A Parent Injustice

By Paul Alford

Gabriel Michael Fisher, a loving father and dedicated husband, spent ten years of his life behind bars for a crime he did not commit. Accused of molesting his daughter, Fisher realized everything was a ploy set up by his wife and a group of people supposedly tasked to uphold justice. Now that he is done serving his time, Fisher is out to exact revenge from the people who ruined his family and caused his daughter's death. One by one he hunts them down, and he will stop at nothing until he completes the mission he planned for years. Not even the officers of Galveston Police Department can stop him. But Detective Powers and his band of honorable men and women of the law are bent on ending Fisher's rampage. But they discover the truth behind Fisher's case and a hundred similar ones, and suddenly find themselves unsure about Fisher's evilness.

Based on a true story of a loving father who was ripped away from his family on a crime he did not commit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9781662403880

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A Parent Injustice

Paul Alford

Copyright © 2023 Paul Alford

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2023

ISBN 978-1-6624-0387-3 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-0388-0 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Prologue

Epilogue

A Parent

Injustice

Prologue

Y ou! What do you want? What are you doing

No response. The man stood there, seemingly as oblivious of the old man as he was of the four story parking garage they were in, tapping, just tapping the softball bat against the left rear window of the old man's Mercedes. It was steady, almost hypnotic, and when the window broke, the rhythm of the bat didn't.

Look I've got some money, I'll give it to you, you can start your life over

Tap…tap…tap.

"Oh goddamn please man it's not my fault you went to prison. It's not my fault your little girl died,

Smash!! The driver's window disintegrated, and now the man was looking at him and the old man saw death in his eyes. In that moment he knew terror. He didn't realize that he dropped his attache case, or even that he wet his pants. He only knew that he didn't want to die, and he ran.

The first blow caught him in the hip and he was down on his back. Immediately the man was over him and the bat was swinging, but the old man wouldn't feel it. Mercifully, his heart gave out.

Day 1

Jimmy Surf Reed was sleeping like the dead when his phone started ringing at 6:27 AM. It didn't faze him. Dina, Surf's current beach bunny, the term used to describe all of the string of beautiful baby dolls that's paraded through Surf's life for as long as any of his buddies at Galveston P.D. could remember, wasn't as lucky. She heard the damn thing the first ring and pulled her pillow over her head. After eight more rings when Surf still didn't move she turned sideways on the bed and, using both feet, kicked Surf out of the bed and onto the floor. That woke him up, just barely. Surf sat up and, still oblivious to the phone that wouldn't stop ringing, asked, What did you do that for?

Answer the phone Surf or I'm going to kill you with it.

Surf looked at the phone and since the persistent devil continued to ring he answered it. Hmm?

That you Surf? Sergeant Garzas voice boomed through the phone.

Um hmm.

"Listen we got a homicide third floor of the parking garage on Twenty-First, half a block from the courthouse. Captain wants you there, mui pronto. JoJo's en-route and will meet you there."

JoJo ask you all the right questions, Sarge?

Yeah.

Okay, Surfs up.

JoJo Powers, at fifty-two years old, is still the strongest man on the Galveston P.D. His legal name is John Joseph. Powers Jr., but to his knowledge it had never been used and probably wouldn't be until it's carved on a stone to mark his grave. His father had always been Big John, he'd always been JoJo, and though his father had been dead for the past six years he saw no reason to try and change it at this late date. For the past twenty-eight years JoJo's been a cop in Galveston and is just as proud to be a cop today as he was the first day he wore the uniform. JoJo is black, very black, an American, not an African American, or an African anything, which he's quick to point out to anyone. He had fought for this country and nearly died for it during the Tet offensive in 68. It was beyond him to understand why any native born American, a citizen of the greatest nation on earth, would want to link himself to a continent, that from what he'd seen on the news he wouldn't even visit if you gave him a ticket. JoJo, unlike his partner and unofficially adopted son Surf, is the model police officer, and invariably the best dressed man at Galveston P.D.. He's been married to his high school sweetheart thirty-four years now and counting, has two sons, both through college and grad school, and one granddaughter. If it could be said he had a fault, it would be that he's too honest.

