“Well when you done, why don't you head over this way? Monique rollin through too.”
“A'ight, cool. Hang on for a minute.” Shaunna put the phone down and within seconds, Tonette heard a faint male voice. “Hey, I'm about to take care of something, but I'll be through later.”
“A'ight, cool.” Tonette hung up.
5
WEEKS AFTER THE SHOOTING, Detective Rodney Clifton sat looking at the report of Crystal Moore that he was given by two of his colleagues. It would have been closed as an accidental shooting; however after questioning the other shooting victim and the alleged suspect, there was more to the case than met the eye.
Detective Rodney Clifton was a 37-year-old, 15-year-veteran of the NYPD. He was a light-skinned black man, tall and slender, with short sandy colored hair and freckles. He didn't look like he was capable of being a cop because of his wimpy appearance and many underestimated him; but those who encountered him knew differently. Rodney started out like every other officer, as a rookie on the beat, but his commitment to the streets and uncanny way of getting information quickly moved him up the ranks.
He saw the growing amount of hustlers on the streets but unlike most hot headed cops, Rodney didn't go after them immediately. He watched them long enough to see their weaknesses, their strengths and their habits. He also noticed that they were hustling strictly in the South Bronx so he figured as long as they stayed in their community, poisioning their own kind, it really didn't matter. He didn't like black folks who tried to come up without working for it. Niggas always wanna hustle, he always thought. As a cop, he knew that the corner hustlers couldn't provide anything so he had to go after the big dog, but he knew by jumping too hastily, he could fuck up something bigger. As a man, he watched and waited for the right time to make his move.
On a late night stroll of South Bronx, he saw a young man who caught his eye. He was a light skinned fellow, a little rough around the edges, standing about 5-feet-8-inches with weight that was too much for his build. Watching him for a couple of weeks, Rodney knew that he hustled dope. He could tell because he was always fresh and had his jewelry game tight. The young man also had a flattop fade with a blonde stripe in the front, so he was easy to spot.
Cruising through the same neighborhood a week later, Detective Clifton saw his mark then activated his patrol car lights and siren. The few skeezers and what looked like bums who surrounded him scattered like roaches but the young man didn't budge. He just looked at the officer.
With a cocky attitude, Rodney got out of his car, with his hands on his department issued belt which held his handcuffs, mace, night stick and gun.
“What'cha doing out here, Marco?” he asked, looking at the young man's belt buckle which displayed MARCO in gold letters.
Marco looked down at his belt buckle then answered with a major irritated and condescending tone in his voice, “conductin' bible study man and you just dismissed my flock. What the fuck you think I'm doin' out here?”
“Watch yo smart ass mouth boy!” the officer grunted through tightly clenched teeth.
“What da hell you want man? I got bidness to finish.”
Officer Clifton noticed the attitude. “Get yo hands on the hood and spread ‘em!”
“For what? I didn't do nothing,” Marco protested angrily.
Reluctantly, Marco did as he was told, mumbling under his breath while the officer frisked him. Marco was confident that the small package he picked up earlier woudn't be found.
“Turn around,” the officer ordered when he didn't feel anything on the initial pat down.
When Marco did as he was told, the officer did something that caught him off guard. After patting him down again, the officer stuck his hands inside of the front of Marco's pants.
“What the fuck…man, get yo hands…what you tryna do!” He tried to wrestle the cop away, but it was useless.
The officer felt around Marco's dick and balls and pulled out a small baggie. Taking a deep sniff of the bag, the officer smiled and spoke in a teasing tone, “I see you got a large,” he pointed toward Marco's hardening dick, “and small package.” He waived the baggie in the air. “This looks like an ounce or two to me. Do you know how long this will get you?”
“Man…please…” Marco began to cry like a true bitch. “That's my boy's shit man, I'm just…”
“Under arrest for the possession of narcotics and intent to distribute,” Rodney told Marco as he slapped the handcuffs on his wrists and led him to his patrol car.
Instead of sitting him in the back of the squad car, the officer shoved Marco in the front passenger's side, then he got in on the drivers side and began to drive. Not knowing where he was going, Marco tried to explain himself only to stop moments later when they pulled up in an empty alley. The officer left his car running.
“What the fuck we doin here?” Marco asked.
“This a short cut to the precinct. I gotta book you.”
“Please man, no,” Marco begged continuously.
“Well,” Detective Clifton looked at Marco with a glimmer in his eye. “If you give me a reason not to book you, I may forget about this.”
“Please don't arrest me. I can't do no jail time. Please.” The wannabe hustler left Marco with a quickness.
“Aw, now you beggin. You ain't flappin off at the lips no more like you were before,” the officer teased. “I got something for you to do with those lips man.”
“Anything, I'll do anything,” Marco pleaded.
“Anything?”
“Yes, anything.”
The detective smiled at Marco and removed the handcuffs. He then unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants and pulled out his scrawny dick. For a black man, he was a disgrace to the race.
“I can forget all about that sack I got from you, but first…” he motioned toward his dick.
Marco knew what time it was and he had to do something to save his ass.
For the next two years, Marco's asshole became a hiding place for the detective's dick. Sucking and fucking was no big deal to Marco because he was already a down low faggot. Molested as a child and raped repeatedly, Marco held his feelings for men at bay until he was able to unleash them.
Detective Rodney Clifton's sly investigative skills were once again on point. Not only did he find a weak link in the South Bronx's biggest drug ring who was willing to do anything to keep his hot ass out of jail; but the same person provided him with sexual pleasure. What more could a man want?
Detective Clifton pushed to the side a file that he was reviewing earlier in the day and looked once again at the statements of Tonette Thomas, Shaunna Parker and Monique Daniels. He noticed
