassup wit Walter. Scary ass white boy probably pissed his pants w
hen he saw ‘em.”

  The crew laughed and continued to discuss matters as DA drove away from the metal graveyard headed back to the city.

  Chapter 4

  Ladies Night This was the day the ladies, Dana and Sharon planned to go out on a shopping spree. Sharon wanted to go to the Beverly Center but Dana protested hard against the move. Dana complained about the atmosphere.

  “I don’t see how you do it Sharon,” Dana said, slurping her drink from her straw. “Hanging around all those snobbish ass, racist white people. I’d be ready to pull a Nat Turner or Denmark Vesey on dat’ ass.”

  “Guuurl please. Don’t think I don’t have my moments,” Sharon confided. “Sometimes I be close girl to going in that weapons room, come back and kill every one of them racist ass pervs. Just throw a bang grenade and go in shooting.”

  “Ain’t that how they train y’all?” Dana asked, rhetorically. “Shoot first and ask questions later.” “No. We’re trained to shoot first,” Sharon objected. “Then lie, frame you and then cover it up. Now that’s correct police procedure.”

  The two women laughed as they strolled along the corridor window shopping. “O’ shit! We havta’ go in here girl,” Sharon spoke, abruptly detouring Dana by way of arm snatch. “They having a sale on Michael Kors purses.”

  Sharon dragged Dana inside the store so quick, Dana didn’t get to sputter a word of disagreement. Dana was standing next to a display of purses before she could clear her throat.

  “Damn Sis! All this for a purse?” Dana

  questioned. “You know that cracka didn’t make his clothes for black women and he wish y’all stop sportin’ his shit.”

  “What!” Sharon inquired, cynically staring at Dana as if she was waiting for Dana to admit she was just playing. “Girl I’m just buying a damn purse and with the right heels imma look fly.”

  “Sis, how long you been supporting the KKK?” Dana asked. “Girl you know damn well I don’t support no klans,” Sharon barked, being slightly offended at the insinuation.

  “O’ yes you do my sister. Michael Kors, Tommy Hilfiger and a bunch of other crackas. You supporting all them klans from what I see,” Dana finished, holding up quote fingers while she gave Sharon’s outfit the once over.

  “What!” Sharon yelled, in disbelief. She took a moment glancing down at her own attire. She was embarrassed to admit it. She was wearing the clothing of three known racist. “Girl I’m glad you saved me from giving any more of my money to a racist. I won’t be supporting the klan, any longer.”

  “I know that’s right,” Dana agreed, laughing and giving Sharon a fist up. “Black Power!”

  “Yo’ rap sheet didn’t say anything about you being a militant,” Sharon chuckled. “I’m not a militant by a long shot but I won’t knowingly be a sellout either,” Dana emphasized. “Too bad some of these other sisters don’t feel that way. They love making those racist fucks rich.”

  “Don’t be so hard on ‘em Dana,” Sharon advised, giving her own sinister laugh. “Shit I just learned all this a minute ago. You have to give ‘em time and besides some of these sisters really think this European shit makes ‘em look good. I know I felt that way. Let’s not get angry with the sisters and brothers who haven’t gotten the memo yet.”

  “Look at this shit!” Dana yelled, losing her smile from Sharon’s last comment. “Twenty five hundred for this bullshit purse. I don’t think so.”

  “Excuse me ma’am, but we ask that you do not touch any of the displays unless you intend to buy it,” A store clerk whispered, appearing behind the two women. “These are very expensive items and we don’t want any accidental damage to occur.”

  “Hold up bitch! You think I can’t afford this whack ass shit!” Dana screamed, dropping her soda to the floor and letting it splash. “Bitch! I’ll buy yo’ monkey ass and any of this euro trash in here, fucking retard.”

  “Chill out Dana,” Sharon tried suggesting. “Naw fuck this bitch!” Dana continued. “Sh e looking like she wanna test my hands. Bitch wassup?”

  The white woman quickly looked Dana up and down, twisting her lips in disapproval. “I’m just conveying store policy ma’am,” the woman answered. “Like I said a moment ago, if you can’t afford it, please don’t touch it ma’am. Thank you.”

  Dana pulled a bank roll of hundreds dollar bills from her pocket and ordered the lady to ring up three of the purses.

  “Yeah hurry up and getcho’ sorry ass to the counter bitch!” Dana ordered, following behind. The white lady became very apologetic as she scurried back behind the counter to the register. Dana stood mean mugging the woman as she calculated the total for the purses.

  “That’s going to be $7806 dollars and 11 cents,” the woman said, staring at the large sum of money Dana was holding in her hand.