JoJo, after assigning a patrol cop to guard the entrance to the parking garage, drove up to the second floor and parked. He removed the evidence case from the trunk and walked up to the third floor.

A patrol cop greeted him as he came up the ramp onto the third floor.

Detective Powers, I'm Matson, my partner over there is Eulliss. We were the first ones on the scene.

Where's the body? JoJo asked.

Mostly it's in the front of that old station wagon. Some of it's under the car, and pieces are scattered all around over there. The car belongs to the two women in the back of my car. They found the body and called it in. There's some vomit at the left front corner of the car where one of 'em threw up. They left the car there and ran back down and called it in from the pay phone across the street.

Other than the women, anyone else been over there?

Yes sir I walked over there and took a look when we first arrived, but other than that, nobody.

Okay Matson, you and your partner keep the ladies over there until I get a chance to talk to them. Don't let anyone up here except for Detective Reed, Forensics, and the M.E. when he gets here. Hold the meat wagon on the ramp till we're ready for it.

As JoJo walked toward the rear of the station wagon he noticed some dark spots on the concrete and in line with them they turned into footprints that disappeared under the rear of the car. The last three visible behind the car were very clear. Moving to the left side of the car he saw what would later be identified as the left hand of the victim. It was about two feet to the left of a large puddle of vomit. The stench of blood, vomit, and excrement was strong by the time he was even with the rear bumper. JoJo moved farther to the left to avoid stepping in what appeared to be drops of blood and possibly bits of human tissue. As the victim came into full view, JoJo was momentarily shocked by the carnage.

The body, or at least the biggest part of it, lay approximately eight feet in front of the car. There just wasn't a head anymore. There was some brain and bits of skull with flesh attached, a lower jaw seemingly driven into what must have been the neck, and other than the bits of hair standing in a purplish congealed cottage cheese looking mess in the general area of where the head should have been, nothing else was recognizable. The body itself was in no better shape except that the suit had, for the most part, kept it together. Broken ribs were exposed where they'd torn through the skin and the fabric of the suit. The abdomen was torn open with intestine looped out extending past the crotch of the pants. The arms and legs seemed to zig-zag out and had obviously been broken many times. The right hand was still there other than the ring finger and little finger. It looked like so much hammered shit, but it was still there. The right foot folded back over the cuff of the trousers. Both shoes, black oxfords, were torn. The left shoe was almost completely separated from the sole and most of the foot extended through the tear.

Hearing the unmistakable sound of Surfs' hopped up police interceptor Ford, JoJo backtracked and went to meet Surf at the ramp.

Surf parked behind the patrol car and opened his door. He managed to turn sideways in the seat and get both feet on the ground, but that's as far as he got. Surf laid his head against the seat and covered his face with his right hand.

JoJo walked up to Surf's car and cheerfully said, Good morning Detective Reed. Now that you're here we can work this crime scene, get a report in to the captain by eight, and solve this and make an arrest by lunch leaving our afternoon free to wrap up another homicide or two.

Surf opened two fingers just enough to peek out at JoJo with one bloodshot eye and mumbled, No coffee?

What?

Coffee. You know that black stuff a human needs when they are forced to get up in the middle of the damn night.

Gosh, I'm sorry partner but they closed the coffee and doughnut counter at this crime scene just before you got here.

Who's he? Surf asked.

JoJo glanced over at Matson who was openly enjoying the interaction between the two detectives and said How terribly rude of me. Detective Reed this is Patrol Officer Matson. Patrol Officer Matson this bright eyed master sleuth is Detective Reed.

Surf looked at JoJo and said, If I could find my pistol I'd shoot you. Then turning to Matson he said, First off, I'm just plain old Surf, not Detective Reed except for on paper, and this pompous ass is JoJo. Is it possible that you might have any coffee in your car?

