Chapter One: The Bankhead Boogeyman. Part Two.
Apr 13, 2021 16:20:10 GMT -5
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Post by Deleted on Apr 13, 2021 16:20:10 GMT -5
Especially in today’s climate, in light of the events of the past year or so, policing was a closely monitored subject. Defunding the police painting a romantic picture of a world where police officers were police officers and nothing more, there would be challenges.
They needed to be able to assure the public that they were capable of, not just, protecting them; but that they were capable of doing it regardless of the colour of their skin.
And police agencies all across the United States of America were failing at such basic tasks, whilst an apparent hobo vigilante was cleaning up one of the most notorious areas of Atlanta single handedly. The balance they would need to maintain was delicate, to say the least.
The scuffing of a shoe drew her attention to behind her and served to snap her from her pondering, it seemed it was her lucky night. Catcalls came from behind her followed by a rather obnoxious, “Hey baby, why don’t you slow dat ass up and let a brotha holla at ya for a minute!”
Her courage was fleeting, running away started to seem like a good idea. In fact, she was now envisioning a life on the run. She had a little money saved up, she could see the world, maybe carve out a life for a few years before ‘they’ found her. It was her lucky night…
Like a pack of hyenas, they ran up to her laughing. Four of them in all.
Every group has a dynamic; naturally people’s personalities lead them to serving roles. Responsible for a string of break ins, vandalisms, and assaults. This group was no different than any other bully.
Bullies were often bigger, louder, and usually flanked by mindless goons. With the leader more than capable of talking a big game. All the boxes were checked.
The big one, ‘the muscle’, stood in the back. She could see that his arms were covered in scars, the perpetual glare held in his anger fixed eyes made her skin crawl.
Two punks of similar size and appearance came next. Shoulder to shoulder, they were likely related but neither looked particularly dangerous until their brass knuckles came into play. Things became truly real when she noticed the one on the left toting a shotgun.
Then, of course, there was the leader of the pack. Tall and thin but wirey, a crazed look held his eyes. It was clear this was the source of their inspiration as of late.
Tattooed in gang signs and Bible verses, they were the worst of their lot and now she was surrounded. Fear choked her voice and left her head swimming as they circled her, laughing, taunting her…
Hyenas…
From behind them came a voice, “She wants to leave.” He was giving them a chance. A chance to walk away.
Immediately noticing the four to one odds, the mouthpiece of the group was ready to shine. “Oh dis homely lookin’ mafaka thinks he know bitches better than me? Shit…” The talker was smiling, confident the shambles of a man that stood before him was no boogeyman.
“She wants to leave.” Again he stated the obvious, only this time, his voice ran cold as he walked forward immediately taking note of the lone shotgun wielding member of this little crew.
“Nah bruh, ya got it all wrong see? We just playin’. C’mon baby…tell him we just playin’…” Terror was held in her eyes, she leaned into him but only because he held her by the loop of her skirt. He could see it was torn.
She was definitely in over her head, ‘They’ must be truly desperate to reach their target. And here he was.
They needed to be able to assure the public that they were capable of, not just, protecting them; but that they were capable of doing it regardless of the colour of their skin.
And police agencies all across the United States of America were failing at such basic tasks, whilst an apparent hobo vigilante was cleaning up one of the most notorious areas of Atlanta single handedly. The balance they would need to maintain was delicate, to say the least.
The scuffing of a shoe drew her attention to behind her and served to snap her from her pondering, it seemed it was her lucky night. Catcalls came from behind her followed by a rather obnoxious, “Hey baby, why don’t you slow dat ass up and let a brotha holla at ya for a minute!”
Her courage was fleeting, running away started to seem like a good idea. In fact, she was now envisioning a life on the run. She had a little money saved up, she could see the world, maybe carve out a life for a few years before ‘they’ found her. It was her lucky night…
Like a pack of hyenas, they ran up to her laughing. Four of them in all.
Every group has a dynamic; naturally people’s personalities lead them to serving roles. Responsible for a string of break ins, vandalisms, and assaults. This group was no different than any other bully.
Bullies were often bigger, louder, and usually flanked by mindless goons. With the leader more than capable of talking a big game. All the boxes were checked.
The big one, ‘the muscle’, stood in the back. She could see that his arms were covered in scars, the perpetual glare held in his anger fixed eyes made her skin crawl.
Two punks of similar size and appearance came next. Shoulder to shoulder, they were likely related but neither looked particularly dangerous until their brass knuckles came into play. Things became truly real when she noticed the one on the left toting a shotgun.
Then, of course, there was the leader of the pack. Tall and thin but wirey, a crazed look held his eyes. It was clear this was the source of their inspiration as of late.
Tattooed in gang signs and Bible verses, they were the worst of their lot and now she was surrounded. Fear choked her voice and left her head swimming as they circled her, laughing, taunting her…
Hyenas…
From behind them came a voice, “She wants to leave.” He was giving them a chance. A chance to walk away.
Immediately noticing the four to one odds, the mouthpiece of the group was ready to shine. “Oh dis homely lookin’ mafaka thinks he know bitches better than me? Shit…” The talker was smiling, confident the shambles of a man that stood before him was no boogeyman.
“She wants to leave.” Again he stated the obvious, only this time, his voice ran cold as he walked forward immediately taking note of the lone shotgun wielding member of this little crew.
“Nah bruh, ya got it all wrong see? We just playin’. C’mon baby…tell him we just playin’…” Terror was held in her eyes, she leaned into him but only because he held her by the loop of her skirt. He could see it was torn.
She was definitely in over her head, ‘They’ must be truly desperate to reach their target. And here he was.