Since you were all so nice about the introduction I am going to share the first chapter with you. What I am trying to do in the introduction and the first two or three chapters is first show the event the story is based on and then introduce some of the main characters. I have taken protection against someone stealing my writing not to mention that the blog has a time and date stamp. Of course I'm not worried about the regular posters/readers just someone that I don't know about. Here is chapter one, unedited, unreviewed, first draft form. Please forgive some of the language but it is how gang members talk. Single spaced again because that works better than double space on the blog.
CHAPTER ONE
September 21, 1989
Northeast 15th and Alberta, not far off of Interstate 5, where drug deals were so openly consummated that the corner became known throughout the North Precinct as "crack corner." Run down buildings, boarded windows, bars on store fronts, shots rang out nightly, the sound of sirens frequent. The two had to meet under the cover of darkness to hide from pedestrians and traffic. They could not be seen together. Their discovery was a death sentence for each of them.
From two different parts of society. One making a living by breaking the law. The other paid to enforce it. A quiet darkness surrounded by the softly falling rain on this Thursday night. Thursday, the night the drug dealers loaded up on inventory to meet the demand of the pending weekend.
Little Caesar, the leader of The Kirby Street Blues. Sixteen years-old, African-American, 6'1", 190lbs, strong and fit. A member of the gang since twelve, having already witnessed more shootings than a family of police officers would see in three generations. He had two marks on the bottom side of his blue bandana, each mark indicating a hit on a member of the Kirby’s rival gang, The Woodlawn Park Reds. He was trying to find a way out. A way out of the hood. A way out of the gang. Trying to find a future. He wanted to be the exception to the rule, leaving gang life before they found him in a pool of blood in front of parents, siblings, or fellow soldiers. Killed either in a revenge shooting by a rival gang or by a member of his own gang trying to move up from soldier to general. Death was the certain fate of a gang member, a funeral, a body left to be buried at to young of an age, leaving a message from the grave to have his death revenged by the death of another gang member to young to die. The man standing across from him was an enemy in every conceivable way but he was a means an end. His way out of the hood, out of the gang, and into a future.
Officer James O'Donnell. A sergeant on the Portland Police Force, working out of the North Precinct. His dad and grandfather had both been police officers. His career was chosen long before he was born. He was 49 years-old, in his twentieth year on the force. Beginning to show his age with light salt and pepper hair, he was 5'11", 215, with a small tire around the stomach. He was now making the maximum for a street cop, a lousy $36,336 a year. Hell the teenager across from him probably pulled in ten grand on a good summer weekend. O'Donnell had won many awards for bravery, doing the job well with integrity and honesty. A change had come over him the last three years. He was tired of watching crime go on daily in front of him with little consequences to the perp. His arrests were often back on the street in hours. He was no longer the gung ho officer that he used to be. He had become more violent, a product of spending to much time on the Gang Enforcement Team. After three years with GET he became desensitized to violence. After years watching blacks kill blacks, steal from each other, making more money in a day than he made in a month he had become filled with hate of blacks. He hated the man standing across from him but it was time for him to get a piece of the action. He was looking for a way out. A way to early retirement by supplementing his police pension. He was entitled to the money, a fringe benefit that cost the city nothing. In a few months he could buy that place on the lake in Coeur d’Elaine, Idaho, get the car of his dreams, travel to places a policeman's salary and pension would never take him. His father and grandfather were probably turning over in their graves. They certainly weren't above taking a few extra bucks to look away from a petty crime, prostitution or gambling, but they had never crossed the line to participate in a crime. The silent code of the old time cop. O'Donnell was operating under a different code. Times had changed since his lineage were operating on their beats. Criminals never shot at a cop, it was certain death or life in prison. Now the criminals would shoot at a uniform without hesitation if it kept their drug business operational. The money was greater now than it was then. The temptation overhwelming. The power that the police held was harder to ignore and even harder to avoid using. The public was so anxious to reduce crime in their neighborhoods that they looked away from a little excessive force some officers used to control the crime on their streets. Little Caesar, O'Donnell, and the general public were all operating with one frame of mind, a means to an end. Little Caesar wanted out. O'Donnell wanted a nice retirement. The public wanted neighborhoods safe from crime. Partners in a set up for disaster.
"Hey, Bro. I've got the stuff, have you got the cash?" O’Donnell said.
"Don't call me Bro, we aren't buds we are just here to do each other a service, man."
"Ok, asshole you got the cash? I'm not giving you the weekend supply until I see the cash."
"Hey man, I've got the cash, got to ke'p th'm niggers happy this weekend."
"Keep the parties indoors and out my precinct."
"Look man once the sale is made I'm out of it, no telling what the niggers will do on crack. Hey oink when are you getting the weapons we asked for?"
Officer O'Donnell turned red with anger and started to reach over to grab the teen by the neck but common sense took over.
"They are coming up from LA next week. We need ten grand for the first shipment."
“Same time, same place next week, I’ll bring the ten grand.”
Little Caesar disappeared into the night leaving O’Donnell standing alone.