I just happen to have a thermos full De…uh…Surf.

Surf raised his head and smiled at Matson and said, If you'll loan me your pistol for just a second I'll shoot JoJo and give you all his jewelry and his gold tooth for a cup of your coffee.

Matson laughed and said, How bout I just give you a cup of coffee?

Surf shook his head and said, I appreciate it. Then turning to JoJo, What've we got?

The victim is in front of the station wagon. It belongs to the ladies. They found the body and called it in. I haven't talked to them yet, or done much of anything yet for that matter. I was still trying to approach the body without stepping on the parts of it scattered around when you got here.

Scattered around?

Yeah, the only bodies I've ever seen messed up worse were hit with artillery.

Matson, having returned and given Surf his much needed coffee said, I've never seen anybody that fucked up.

Matson, why don't you and your partner take the ladies' statements and tell them as soon as we can we'll get their car out of there and they'll be free to go. If we need anything else from them, we'll get in touch later.

JoJo, Surf, and Dr Andrew Lewis, the medical examiner for Galveston County, squatted around the body. Looks to me like he was beaten to death, JoJo said. Am I right Doctor?

Oh he was beaten, or more accurately clubbed, but I'm not sure that's what killed him. Notice the lack of bruising and here where the skin is broken the lack of blood. In fact considering how mangled the body is, there would have been a great deal more blood if his heart had still been beating.

So you're saying that he wasn't beaten to death?" Surf asked.

No he probably was beaten to death, but there are enough inconsistencies that I can't say for sure until we do an autopsy. If, say the first blow was to the head and it was fatal, then the lack of bleeding would make sense.

Any thoughts on what kind of weapon was used?

I was just thinking about that JoJo. Look here at the right wrist. See how the bone is completely crushed but the skin isn't torn where it was hit?

Yeah.

That appears to hold true overall. I'd say whatever he was clubbed with was long and round.

What?. Like a piece of pipe? Surf asked.

No I think it was something with a smooth round end more like a baseball bat. You guys have any idea who this poor bastard is?

According to everything in the wallet we found on him this is Edward Straum. JoJo responded.

Dr. Lewis whistled and said, Are you sure?

Ninety nine percent sure Doc. That Mercedes over there is registered to him, and that briefcase is his too.

Dr. Lewis shook his head and said, You know who Edward Straum is, don't you?

Surf started to spit but thinking better of it, considering where he was, said, He's a high priced sleeze bag attorney that will do anything if the price is right. JoJo and I have both had the misfortune of running up against him on more than one occasion.

That's true, but what's going to count here is he's a close friend of both Judge Gleason, and Commissioner Randle. This is going to be the hottest case Galveston has seen for many a year.

Surf looked at JoJo and said, Life can really be a bitch sometimes.

Doc any idea on the time of death? JoJo asked.

Best guess right now is late last night, but I'll be able to narrow it to an hour or two after I get him back to the shop.

JoJo and Surf leaned against Surf's car as the forensics team finished up and as the last bits of Edward Straum were scraped up, bagged, and tagged. Well partner I hope you didn't have anything planned for the near future because every big wig from the mayor on down is going to be dead on our ass until we find out who did this. Rotten as that son of a bitch was, the list of people with reason to kill him will probably be about the size of the Houston phone book.

Try to look on the bright side of it JoJo, maybe forensics will come up with something and all we'll have to do is make an arrest.

I hope so Surf, but I have a gut feeling that Edward Straum is going to screw us one last time. Lets get out of here.

The homicide department of Galveston P.D. is small compared to the homicide department in most cities, but then Galveston itself isn't a large city. There are fifteen officers assigned to homicide, seven two-man detective teams and one captain. The homicide department operates out of one not quite large enough room on the third floor of the three story building in downtown Galveston that is Galveston P.D.. The building itself is preWorld War Two with an air conditioning system that is best described as inadequate. The largest space in homicide's room is crammed with fourteen desks. There are also an enclosed office, the captain's, and two interrogation rooms. The one saving grace that made the main office space workable, other than the occasional mandatory meeting, was that it was a rare moment when more than eight detectives were there at the same time. This morning was one of those rare moments.

