Expunged: The Memoirs of an Undercover Police Officer

By Shaun Flowers

Expunged is a fictionalized story based on the life of Shaun Flowers, who at the age of eighteen found himself jailed for a petty misdemeanor. Until this unfortunate incident, Shaun had ended his secondary education with all the academic requisites and social skills for a promising future career. He was indeed the community's promising son. Rather than allow a damning and out-of-proportion criminal record negate a productive future, as was the case for multitudes of men of color during this period of time, Shaun and his family after a laborious and tortuous journey attained an expungement of his record. After excelling in college with a bachelor's degree in juvenile justice, Shaun pursued a career in criminal justice. In 1986 he became a police officer and three months after graduating from the police academy was selected to go undercover to help stem the onset of the crack cocaine epidemic in a major city.. He became one of their best undercover narcotics officers, buying guns and large amounts of assorted drugs resulting in myriad arrests. Throughout, however, Shaun never abandoned his fidelity and social attachments to family and the community.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543937084

Book preview

Copyright © 2018 by Shaun Flowers

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Print ISBN: 978-1-54393-707-7

eBook ISBN: 978-1-54393-708-4

Synopsis

Expunged is a fictionalized story based on the life of Shaun Flowers, who at the age of eighteen found himself jailed for a petty misdemeanor. Until this unfortunate incident, Shaun had ended his secondary education with all the academic requisites and social skills for a promising future career. He was indeed the community’s promising son. Rather than allow a damning and out-of-proportion criminal record negate a productive future, as was the case for multitudes of men of color during this period of time, Shaun and his family after a laborious and tortuous journey attained an expungement of his record. After excelling in college with a bachelor’s degree in juvenile justice, Shaun pursued a career in criminal justice. In 1986 he became a police officer and three months after graduating from the police academy was selected to go undercover to help stem the onset of the crack cocaine epidemic in a major city. He became one of their best undercover narcotics officers, buying guns and large amounts of assorted drugs resulting in myriad arrests. Throughout, however, Shaun never abandoned his fidelity and social attachments to family and the community.

DEDICATION

With loving memory

To my grandmother, mother, father, sister, son

and my Flowers family.

I hope and pray for peace,

love and tolerance through~out our human race.

Acknowledgements

Unlike writing a term paper or filling out a police report, writing this book required a different use of, or better yet, an embellishment of those literary skill sets which I had acquired over the years. To make up for deficits, I was fortunate and privileged to have had Enid Burke and Marcus Riley willing and eager to prop up initial grammarian and story needs while serving as unbridled cheer leaders.

Without Catherine Corona, Expunged would have continued to be a desire rather than the reality that exists. Her journalistic expertise and compassion for what I hoped to achieve in writing about my experiences were solidified by her willingness to stick with me from beginning to end. Her wisdom and friendship have been without equal.

Mea culpa for any and all deficits.

To my uncle Gary Flowers, I give my heartfelt thanks and appreciation for believing in me and always being there when I needed support.

Contents

PROLOGUE: A LETTER TO MY YOUNGER SELF

SHAUN

{NOW}

CHAPTER ~ 1: ALPHA {1974}

CHAPTER ~ 2: THE JOURNEY {1975}

CHAPTER ~ 3: FLY {1986}

CHAPTER ~ 4: UNDERGROUND {1987}

CHAPTER ~ 5: BALLERS {1988}

NINE {1990}

HOUSE {1992}

SAYS {1994}

CHAPTER ~ 9: SERENDIPITY {1995}

CHAPTER ~ 10: GAN$TA {1969}

TASKING {1997}

CHAPTER ~ 12: BURNER {1998}

DOPE {1999}

WHEELERS {2000}

CHAPTER ~ 15: OMEGA {2001}

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

A LETTER TO MY YOUNGER SELF

Dear Shaun,

{Then}

Do you want to be a king for a year or a prince for life?

You need to think about that. And you will; you just don’t know it yet. There are so many things you need to think about, so many things you should do differently, so many things you don’t know, but you think you do. Not until you accept how little you know, will you begin to know anything at all. You will come across many crossroads in life, and you will make many wrong choices, but here’s what you’ll need to carry you through:

Are you listening to me?

