Race Traitors 2

By Mark Davis

Race Traitors 2 presents the continuing conflicts of gang violence and murder in the city of Chicago in the year 1974. A record number of homicides and shootings plagued the city with no end in sight. Gang Crimes detectives, Myles Sivad and Aristotle Ashford were trapped in a wedge of gang violence as they struggled to address the carnage. Detective Sivad often found himself overwhelmed with duties and personal conflicts that subjugated his conscious and stirred his ability to stay focused on the present state of conditions in the city. His partner, detective Ashford was his pillar and he too found himself struggling with the tasks at hand. Murder had become a virus in the black south side communities as mothers of young victims continued to mourn the death of a son. From 1971 through 1974 hundreds of young black males were murdered or gunshot victims as gang supremacy surged. Detectives, Ashford and Sivad were bound by their oath to serve and protect life and property and committed to their pledge. In their attempt to deal with the physical and psychological stress of their duties, they fought against the intruders that were determined to destroy the black community. Entrenched in this struggle, they were forced to become participants in the growing reality of human anguish in an urban warfare that pitted race, culture and dedication to duty in a triangle of conflict.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781646289172

Mark Davis

Mark Davis is a former White House speechwriter and a senior director of the Washington-based White House Writers Group, where he has consulted with the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA), as well as with some of the nation's leading telecommunications, information technology and defense-aerospace companies. He is a frequent lecturer, writer and blogger on politics, technology, and the future.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Iwas leaving headquarters when I heard my name echoing from a familiar voice. I stopped in mid-stride and turned around. DoubleA was standing near the sergeant’s desk, talking on the phone. I wondered why he was in the building as I rushed to greet him in a hail of curiosity.

DoubleA, what are you doing down here? I asked before he could get off the phone.

He hurriedly hung up the phone, extended his hand, and grabbed mine while simultaneously wrapping his arm around me to complete the greeting.

Myles, my man, good to see you. I’m just here to clear up some medical papers. I’ll be back in the game next week! Before I could get a word out, he continued, What you getting ready to do now, man? Can we slip down to the 357 bar and knock a few back?

Yeah, man, let’s roll! I’m done for the day.

We hopped on the elevator and headed to the main floor.

I’ll meet you there, he said as we split in different directions outside the main entrance of headquarters. I got there before him, so I went inside to get us a seat. Benny’s was not crowded, but he had a full bar. I saw Sergeant Hardy, my confidant, who was at his usual bartender-assistant position.

Myles! he shouted as I entered the bar in search of a seat.

We exchanged greetings as DoubleA entered the rear door. We took a seat in the corner and ordered our favorites, Jack and Seven and a Tanqueray on the rocks. DoubleA seemed to be very relaxed and pleasant.

Yo, Myles, I have been waiting to ask you for some time about the incident you had at the police station when you got arrested and caused a 10-1(officer needs help) in the 2nd district station. You know, you never really finished telling me what happened. What the fuck were you on that night?

"DoubleA, I’ll be honest. I was full of that rose [Wild Irish], and I was angry that my boy got stabbed in the leg. The police got called, and I was out front looking like I was the cause of the disturbance. The officer initially told me to get in the car, but his partner intervened and asked me where I lived. I told him, and he told me to start heading in that direction. They drove off, but I didn’t heed his order. I went across South Park toward Calumet and got involved in a fight with another ‘nigga,’ and they got the call and found me in the middle of another disturbance.

"‘Say, li’l motherfucker. What did I tell you?’ he snarled!

"Before I could respond, he slapped the shit out of me! Man, he shouldn’t have done that. I blew up in a rage and defended myself with a surge of power, anger, and energy that they couldn’t handle. They called for assistance. ‘10-1! Officer needs assistance!’ Every son of a bitch in the district responded. The two officers were no match for my anger and strength, and I suddenly realized that I was kicking the police’s ass.

"I seem to remember a woodpecker tapping me on the side of head, saying, ‘Say, nigga! This is the police ass you kicking!’ I suddenly stopped and apologized, but it was too late for that. Once the troops arrived, and they began beating me down, kicking me, hitting me in the head with their nightsticks, and just fuckin’ me up!

"They brought me into the 48th Street station and threw me in the bullpen. I was furious. When they asked me my age, I thought I was slick, so I lied and told them I was sixteen. Underage for the lockup, and the lockup keeper supported my claim because he knew I was in the station a week before, and I was sixteen then. They took me out of the lockup to take me upstairs to the youth officers when my mother came into the station. She saw me being taken upstairs and asked one of the officers what was going on.

"‘Who are you?’ he inquired.

"‘I am his mother!’

How old is this boy?

"‘Seventeen,’ she replied.

"They turned around and began to curse me. After a barrage of insults, they attempted to take me back to the bullpen. Sh—t I was already stewing after I had surrendered, and they beat the shit out of me. It was time to die as I broke away and began to lay down blows and combinations upside the head of anyone that got in front of me. I was doing well until some little fireplug, blackball-headed ‘Peeler’ (1817 British Constable, Sir Robert Peel) took a good combination from me before he grabbed me by the throat and put me to sleep!