As JoJo and Surf walked into the office the lively banter coming from the huddle of detectives around the coffee pot ceased. Surf dropped his clipboard on the nearest desk and bent over and checked his fly and looked at JoJo's crotch and said, Phew, for a second there I thought our barn doors were open, but that's not it, so it must be they're just awe struck by our presence.

We heard someone nailed Straum, Timmons said with a big smile. Now the Commissioner is in the Captain's office and they want you in there pronto.

Surf and JoJo walked over to the Captain's office to taunts of I've got an alibi, I'll buy dinner for whoever killed him, and, The perp oughta get a medal.

Commissioner Randle stopped talking and stood up as Surf and JoJo walked into the office. He was as big as JoJo but gone to fat. His complexion was redder this morning than his usual four martini high blood pressure pink. He reached out and shook hands with JoJo and Surf saying, Captain Landry tells me you guys are the best he has. I don't care what it takes, you nail the bastard that killed Ed.

Captain Landry leaned back in his chair, You two know Mr. Straum was a close personal friend of the Commissioner, so he's taking a personal interest in this case. Why don't you fill us in on what you have so far.

Mr Straum was apparently beaten to death late last night. According to Doc Lewis the weapon was probably a baseball bat or something like that. He was beaten literally to pieces, worst I've ever seen. Doc said the lack of bleeding indicates he died right away. His car, money, credit cards, and jewelry weren't taken, so we can assume robbery wasn't the motive. We were able to get several good footprints that we believe the killer made leaving the body. The lab boys said they were made by a man's size 10 shoe. They also said the track was most likely made by a tennis shoe, and that there are some distinguishing marks, so they'll have no trouble getting a definite match on the shoes if we find them. Also the distance between the tracks indicates the man that made them is approximately six feet tall. Doc Lewis said he'd do the autopsy first thing, and we'll have a preliminary report for us early this afternoon. The fact that the killer literally beat Mr. Straum to pieces after he was already dead, indicates we have either a real psycho on our hands, or more likely someone that hated Mr. Straum with a passion. That is unless, of course, the killer intentionally bludgeoned him to pieces, so we'd think that. JoJo glanced over at Surf and said, That's about it unless you can think of anything I left out.

The only thing you didn't say was apparently the killer met Mr. Straum at his car and hit the car a number of times, not hard, but hard enough to break the driver's side windows. Mr. Straum's briefcase was lying by the left front fender of his car, and we think he dropped it there when he ran from his killer. It's just a hunch but JoJo and I both think he probably knew the killer and spoke to him beside his car before he ran. While we've got you here, Commissioner, there are a couple of questions I'd like to ask you. We still have to notify the next of kin. Do you know who that is and where can we find them?

His ex-wife is dead now, so I guess the only family he had left would be his son. They hated each other and I don't think they've spoken to each other in years. The son is Junior, named after Ed. The last I heard he was living in Boston. I think his mother's folks left him a place there, but I'm not sure. I do know he's a fag, and when Ed found out, he kicked him out. As far as I know he hasn't had anything to do with him since.

Surf jotted down a note and asked, Do you know of anyone who hated Mr. Straum enough to kill him? Or maybe someone threatened him recently and he mentioned it to you? Anything like that?

Look Detectives, you know as well as I do Ed was often controversial and he had a lot of enemies. He didn't mention to me anything about being threatened lately.

Did he ever say anything about anyone in particular that worried him? JoJo shrugged and went on, Like someone he felt he'd wronged or been unjust to in some way?