~ Love yourself more. This will help you love others more. This is the true path for your being.

~ Forgive people. Revenge only leads you down the darkest of paths, and there is not always a way out.

~ Educate yourself. Street-smart and book-smart are two entirely different things — you’ll need both to survive.

~ Stay away from drugs. It won’t be long before you witness the horrors of addiction. Don’t become a statistic.

~ Cling to your dreams until your dying breath. Without hope, you’re hopeless.

~ Never let go of your belief in a Supreme Being. This is your love, your forgiveness, and your hope. This, above all else, is what will carry you through.

You are about to become someone you aren’t — a criminal--and travel to places where you do not belong, places where a very few belong--jail. You will embrace a street mentality and disregard for all you were taught to hold dear. You’re going to get lost in the darkness for a while you’re going to feel hopeless. You’re going to almost lose it all. How I wish I could make your path easier, but I can’t. I can only tell you that you will come out on the other side. Tapping into your inner belief system and strength will be your lifeline. Use it, and you will triumph. Remember, for every darkness there is a light.

No matter how bad things get, do not give up on yourself or your family. You will find another way to live, a better way — with them — and for them. You will rise. You are destined for greatness. You are meant to save lives.

But first, you must save your own. Go on, now — Begin your journey.

With affection,

Shaun

{Now}

SHAUN

{NOW}

CHAPTER ~ 1

ALPHA {1974}

Washington, D.C.,

IIt was 1974. Hank Aaron hit his 715th home run and beat Babe Ruth’s Record. I was eighteen-years-old, and I knew everything, or so I thought.

I recall cruising down the streets of Washington, D.C. in my pop’s sunshine yellow Volkswagen Beetle, the sunroof down, with my best friend Randy Collins. James Brown’s The Big Payback, was blaring from the eight-track tape and we were singing along without a care in the world.

I’d known Randy for as long as I can remember. We grew up together in the same neighborhood, and our families were close. We had always gone to the same schools and we played the same sports together. We were more like brothers than friends, and I trusted him to drive, even without my pop’s permission. It was a wide-open, balmy summer evening, and I knew there was nowhere else I’d rather be. Nowhere in particular to be, nowhere in particular to go. Time was on my side. Youth was on my side. I was invincible, bullet-proof.

We decided to pull over at a local gas station and check out some rims on a wrecked car. Although the car look totaled, the rims were pristine — brand new, shiny chrome, without a single ding or dent. We wanted to see if they were for sale.

Sometimes it’s the smallest decisions that change your life.

We had barely exited the car when the owner of the gas station, a white man, walked over to us. He was overweight, with messy hair, dirt on his face and hands, and greased-stained overalls. A small pale oval on the chest of the overalls was embroidered with the name Wallace.

The breeze shifted, blowing my future toward me. Wallace looked at us but for a second.

What are you f*ck*ng n*gg*rs doing? he yelled, looking me dead in the eye.

Randy was ready to fight, but I slung my arm around him and steered him back toward the Volkswagen.

Let’s just go, man. He’s not worth it.

Two black teenagers weren’t going to win that fight, certainly not in 1974. I knew that much.

Randy peeled out of the gas station and Wallace flopped belly-down onto the hood.

F*ck*ng n*gg*rs! Wallace spat, his eyes wild. He held onto the windshield wipers to stay on the car but quickly lost his grip and thudded to the pavement.

I met Randy’s eyes for a second. A long second, the kind of second that seems to last a lifetime because you intrinsically realize that it is a big moment. The kind of moment that could change everything, and not for the better. Do we keep going or stop and check on him? The decision was made for us. Then, lo and behold, guess who’s parked across the street? The sounds of screaming sirens rent the air with blue and red police lights flashing in the rearview mirrors.

Randy flipped our headlights off and floored it, the police car in pursuit of ours. After a few blocks he abruptly came to a stop, and we jumped out and ran like our lives depended on it — because we thought they did. I ran until I saw a burgundy mini conversion van sitting in a driveway. I dove under it and held onto the underside of the van’s frame so the cop wouldn’t be able to see me if he looked quickly underneath the van. Soon another police car arrived with screaming sirens, flashing lights, and the squealing sound of tires.

