07-18-2017, 09:20 AM
Officer Carlos Reyes knew the taste of the sweat and filth that was at the tips of the tongue of every denizen in the 34th Precinct. Carlos and his younger brother Diego had grown up on a street just like this, and if he let his memory dive deep enough, he could probably recall playing in the spray of an open hydrant himself when he was just a kid. What he couldn’t understand though was the way that the youth of the block had degraded since he left the streets and entered the police academy.
Rather than stand on a corner peddling whatever drugs managed to leak out the Westside, the Reyes brothers had made something of themselves working the till at their father’s bodega. It was simple work only fit for the most humble, selling heads of old lettuce or fresh ground pork to their neighbors, but it was honest work. The lean officer could remember a thousand late nights at the register of the little family grocery store, studying from a text book that sat on the counter while resting his palm on the butt of a shotgun hidden under the tabletop for any would-be midnight robberies.
His father had pride in the shop, and even though times were tough some years, he kept the place open with the belief that the community needed the fresh produce he sold, rather than the junk food and snacks that were their only other options at the myriad of gas stations. He held that pride and a belief that their community could rise up and seize a better life from those in power, and it was an example that rubbed off on the Reyes brothers in their teenage years, at least until the unspeakable happen.
Years after leaving home for college, Carlos had left his father and younger brother to mind the store while he pursued his studies. His father, in all that hopeful trust, hadn’t been as ready on the shotgun trigger as the son and fell prey to an armed robbery that left his mother a widow and the Reyes brothers forever changed. Only months after the funeral, the two had sworn to enter the police academy together and clean up the punks and pushers that had polluted and poisoned their community.
Rather than clean up the streets the way they had promised each other, the Reyes brothers instead found themselves with a first-hand view of how far the community had crumbled. Each year, patrolling the block had seemed worse than the one before as the prosperous, hard-working generation of their parents gave way to a youth culture that enshrined cop killers, bling donning gangsters, and the allure of a fast-paced life of crime. Carlos Reyes’ disgust for the people of the block that he once called family came to its completion when his brother was tragically murdered earlier in the year. His once hopeful heart was forever stained black when after Diego’s death, it seemed the community mourned the slain murderer, rather than his gunned down brother. For the entire summer, the radios had blared a new hit rap song, its lurid lyrics promising that Diego's funeral would be the first of many more for the despised La Hada.
Tengo mi camisa negra
Mis guantes negros
El pasamontaña puesto
Hace mucho tiempo
El puñal afilado
Las luces apagadas
Tirando muchos tiros
Mato policias!!!
In a fury, Reyes exited the car and stood two legs akimbo. Soda dripped down his sweaty uniform and stained his black armband. He looked down at his sodden clothes and a snarl cracked across his lips. With white knuckles clenching the handle, he unsheathed his truncheon.
The boy stuck his nose in the air arrogantly and cajoled the officer from the corner of his mouth, “Te crees muy muy!”
Reyes’ grip tightened around the baton. The weapon was composed of a single 24 inch long piece of varnished oak, flared and flattened at its end like a bat with a grooved rubber handle. Old fashioned cops called it a straight-stick, because a couple raps on the head was guaranteed to straighten out any wannabe crook.
The boy’s friend flicked his dank smelling cigarette to the street and adopted a wide eyed look of excitement. With one hand he reached into the back pocket of his shorts, groping for a hidden switchblade. Careful to keep the blade out of view, he waited with almost a gleefully animal like sense of pleasure.
MAD BULL, roused from his sleep when Reyes left the cruiser, fitted his police cap firmly to his enormous head and began trotting towards his partner as a crowd started to gather. The housewives had put aside their venomous gossip and the children crouched under their father's knees or climbed atop their back to get a view of the drama unfolding. Before long, over two hundred block residents had formed a semicircle to watch what would happen next.
A dozen little guttersnipes had climbed atop the cruiser and sat on the hood and roof of the car. Sergeant Estes hissed a warning to them to get off, but they stayed put and MAD BULL had bigger things to worry about. Reyes and the boy continued to stare each other down however. With so many eyes upon them now, their pride made it impossible for any other outcome but violence.
Quote:Bodega - A small store not much larger than a bedroom that sells groceries and other goods, like a corner store. Common in very poor neighborhoods.
La Hada - Disparaging term for police
“Te crees muy muy!” - "You think you're a badass?"