The Commissioner's face went from pink to beet red, and pointing his finger at JoJo, he spit out, I know some of the lies and innuendos that have been spread by members of this department about Ed, by incompetent officers that failed to provide the D.A.'s office enough evidence to get convictions when Ed was the attorney for the defense. Ed was a fine, decent man. You get this straight, Ed was the victim here, and you two will not drag his name through the mud while you're looking for the bastard that killed him, or I'll have you walking the beach looking for drunks for the rest of your careers! Captain, use as much manpower as you want on this and get this guy. Fast! I'll expect daily progress reports. With that, he pushed past Surf and left the office, slamming the Captain's door, and the door of the main office.

Surf walked over to the Captain's desk, and got a handful of jellybeans out of the jar the Captain kept since he quit smoking. I'm glad he blew up and left that way cause for a minute there I was starting to like the bastard.

Can it Surf. What we'd all better remember is he's still the top cop in Galveston, and unless this is handled quickly, and with kids gloves, he'll put our tits in a ringer. Give the Nelson drive by to Timmons and Mitchel. Anything else you have going will have to wait till this is over. I know the list of suspects will be long, and if you need more help, I'll break another team loose. Surf, let me have a word with JoJo for just a second and you guys can get on with it. Surf left the office, and Captain Landry smiled, and shook his head. JoJo, I don't want Surf going anywhere near Judge Gleason, or you either, for that matter. Have Bean interview him. I'm not saying you two couldn't do it, but considering past encounters, there's just too much potential for a wreck there. As far as Commissioner Randle goes, anything at all you need with him, go through me. Okay?

Yeah, okay Cap.

Tell Bean and Nichols I want them. Give them the rest of the day to clear their desk, and you can have them starting manana. JoJo came out of the Captains' office, and told Bean and Nichols the Captain wanted them. Surf was describing what had happened to Straum to the other detectives to accompaniment of ribald remarks. Seeing JoJo, Surf poured two cups of coffee and left the group to join JoJo at their desk

Surf, why don't you call Straum's office, and tell them we'll be there at one this afternoon. Try to get everyone that works there to be there. I'm going to call his house and see if there's a house keeper or someone that can let us in. I don't think we'll find anything there, but we might as well get it out of the way this morning.

I'd be willing to bet our guy's someone Straum screwed somehow in one of the cases he handled.

I think that's where we'll find him too, but we have to cover all bases, so we might as well get started.

The old pickup was in the fourth row of cars parked in front of the CPS, (Children Protective Service), building, facing the front door of the building. Anyone who noticed the man in the truck would naturally assume he was waiting for someone in the building. In a sense, they'd be right, he was waiting for someone, but not someone he'd brought, or that was planning on him picking them up.

At 11:00 a.m., people were starting to drift out for lunch. He pulled the red Houston Rockets ball cap down tight on close cropped gray hair, until the bill of the cap rested against the top of the wire frame mirrored sunglasses obscuring for the most part the face some would later described as attractive, fortiesh. When the eleven o'clock lunch bunch were all gone, the man in the old truck was still there. When they came back and the noon bunch left, he was still there. Behind the mirrors his eyes scrutinized the face of every woman leaving and then entering the building. It's been ten years, but he'd been sure he would recognize her. Either he didn't, or she hadn't come out. At one thirty the old truck rumbled to life and pulled slowly out of the parking lot.

Day 2, Wednesday 2:00 p.m.

JoJo, Surf, Bean, and Nichols hauled the last load of boxes into the office and stacked them in the interrogation room. The table already had an impressive pile on it.

Surf looked at the pile of boxes and laughed as he wiped the sweat off his face. And I thought we'd have a hard time getting his files because of attorney-client privilege or some shit like that.

I think his secretary, Ms Renaldo, hated him worse than we did. JoJo started separating the boxes of criminal case files into a separate pile from the civil case file. Then he added, Still we're lucky he didn't have any partners or we would've had to get a court order to see them.

Bean fished a cigarette out of her purse, lit it, and exhaled a long stream of smoke. Looping the strap of her purse over her shoulder, she said, I hate to miss out on all this fun, but I have an appointment with the honorable Judge Gleason at two thirty. As she walked toward the door, she stopped behind Surf, who was bent over the table opening a box. Bean put her cigarette in her mouth and reached over and grabbed Surf's butt with both hands. Surf jumped about two feet and spun around. Bean smiled at him and batted her eyelashes. Surfy, you always did have the cutest butt. Out the door she went, leaving Surf blushing and laughing in spite of himself.