I heard a struggle, the dull thuds of the officers landing blows. Each blow was punctuated with a scream from Randy. They had caught my best friend. With a racing heart and sweaty hands, I continued to hold on as I heard Randy get beaten, cuffed, and put in the back of the police car.

Bright beams of police flashlights sliced through the dark as they searched for me. I was wearing a dark t-shirt and shorts, but I thought that my white high-top Chuck Taylor sneakers might give me away.. It was possible that they wouldn’t find me, but how long could I possibly hold on? Should I even be holding on at all? How angry would my parents be when they found out? What would happen to Randy? These questions swirled through my head for probably around thirty seconds, but it felt like an hour.

Finally, I made the inevitable choice. I got out from underneath the van, stood up, and raised my hands in the air. The nearest cop’s back was toward me.

I give up, Officer. I’m right here. I began walking toward him slowly yet deliberately. I meant no harm.

He jumped as he spun around. Arms crossed over at the wrists, he pointed both the flashlight and gun at my head. His left eye was squeezed shut, aiming with the right eye, putting me in focus to shoot.

I’m going to die tonight.

Sweat dripped down the nape of my neck, pooling down the small of my back. My parents’ faces flashed through my mind: family dinners, holidays spent together, my mom’s smile, my dad’s laugh, friends, high school, playing sports, all followed like scenes from a movie. Would all of these things be taken from me by this cop and his gun? Would I ever see my family and friends again?

Please don’t shoot! I begged, I’m giving up. Please don’t shoot! I wasn’t speaking from humility, but instead, from abject fear. I kept begging until he ordered me to lie face down on the ground with my palms facing the sky.

I did as I was told. I offered no resistance as I was handcuffed and walked toward his police car. As I sat in the back, happy memories continued to flash through my mind, reminding me of what I had and what I could lose. I couldn’t believe I was sitting in the back of a police car about to be taken to jail, desperately wishing I could go home. How could this be happening to me? How could my life be over after just eighteen years?

At the jail, my clothes were exchanged for an orange jumpsuit with City Jail written across the back. The worst part was sitting in the holding cell with no idea of how long I would be there or what would happen to me next.

I didn’t see Randy again for a couple of hours until we were fingerprinted and had our mugshots taken. The booking officer, Officer Reed, squeezed ink onto a board, then used a roller to flatten the inky blob. One by one, each of my fingers were methodically placed in the ink, then each finger slowly rolled on a fingerprint card to be submitted to the National Crime Information Center database with the rest of the criminals. I watched it happen twice: four fingers, then my thumb — precise. My police photo number was 501888169 — a detail I can’t forget, no matter how hard I try.

After I was charged with trespassing and aggravated assault with a vehicle, Randy and I were returned to our separate holding cells. Our mortified parents had refused to pick us up; they were hoping a night in lock-up would teach us a lesson. They had raised upstanding young men, not these criminals who were now a source of shame, confusion, and disappointment.

Clothed in the orange jail jumpsuit, I sat on a hard metal bench all night with nothing to do but think. Florescent lights continuously glared; I had no choice but to really see where I had ended up. The walls were grey, the bench was grey, and the bars holding me in were grey. Everywhere I looked I saw the same institutional grey — a color I had never seen before in real life, and one I never wanted to see again. It certainly was appropriate, though, since it perfectly matched my mood. It was the color of hopelessness.

A seat-less, stainless steel toilet was placed in the corner near a stainless-steel sink. There was a mirror on the wall, slightly rippled, like a circus mirror. But I didn’t need a mirror because I already knew how I looked: like an ashamed kid who’s terrified that his life was over before it really started.

I didn’t sleep at all that night; I just lay in my cell replaying the events that occurred at the gas station. I knew I was wrong for running and hiding from the police. I knew my parents knew I was wrong. I knew the police knew I was wrong. Any way you cut it, I was just plain wrong, and there was no excuse. I’d always had a good life, with parents who worked hard to give my sister and me everything we needed. We also had an incredible, loving, and supportive grandmother who lived in the second-floor apartment of our single-family home.

I did receive one good piece of news that night: Wallace wasn’t hurt when he fell off my pop’s car, and he wasn’t going to press charges against Randy and me.