  “Ok,” Dana replied, counting off the bills. “Can you do me a favor hun?”

  “Yes ma’am,” The clerk answered. “Can you dig that total outta yo’ ass? Cause’ I ain’t buying shit from you, punk ass cave bitch,” Dana yelled. “Tell yo’ racist ass boss that you fucked that off!”

  Dana and Sharon both laughed as they turned and walked out of the store. They discussed knowing the white lady was prejudice, and she only changed her attitude at the sight of dead green presidents.

  “That’s the very reason some blacks figure an economic boycott would teach these devils,” Sharon offered. “They’ll overlook race for a green dollar in a heartbeat.”

  “DA says economic boycotts will never fo rce the cracka to equalize this nation or drop white supremacy. And what good is it if they continue to make their own money? We withhold a billion dollars from their economy and they print a trillion and put in circulation. We save a trillion dollars and build our own communities; they burn it down like they did Black Wall Street. I think most are trying to avoid that physical revolution or civil war this government and the racists are pushing for,” Dana finished.

  “For a hood girl you sure know how to use those big words,” Sharon exclaimed, flashing the brightest smile.

  “Girl I was a scholar throughout my school years,” Dana replied. “You better ask somebody.” The ladies continued to walk and laugh as DA’s words captured their thoughts.

  Both ladies were ready to eat now but Dana refused to spend another moment in uppity Beverly Hills, it was entirely too many crackas in that rich white city for Dana. They settled for a more diverse place, Inglewood.

  The sun was going down early as the two sat outside the restaurant eating and looking along Market Street. The evening traffic was buzzing along Market Street and the pedestrians mimicked a small parade, everyone hustled along.

  “Damn! You would think Inglewood was having a major event tonight or something,” Sharon uttered, studying those passing by.

  “I think we see…black people,” Dana said, smiling from ear to ear. Sharon joined in the hysterical laughter rolling herself around in her seat until something strange caught her attention. It changed her facial expression just long enough for Dana to see. Sharon dismissed the thought from her head and continued in the festive moment that she and Dana were enjoying.

  “Girl what happened to you?” Dana asked, staring Sharon in the eyes. “You looked like you saw a ghost a minute ago.”

  “I’m good girl. Just thought I saw somebody,” Sharon answered, as she continued to scan the opposite side of the street.

  Sharon’s phone ringing broke her stare. She looked down at the caller ID and pushed the accept call button.

  “Hey Elliot,” Sharon answered. “What’s the word?”

  Elliot’s voice conveyed desperation as he urged Sharon to meet him in private as soon as possible. “Twenty five minutes,” Sharon spoke, pushing the end button on her phone and placing it back in its holster. “Dana we have to roll.”

  “What’s the rush?” Dana inquired, following Sharon in a hurry, back to the new mustang DA gave her as a gift.

  “I don’t have time to drop you off so you gon’ havta�
� roll with me,” Sharon declared, looking intensely bothered by the call. “You armed Dana?”

  “I’m always strapped,” Dana replied, with her body springing forward from Sharon’s thrust of the transmission in reverse. “Damn girl don’t kill me fo’ we get there.”

  Buckle up sistah,” Sharon warned, slamming the shifter into the drive position. “I’m about to break this engine in right here, today girl.”

  Sharon’s mustang flew down to Manchester Avenue and made a right turn headed for the 405 freeway on ramp.

  Elliot was one of five other black cops that Sharon attended police academy training with. They all learned and suffered the stinging effects of those who practiced “Racism with a Badge.”

  One officer named Albert Harrison had finally succumb to the pressures of the dark side. He was selected “dick holder” for the racist white boys who could advance his career. He had left Sharon’s clique over two years ago and been lewd to her since that day.

  Officer Harrison once whispered a plan of rape in Sharon’s ear to the cheers and applause of his crew; Sharon tried to attack him and had to be restrained by other officers. She remembered how happy he looked, like a puppy receiving a treat from his masters as they patted his bald head when he returned to his circle of cowardly misfits. She reported it and was placed on temporary leave of absence for reciting and instigating unfounded allegations against a fellow officer.

  Sharon was nervous after the incident, she was harassed and threatened every day after she filed her report.

  The other four officers, Belinda, Elliot, Ronald, and Mike took shifts watching over Sharon, rotating their nights to sleep over at Sharon’s house as extra protection. It took Sharon many nights before she was able to find a good night’s rest.

  Sharon reiterated her experiences to Dana as she maneuvered the mustang in and out of lanes. Dana wondered why Sharon had stuck around for as long as she did.

 

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