JoJo and Nichols were cracking up, and JoJo reached over and grabbed Nichols and managed to keep a straight face just long enough to say, I've always been proud of my partner Surfy for having the cutest butt on the force. And they both burst out laughing again.

That's very funny, Surf squeaked out doing his best fag impression. You fellahs are just jealous cause you don't have cute butts.

Still laughing, JoJo said, Okay we'd better divide this stuff up and get started. Since there's about twice as many civil files as there are criminal, why don't you two start on the civil files and I'll start on the criminal. Let's start on the most recent cases and work back.

Harvey Nichols started pulling the boxes not marked 97 off the table, and said, According to Ms. Renaldo, nearly half of everyone that ever crossed Straum in or out of court had good reason to kill him.

Yeah as long as the list of suspects is likely to be, we're probably going to have to get more help to check alibis. Surf pulled a pile of thick folders from a box and sat down. If you guys see anyone in particular that stands out, flag 'em so we can check those first.

* * *

Deborah Bean was smiling as she walked out the back door of the police station to the motor pool. Glancing at her watch, she saw she had some time before she was due in Gleason's chambers. It was only two blocks to the courthouse and a beautiful afternoon so she decided to walk.

Bean enjoyed walking and every male over the age of twelve enjoyed watching her walk. By the time she was thirteen, she caused a reaction in men everywhere she went, now sixteen years later she still did. Bean is the product of a Puerto Rican father and an English mother. She's five foot seven, with long legs, thin waist, and breast that strain a C cup but don't quite fill a D. Her hair is thick, coffee colored, and she wears it most days in a long single braid. Other than her large brown doe eyes she inherited the fine patrician facial features of her mother. As she started to mature, everyone assumed she would make a career of modeling like her mother had. She had in fact modeled for just over three years, until one fateful day shortly after she turned seventeen, her parents were killed walking into a grocery store during a robbery. After finishing high school, she studied art at Lamar Junior College in Port Arthur. She was talented but didn't really enjoy it. Just five weeks short of getting her associate's degree, she was having lunch at Wendy's and read an ad for the Galveston Police Department in a newspaper that had been left at her table. After lunch, instead of going back to school, she drove to Galveston and joined the police department.

Bean smiled, thinking, as she walked, about the difference this time as compared to the one other time she'd grabbed Surf's butt eight years ago. While she was still a rookie, she'd been called in from patrol by her watch commander and told to report to the narcotics field office in street clothes.

Narcotics, at the time, worked out of the old Sandpiper Motel that had closed due to hurricane damage and never reopened.

Later that same day, Lieutenant Jumper Davis, the narcotics boss, explained he was asking her to volunteer to go undercover. He wanted her to try to infiltrate Donnell Brown's drug operation. Donnell Brown was at the time the most notorious drug kingpin in South Texas. There was no doubt Brown was the largest importer of heroin, cocaine, and marijuana on the Texas Gulf Coast. The problem was no one had been able to prove it. He was also believed to be responsible for eight deaths, two of which had been undercover narcs. Brown owned Faces, an upscale nightclub on the beach, and could be found there most nights. Brown was a tall black in his mid thirties that had a reputation as a ladies' man. Brown's latest acquisition was Melissa, an eighteen-year-old buxom blonde junkie. Bean's assignment was to try to befriend Melissa and get accepted by Brown through her.