"I woke up in the bullpen, laying facedown with both of my arms up under me. I felt distressed. It was like I was waking up from a nightmare. I had this eerie emotion filled with physical erupting chemicals in my body. I had to lay there for a moment until I felt clear enough to get up. I looked down at my feet, and I noticed that my shoes were missing. I couldn’t believe that the fucking police stole my shoes. As I sat up, I saw another prisoner in the bullpen, sitting over in the corner. He seemed to be sitting on something.

"After my head cleared, I realized that he was sitting on my shoes. I didn’t say anything as I stood up and faked like I was drunk and discombobulated. I stumbled toward him, and when I got close enough, I jawed his ass. He jumped up, screaming and running to the other side of the cell. The lockup keeper shouted at me to stop before he came in and put his foot on my neck. That was a familiar verse. I remember when my grandfather put his foot on my neck when I was a little boy, and I never forgot that ass whooping. I shouted back at the lockup keeper and told him that the little bastard had taken my shoes.

"After several hours, I was eligible for bond. My mom posted the bond and took me home. When we got home, my father was waiting in the living room. As we came in the front door, I noticed him sitting in the living room in the dark. I said to myself, ‘Damn, I got to listen to his scolding for being a damn fool!’ He never said a word to me about that bout with the police, but I knew he was disappointed in my behavior because he knew I knew better.

Damn, Myles, you had some issues back then. How did you outgrow all of that anger?

Man, I got tired of smart-mouthing the police and going to jail for being too rebellious. I jumped up to a level of refined thought and renowned existence. The magic of maturity rose up in me without invitation. I realized I had potential, and I was wasting it being angry about life. Man, I jumped the curve and looked down the road of my life and raced toward the trail for a better man!

Myles, you are really a unique dude. I was in the station that night, but I wasn’t close to the roll-call room. I heard about the incident, and you turned some heads. I remember the commander, Bob Harness, ‘The Crusher,’ signifying with several officers about how some kid had kicked the whole watch ass, and he even described some of the blows he heard some of them took from you. Guest what, Myles, and this is no lie. He told the watch commander to send a car to your house to mentor you toward the police department.

Yeah, well, I got another good one for you DoubleA, but I have to tell you about it another time.

Bullshit, dude! Yo, Hardy, give us another round. You can’t leave me like this. Finish up, Holmes!

"Okay, man, check this out. I was working in the Wood (Englewood District) on the 3rd watch. My shift was over, and I went to the daily assignment board to check my assignment for the next day. When I looked at the assignment sheet, it read, Beat 726: Sivad and McDade!

"I was startled! I was assigned to work with the little wannabe tough-police motherfucker, Sam McDade, the punk-bitch police officer who abused me on 45th and Calumet in1965. McDade stood about five feet seven inches and weighed about 135 pounds soaked and wet with a brick in each pocket. His uniform shoes were thick soled. He wore them because they made him a bit taller. That night lived with me every day for nine years. My head dropped as I walked away toward the locker room, dejected and angry. How was I going to work with that son of a bitch! I reported to work the next day and went to roll call.

"Captain William Marshall, ‘The Field Marshall’ as he was known, conducted the roll call. He read the assignments for the shift, and I exited the room. When I located our vehicle, I saw that McDade had already commanded the driver’s seat, waiting with the engine running. I entered the vehicle and checked our emergency equipment. McDade then took off, heading toward our beat of assignment. Approximately twenty minutes into patrol, the dispatcher called. ‘Unit 726, you have a disturbance on a southbound CTA bus from 63rd and Halsted.’ We headed toward the scene and located the bus at 65th and Halsted.

"We stopped the bus and boarded it. The bus driver immediately stood up and began to explain the disturbance. He told us he had a passenger who had a bus transfer, which had expired, and he wanted him off the bus. We approached the suspect, young male, black, around eighteen years old, and he told us he could not get off the bus until the bus reached 69th Street. It was obvious to me that he was a gang member, and any turf before 69th Street was taboo. McDade immediately went into a tirade.

"‘Say, little monkey motherfucka! If you don’t get off this bus, I’m gonna arrest yo punk ass.’

"The youth didn’t budge. The bus was full of women as McDade continued with his attack, showing no respect for all the women on the bus. ‘You little black motherfucka, do you know who I am? I am the candy man. I’ll beat your black ass to death if you don’t get off this bus.’

"I tried to talk to the kid. I told him McDade was a wannabe tough cop and how he fucked over me when I was a kid. He looked at me strangely but continued to refuse. I guess he knew he would rather go to jail then get off that bus at 65th and Halsted. McDade handcuffed the youth and took him off the bus. When we arrived at the district station, we took him into the prisoner processing room and began the arrest procedure. We were almost finished when McDade told me he was going to beat the prisoner’s ass, and he asked me if I wanted to.

"‘Hell naw, man, I don’t roll like that.’ I walked out of the room and went to the watch commander’s office. I didn’t