A Prayer for Dawn by Nathan Singer

Author:Nathan Singer [Singer, Nathan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4405-3219-1
Publisher: Tyrus Books
Published: 2004-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

“Well, you seem pretty clean. I’m letting you go with a ticket for speeding. This will be a mandatory court appearance due to the excessiveness of the speed. You’re gonna want to contact your probation officer first thing in the morning. You still have outstanding warrants for parking and traffic violations.”

“Warrants? And you lettin’ me go?”

“Yer not my problem, fella. Just slow it down. I see you again, yer finished.”

Don’t say it, D! Don’t say it!!!

“Traffic and parking violations,” D’antre said in perfect clarity. “I thought that was an executable offense in these parts, Sergeant.”

The officer smashed the butt-end of his flashlight into D’antre’s jaw. He grabbed D’antre’s neck and slammed his face into the hood of his car. D’antre could feel his mouth filling with blood, and his wrists clamping into cuffs behind his back.

“You dumb, sonuvabitch! I was letting you off! Couldn’t not push it, could ya! This is not your day, boy. You just made it real hard on yourself. Boy.”

D’antre felt the long handle of the flashlight whack into the backs of his knees. Already face down on the hood of the car, he almost slipped off onto the ground, as his knees buckled and his calves shot upward. He heard the cop stomp away. It was an early December morning, and the hood of the car nearly froze against his sweat-soaked cheek. The blood spilling from his gums onto the cold metal steamed before his eyes. Reds-and-blues still spinning. His backside pointed out toward Route 4. Bent over like a clothespin.

Before too long, a second squad car arrived. D’antre heard the voice of an additional man. The two cops mumbled somewhere in the distance. With D’antre still bent over the hood, the cops began to tear through his car. Searching. Pulling out the floor mats, pulling out the back seats. Popped the trunk, threw the spare tire out onto the ground. Finally, the second cop came around to D’antre.

“Rough night, hey young brother?”

Muthafuck … A black cop. By D’antre’s figuring, there were two types of black cops. “Roundtrees” and “Tomboys.” Roundtrees are Wyatt Earp, “elevating the race by eliminating the niggers.” Tomboys, they just hate their own kind. Both of them are bad, but at least a Roundtree will warn you before he pumps you full of lead, or rams a baton so far up your ass it knocks your front teeth out. This painted pig here, definitely a Tomboy.

The black cop whispered to D’antre with a faux familiarity that was making him ill. And he was still handcuffed, face down on the hood of the car.

“Now, D’antre, I don’t want you to worry too much about ole Eliot over there. He’s a good guy, but I know he can get a little high strung. That’s why, when he tells me that you’ve been combative and confrontational with him, I think, hmmm … I think I’m gonna go get D’antre’s side of the story. It’s definitely a thing that makes me say hmmm … ya know what I mean, brother? Ha ha ha.

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