When Bean walked into Faces, Brown, Melissa, and three of his henchmen were sitting at a corner table. Bean sat at a table on the opposite side of the dance floor where she could watch Brown without appearing too obvious. Bean ordered a margarita, and when the waitress came back, she put two margaritas on Bean's table. Bean raised her eyebrows when the second drink was put on her table. The waitress pointed out Brown and told Bean tonight all her drinks were compliments of the owner, Mr. Brown. Half an hour later Brown asked Bean to dance. Bean danced four times with Brown that night. When she started to leave, Brown caught her at the door and asked to come back the next night as his guest. The following night when Bean returned to Faces, Brown was sitting alone. It was apparent to Bean by the end of that night she'd either have to back out of the investigation, or succumb to Brown's amorous advances. Bean felt sure if she stuck with it she could get enough evidence to bring down Brown and his organization. Two days later Bean moved into Brown's beachfront condominium.

Lieutenant Davis was furious at first, but he grudgingly accepted the reasoning that this was their best chance of busting Brown and his dealers. Bean's acceptance by the other narcs had been immediate, but once they realized she was sleeping with Brown, they shunned her.

A couple of times a week Bean would manage to slip off alone and report in at the motel. On one occasion Bean was reporting to Lieutenant Davis in the room he'd converted into his office when Surf came in the adjoining room. Surf asked the other guys where Jumper was, he needed to see him right away because he had something going down. Silvio, one of the other narcs, told Surf he'd have to wait because Bean was in Jumper's office. Surf's response was, Isn't this the shits, now I'm waiting in line behind a pusher's whore! Though Bean wasn't intended to hear the remark, she did, and it hurt. She was through with her report, so she started to go out the door that opened directly into the parking lot, but her pride got the better of her, so she turned around and went through the adjoining door into the other room.

Surf was bent over a table counting out the money for a buy when Bean came into the room. He didn't turn around or even acknowledge her, and the other two narcs didn't even glance up at her. Trying hard not to cry, Bean walked directly behind Surf, and when he still didn't turn around, she grabbed his butt. Surf spun around and looked like he wanted to hit her. Before Surf could say anything, Bean told him, I don't know what you're getting mad about since I'm just a pusher's whore and can't be expected to keep my hands to myself. Surf didn't say a thing, he just stared at her. She tried to face him down, but the truth was she felt ashamed. Just as her body betrayed her when Brown touched her, it betrayed her now. She started to cry. She didn't want to, but she couldn't stop it, so she ran from the room.

Jumper had stood in the doorway and watched the exchange between Bean and Surf. When Surf laughed and said, Like it's my fault she's a… Jumper crossed the room and punched Surf in the mouth. Surf sat up and wiped blood off his busted lips and asked, What's your fucking problem, Jumper?

Jumper begged Surf to get up so he could whip his ass, when Surf didn't, he turned to the other two and said, Now about you two, you want some? When they didn't respond, Jumper told them to get every member of the squad, other than Bean, into the office and not to bother him until everybody was there.

Once everyone was at the office that afternoon, Jumper had came out of his office with a stack of files. He pointed out the fact that there were sixty-four files there and each of them contained a secret indictment and every damned one of them was a result of Deborah Bean's efforts. He'd gone on to say that he expected at least that many more arrests to be made state wide as a result of information and evidence that Bean had obtained that had been passed on to the D.E.A.. Jumper pointed out that what Bean had accomplished in just over a month would do more real damage to the drug trade than everything they'd done in the two years he'd been in charge of the narcotics squad.

After laying out the plans for a city wide raid planned to go down in two days to serve the warrants that were the result of Bean's investigation, Jumper lowered the boom on the whole squad. He told them that what Bean had done was the bravest thing he'd ever seen. He said here she was a young rookie cop with no experience in this type of thing, scared to death every minute, and instead of getting support and encouragement from her peers that she looks up to, she's been treated like shit. Jumper told them that for the past two years he'd been proud to work with them, he'd respected them, but that was no longer true. Once this operation was over he'd be getting a transfer to another assignment. Then he'd walked out of the meeting.

Things didn't go as planned. That same night when Brown and Bean left Faces, Brown had three of his guys he used for strong-arm work go with them. From Faces they drove to an apartment complex where one Bubba Kennedy lived. Bubba had his own network of small-time dealers that he supplied with drugs purchased, often on credit, from Brown. The problem was Bubba owed Brown over twenty grand and not only had failed to pay his bill, but that night Brown had heard that Bubba was being supplied now by someone out of Houston.

