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Vicious

Something Must Be Done

Raindrops tap and peck at window panes and rooftops. Puddles of water overflow from filthy unsanitary gutters. Motors hesitate and stutter before they turn over. The temperature has dropped reaching a record-breaking low. The earth's tectonic plates are slowly shifting. Look at all the extreme weather conditions.

A strange SUV enters the curb. Jackson Avenue is a very secluded one-way street. It is very rare for anybody to come around that curb in the a.m. There are never any outsiders or wanderers. Uber and Lyft are never called so they never come. The mail religiously runs around noon every day. On Sunday afternoon there are a few Amazon deliverers. Besides that nobody new ever comes around. The Chevy's exhaust disturbs the peace, as the detectives plow around and down the residential street. The detectives have entered a community in Middlesex County where everybody knows everybody. This sudden appearance immediately draws unfriendly attention. Curtains squeak as nosey neighbors peek. These homeowners have worked their asses off to escape the trouble that comes along with getting out of the ghetto. Now that past that seemed to be left behind seems to have caught up. Where will the detectives go? The Jackson Avenue neighbors want to know. They're curious about what is going on. They know something is wrong. A strange vehicle, strange people dressed in red, white and blue, the exact same colors that were flung when men and women hung. The SUV's doors slam shut. Detective Novac has to pause to pull his pants up at the belt loop because the hem is badly worn. After he gets that squared away. The Dynamic Duo goes into the active duty of making lives miserable, and fearful. That's their job description. In other words, that's what they get paid to do. However, those two gung-ho detectives often tend to overdo it.

"You ready?" Detective Novac routinely asks his female partner.

“Oorah!”Detective Levesque wholeheartedly exclaims in response. She’s one tough Irish Cookie. Both detectives are ex-Marines and damn proud to have served their country with honor.

973 Jackson Ave.

Rahway, New Jersey

Detective Novac rings the doorbell twice. Inside the home, Chandrea plays one of her favorite songs loudly: Seems like everybody's breaking up. And throwing their love away. But I know I got a good thing right here, that's why I say (hey). Ain't nobody going to love me better. I must stick with you forever. Chandrea sings along with the Pussycat Dolls. She also turns around and pokes her butt out in the mirror, and then it happens. The moistness appears in her panty liners. Oh how she is so into her man. After the third ring, finally someone hears the doorbell.

"It's Daddy! I'll get it!" Eboni shouts with excitement. She is the spitting image of her mother with the exception of her eyes, mouth, and nose. Those are inherited traits from Tank Gunz.

"Okay," Chandrea replies.

Eboni snatches the door open with her eyes closed showing the silliest looking snaggle-tooth grin on her face. The homicide detectives totally ignore her. Their attention is immediately drawn to the expensive statues and rare paintings. Neither can afford foreign furnishing in their apartments. The detectives unconsciously envy, simply because they've busted their asses to earn a decent living. They've paid their taxes, voted, reported for jury duty, answered to the call of duty, and presently they're risking their lives in the line of duty. Nevertheless, society has not awarded or rewarded them the luxuries they feel, should come with their missions and job descriptions. No words are exchanged. However, the two detectives are thinking the exact same thing. They both assume that there's a bulk of untraceable dirty money stashed in the lavish home. That's their intuitive assumptions.

In the meantime, Eboni is still standing at the front door with her eyes closed. After a few seconds go by. She notices that she is not in the safeness of her father's arms. Little Eboni can't hold out any longer so she takes a peep. It's not her father standing there. Eboni is startled. She immediately backpedals away from the door. The frightened little girl is only nine years old. Therefore, she has the right to be scared of strangers.

"Mommy!" Eboni screams out. Chandrea rushes out of the bathroom to see what the heck is going on. Two middle-aged Caucasians are standing at the front door. Instinctively, Chandrea senses that something is not right. Police and Jehovah Witnesses are the only people that stop by uninvited.

"May I help you," Chandrea is stern. She looks the Detectives in their eyes, and she doesn't blink. She wants them to feel the real power of the Black Woman. The mother of civilization. The exact same mystique drummer begins to play the exact same tunes that the Great Female Warriors; Assata Shakur, Queen Nanny, Queen Amanirenas, Carlota Lukumi, and many other strong black women who were fed up, stood up, and took action.

"I'm Detective Novak, and this is my partner Detective Levesque. We're part of the S.U.M. task force. Is this the residence of Thomas Sanders also known as Tank Guns?" Detective Novak extends a lonely hand that is left hanging and unattended. Detective Levesque doesn't bother to bond. She just gives a simple head nod as to say how do you do? Chandrea ignores the gesture and answers the question.

"I don't know anyone that goes by the name of Tank Guns, but I do know Thomas Sanders. However, he does not live here anymore." Chandrea certainly does not volunteer any unnecessary information.

"Well, we found this driver's license in his wallet with this address on it."

"Like I said he doesn't live here anymore, all he does is receive mail here from time to time." Detective Levesque decides to take the lead with a more direct woman to woman approach.

"Miss we arrived at the scene of a crime and found Thomas Sanders dead. We need you to come down and identify the body."

"Dead dead, what are you talking about? He's not dead, you're lying! Get the fuck out of my house!"

"Ma’am I strongly suggest you calm down before I am forced to calm you down!" Let's hope that Officer Levesque can back that threat up. Chandrea punches Detective Levesque in her face. The force causes her to hit the ground.

Assault on a peace officer is a major offense punishable by incarceration, an ass kicking that may lead to hospitalization. Maybe even physical expiration depending upon the situation. Once someone has gone that far they might as well enjoy it while it lasts, and continue to do a superb job at kicking that officer's rear end.

Detective Levesque screams in pain as Chandrea mashes the heel of her Ugg boots down with the force of a sledgehammer. Detective Novak panics and quickly reacts without considering consequence. He pulls his semi-automatic and clunks Chandrea in the back of the head. She instantly loses consciousness and collapses to the comfort of the carpet. It will be interesting to see just how the report will be written up. I'm sure it will be trumped up and made up to cover up. Detective Levesque recovers and retaliates with tactical military experience. Every punch and front thrust kick lands on a pressure point, inflicting severe damage upon contact.

"You're hurting my mommy. Stop hurting my mommy!" Detective Levesque ignores Eboni cries for her mom's leniency.

You think this traumatization doesn't happen? I'm here to beg the differ. It does happen. It happens quite frequently in Low-Income communities all throughout this country.

"You want some more of me? Answer me?" Detective Levesque uses extreme profanity as she applies a submission hold. In the midst of all this, Detective Novak doesn't waste any time in seizing the opportunity to illegally search Tank and Chandrea's home, without a warrant or their consent. This is wrong, and should not be happening. Unfortunately, it is. It occurs regularly in the psychologically damaged, poor communities all around this country. SOMETHING MUST BE DONE.