Biting The Hand That Feeds One

Prologue:

Sirens blare in all directions in the city of Jamaica, New York. Rain fell from the heavens as lightning flashed in dozens of locations. The night was cold and brutal as a family watched three police vehicles dashed towards their home. A black mother, in her twenties, gripped the hand of a seven-year-old boy. Her appearance showed fear mixed with shock; she doesn’t even express relief when the men stepped out of the police cars.
One man in particular, a white man with a frisky tan mustache, stepped up to her with a detective beside him. “I’m Dave Summerset, Sheriff of the NYC police, there’s been a call of a murder. Did you make the call, mam?”
She nods slowly at the sheriff; her mouth opens but her voice was replace with the sounds of thunder. Her hair was tied in a bun, dark brown and soaked with rainfall. The Sheriff had a tan short crop, while the detective possessed black long hair. that extended below the neck.
“Do you have any idea who might of cause the murder?” She shakes her head sideways, irritating the sheriff. The presence of the two gave an eerie notion, as the detective struggles to depict the murder in his head. He takes a glance at the boy, however the hood of his black jacket created a faceless being. The detective wore a black shirt with a black leather trench coat over it. He also own dark navy blue jeans as well as black polished boots. His eyes shift back to the mother who was still answering the sheriff’s questions.
“How about we take a look inside,” replied the detective. The mother slowly turns, opening the door for the men. The interior of the home was small, yet nothing seemed tarnished or damaged of the least. The detective was amazed at how thoroughly clean the murderer has left the scene with no trace of evidence. The mother approached the kitchen room, her face turned pale. Laid near the kitchen table was a black male, in his twenties as well. His eyes gave a blank expression as he was deluged in blood.
“I’d be damned,” murmured the sheriff as he took a closer look. A cameraman snaps several pictures of the lifeless corpse. “Whoever killed this man certainly wanted him dead.”
“Fifteen shots,” pointed out the detective harshly. “Each bullet around the upper body and head.” The mother watched as the men talked on, with the same expression on her face. Without warning, Sheriff Summerset grabs the detective away from the mother’s view. His mustache twitched as he puts his hands on the detective shoulders.
“Look, detective, you don’t have to do this investigation.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” asked the detective softly. “Obviously, we need to get the guy that killed her husband.”
“But look where we are,” he murmured. “We’re in a neighborhood where violence exist. It’s a warzone out here and you know it. So listen, closely. We’ll pretend like we’re working on this case, and in a few years, we’ll close it. I mean come on, clearly this was a break-in and shoot.”
“David,” said the detective. “Are you serious? You’re just going to leave a man’s death in vain? What kind of—.”
“Look, dammit,” blurted Summerset, pulling him further away. “The NYPD force is scarce, and do you want to know why? Because people like us stick out noses in ‘these’ people’s affairs. You know how ‘this' community can be, you know how they can kill you in a heartbeat just to make sure a case you worked so hard on remains a mystery. As a matter of fact, half the souls of my previous officers are under the ground because of 'them'.”
“You classify her, as them?” mumbled the detective. He noticed the boy in the rain sitting on the porch steps. "Do you want me to him as an it?" Summerset sneered as the detective could see his true personality. He takes a deep sigh as he looks back at the woman; her eyes unfortunately entered into a world of woe and grief. He glanced back at the Sheriff as he said, “So that’s it?”
“Yeah, that’s it,” mimicked Summerset his voice a little louder. “Now you can try this case, but don’t push it to the limit where my boys get killed. I have enough men in caskets already. And it certainly doesn’t help you when you turn up unemployed.” The detective’s brown eyes widened, stunned at the Sheriff’s remark. As he walks back to the mother, the detective glanced at the boy. The boy stared back, still outside; his face even now revealed mystique from the detective. This was 1995 since that incident…