At the apartment complex Bean was told to wait in the car while Brown and his boys went inside. Less than ten minutes later, the four of them ran back to the car carrying a medium size suitcase. Brown was yelling at one his guys for stabbing Bubba and throwing him through a second-story window.

As they were speeding out of the parking lot, Rich Grisky, in the last hour of what had been a very boring night on patrol, had to slam on his brakes to keep from broadsiding the Mercedes that pulled out right in front of him burning rubber. Grisky had been born and raised in Galveston and had been a member of the G.P.D. for the past six years. Grisky hated niggers. He blamed them for, as he saw it, ruining Galveston. If there was anything that Grisky hated worse than niggers, it was niggers driving fancy Mercedes Benz cars. Grisky actually laughed as he punched the accelerator and slammed his cruiser through a U-turn, simultaneously flipping on the lights and siren.

Brown started to try to out run the cop but he knew it was hopeless to get into a high speed chase on the island. So, as he started to pull over, he told the three in back to get ready. Bean watched in horror as they all took out their pistols and clicked the safeties off. Bean tried to convince Brown to just take the ticket. He told her to shut-up and sit tight. They'd killed Bubba, and the bag they'd brought back to the car had seven keys of blow in it. There wasn't any choice.

Brown pulled to the curb and Grisky stopped his cruiser about twenty feet back. Bean surreptitiously slid her right hand in her purse and eased her little .380 automatic out and held it concealed under her purse. Brown ran the window down on the drivers' door and told the three in the back to wait for his move.

Grisky was smiling as he got out because not only had these niggers nearly run him down, but for a few seconds they'd accelerated when he started to pull them over. Grisky had all the probable cause he needed to harass the shit out of them. Grisky pulled his pistol, and standing behind his door, speaking through the cruiser's public address system, he told everyone in the Mercedes to get out with their hands where he could see them.

Brown told Orlando White, the man sitting on the passenger side of the back seat, to distract the cop. Bean knew from the academy and her short time on patrol that the situation required a backup unit. She was praying the backup would get there in time. Grisky hadn't called for a backup because he didn't want to chance a nigger or pussy cop showing up and prohibiting his fun. As Bean moved her pistol from under her purse to the waistband of her skirt, Brown had noticed and winked at her as he opened his door. No doubt he'd probably thought something like, My woman's a standup girl.

When they were all standing outside the Mercedes, Grisky told Bean and White to come around the rear of the car to the driver's side, and then he wanted them all to lay down on the street. White had just reached the right rear corner of the Mercedes with Bean behind him when Grisky finished saying he was going to have them lay down in the street. White stopped and yelled at Grisky, I ain't laying down in no street for you, motherfucker! The ruse worked because Grisky, turning his attention and gun on White, had stepped around his door and started walking toward the front of his cruiser, yelling at White. Momentarily, Brown and Simmons, the man who'd been sitting behind Brown, were blocked from sight by Raheem, the one that had been in the middle of the back seat. Brown and Simmons both pulled their pistols. Grisky caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and, realizing what was happening, shot White and started to turn toward the three men on the driver's side. Brown and Simmons opened fire, and a split second later Raheem joined them. Grisky went down in a hail of bullets before he could get off another shot.

When White went down Bean pulled her little .380 and started shooting as fast as she could pull the trigger at the three men who were now shooting Grisky. Her first shot hit Brown in the head, and her next two shots hit Simmons, but that was as far as she got. Raheem, realizing what was happening, turned and shot Bean. His first shot caught Bean high in the chest and lifted her off the ground, and he shot her again before she fell.

When Raheem looked, everyone was obviously dead, so he fled the scene in the Mercedes, running over one of Brown's feet in the process.

The gunfight woke up the neighborhood, and a number of calls came in to the police