Sunday, December 21, 2008


It’s about a week later when things start to turn to shit. The captain’s been waiting for an opening, and I give it to him. I come back from chow one day to find Mr. King handcuffed to the bars of my booth. There’s a group of young deputies around him. They’ve taken pictures of his wife out his property. One of them rubs the picture on his crotch. Makes some remarks about big nigger lips on his dick feeling good. Tells King he just might go visit her. I should have let it go…but I can’t.

I take the young Deputy in the dayroom like we’re old friends. Then I fuck him up. Nothing that will show, but he’s not going to have, or enjoy, sex for a long time. Take his cuff keys and leave him there. I unlock King when I come out. Have him pick up his shit and send him back down his row. The other young Deputies finally go in after their boi…not happy with me when they come out. Fuck them…and fuck me for caring. I know where they’re going when they leave. Just don’t know how the captain’s going to play it. I find out the next day.

The next morning. I walk to my locker to get dressed for work. The locker is caved in. Torn halfway off of the top hinge. Nigger Lover painted on it in white paint, along with a cross and a swastika. A few other deputies walk by. Say nothing. It’s started. In my booth later. Transition day. Everyone gets new assignments. The Deputy in twenty-one hundred is gone. Fish there now. Getting trained. His first day in the jail. No replacement for me. The phone rings. Back in the day, you could only get calls from within the jail. The voice on the other end tells me I better start wearing my vest to work. I know who it is. One of the captain’s crew. They’d been working swings. Now they’re on days. It’s on.

A week goes by. Phone calls everyday in my booth. The threats get worse. EOW. End of Watch. Leave for the day. Walk to my car. Deputies’ only lot. Patrolled by Deputies. Walk down a row of cars. Takes out my keys. My Blazer looks like something out of Selma in the sixties. All of the tires slashed. NIGGER LOVER, I SUCK BLACK DICKS, and other epitaphs painted on. Shit spread outside and inside of the car. The tires are slashed. The trunks been jimmied. Even slashed the spare. The Deputies won’t take a report for my insurance. Tell me to call LAPD. I’m alone. I tell Shawna the car was stolen. Haven’t told her what’s going on. Don’t want her to worry. I’ve just told her to keep everything locked tight when I’m gone.

Another week. The calls haven’t stopped. Even my inmates know something’s up. Word travels fast in the jail. The other Deputies don’t even talk to me now. Word gets back to me that the captain’s crew is spreading rumors I’m a rat. That’s the ultimate kiss of death. I go home that night. The front door is wide open. Fuck. I pull my piece and go inside. Room to room. Nothing. No one. I hear a noise out front. Put my gun to the head of the person coming in. It’s Shawna.

“What the fuck is goin' on?”

“I just took the kids to your folks.”

“And you left the fuckin' door open? Goddamn it Shawna...haven't I…”


“...a thousand times...”


“...the goddamn doors?...Huh?”



“I got a phone call today...he called me a...said he wanted to...he told me what the girls were wearing at the park today. How pretty they were. What a shame it would be if…”
She’s crying now. I comfort her the best I can. Don’t sleep that night.

You fuckers want to play? Let’s fucking play.

At briefing the next morning. The sergeant gets done. Asks if anyone has anything. I stand up. Tell him and the other brass there they might want to leave before I start. Most of them do. Just me and the other Deputies now…and the captain’s crew.

“Two weeks ago, my locker got trashed...I said nothing...last week, my the Deputies only lot... I said nothing...I ain't a snitch... yesterday, somebody fucked up...big time…they called my home...scared my lady...threatened my kids. If anything happens to any of them…if they’re the victims of an abduction and rape…if they get shot in a drive by…if one of them so much as falls off the swing at the park…I’m coming for some of the motherfuckers in this room.”

The room is quiet for a second. Then I hear laughter coming from the back of the room. The captain’s crew. The leader is laughing the hardest. I go back to them.

“I know it was're the one I'll come for.”

The gauntlet is thrown. I turn to leave. Half way out of the room when he finally picks it up.

“God, I just love fucking with niggers.” You should keep that bitch…”

He never gets to finish. I spin. Kick the legs out from under his chair. Straddle him as he inches his way toward the wall on his back.

“Fuck with me c'mon, fuck with worthless mother fucker...fuck with me...get up...get up...let's fuckin' finish it right now...right fuckin' now...”

He reaches the wall. I’m over him. He makes no move to get up. I can see the fear. Smell it. Everything goes white-hot. Slow. I reach down. Grab him by the shirt with both hands. Pull him up until our faces almost touch.

“You mess with my family again, you're a fuckin' dead got that? Fuckin' dead man. Then I’ll come for the rest of you. You got that?”

I spit in his face. Drop him on the floor. Everyone has been watching. No one makes a move to help him, not even his buddies. He struggles to his feet, all eyes on him.

“You all heard him...he threatened to kill me...he heard it.”

Everyone starts to file out. Dead silence. Pretty soon it’s just them and me. They do nothing. Say nothing. I guess six to one odds aren’t good enough. I leave. EOW. Go home. I tell Shawna no one will ever bother her again. I’m wrong.
Dead wrong.

Time for pills and Patron…Nááhiłiijí…it gets darker from here on out…


abaddon911 said...

I apologize for the silence on my part. I have been very sick lately and busy on top of that. Okay, let's get to it. Just read part 10. I have a quick question. How and WHY am I the only one commenting on these? This is some good stuff!!! :)
I have a few more of the blogs to read before I am caught up and that is exciting! It's like getting hooked on a great book series after 3 or 4 of them have already been published. Meanwhile a bunch of other suckers have been waiting painfully for each one from the start. I can call those people suckers with a clear conscience because I have been that sucker several times and have also had to pay my dues in patience here, as you well know. Enough chatter, off to the next one! Excellent work, sir.

Christopher Blake said...

Thank you!!


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Christopher Blake is a loving husband...devoted father...minister...crippled more than a little rough around the edges...