I didn’t know what was worse: these damn handcuffs biting into my wrists, or the stench of this cop’s bargain-bin cologne. Before a hearing, before being sentenced to death by a jury of my peers, I was going to die by this pig’s putrid poodle juice.
“Hey, man, I’m not feeling so good. Can you let a window down?” He kept driving like he either couldn’t hear me, or didn’t want to. The smell was making my gut turn. “Hey, did you hear me? I need some air back here.”
“Shut the fuck up!” he yelled with venom in his tone. He looked at me from the rearview mirror with a grimace of annoyance.
“If I die on your watch, I don’t need to tell you whose ass will be in a sling. Come on, sir, please, I need some air.”
The cuffs cut into my wrists as he jerked the wheel of the patrol car to the right, pulling off on the side of the road. “I’m about to give your ass something to whine about.” He got out, opened the backseat door, grabbed me by the arm and pulled me out like I was a sack of dirty laundry.
“Ow, fuck, that hurts.”
“I would be whining too knowing that I was going to spend the rest of my life in prison. If it was up to me, I would round all you niggers up and execute your black asses.”
Damn, of all the pigs to end up with, I get some redneck racist motherfucker with a badge and an itchy trigger finger for black people.
“Better yet.” He took out his gun and pointed it against my left temple. “I can save the court and the hardworking taxpayers’ money, and blow your nigger bitch brains out right here. Bury you in these woods like a dead dog.”
My heart was racing like a greyhound after a rabbit knowing that I was about to die by the hands of this Nazi bigot fuck. I had to think of something quick before he pulled the trigger.
“Please don’t, I’m sorry.” He relaxed the barrel of his gun away from my head. “I’m sorry for insulting you.” I made out his name on the piece of rectangular chrome that was pinned on the left side of his chest. Ofc. Dillon Conner. “Please let me make it up to you.”
“And just what do you have in mind?”
Damn, his breath stank. Like he had drunk a shit and onions milkshake.
“I’m sure we can think of something.”
He ran the nose of the gun along my chest, between my breasts. Men and their predictabilities. Forever letting their dicks do the thinking. “So um…is it true what they say about black bitches: blacker the berry, sweeter the juice?” He smiled, exposing a set of butter-yellow teeth.
“Take off these cuffs and you can taste just how sweet my juice really is, baby.”
Pig Cop looked up and down the long stretch of road that was lit by the streetlights above us. “Let’s go, but if you try anything, I will end your ass right here, and don’t think I won’t shoot a woman.” He took a set of keys from his belt, turned me around and undid the cuffs. The feeling was already starting to rush back to my fingers. With the help of his flashlight, he led the way along a graveled, narrow trail. “It’s been a long time since I got some good head. Betcha those juicy lips of yours are gonna feel good around my dick. Bitch, I’m gonna skull-fuck you so hard, your mama’s gonna feel it.”
The thought of sucking this hick’s dick made me sick to my stomach, but with the odds stacked against me, I had to do what he wanted. Had I known that I would be walking through the boonies in heels, I would have changed into a pair of raggedy-ass sneaks. But then again, I had no plan to get arrested for murder. “Right here is good. This is deep enough,” Officer Shit Breath said. He pulled me onto my knees. He towered over me like a giant. He undid the pants of his uniform and took out his dick. To my surprise, it was smaller than what a lady like me was used to. I’d had cocktail shrimp in my mouth bigger than this, I thought. “You like that, bitch?”
My first instinct was to laugh, but I held strong. “Damn, baby, it’s big.”
“Think you can handle it?” he asked.
Sure, if it doesn’t take a magnifying glass to find that circus peanut between your legs. Officer Puny Peter stood with his hands on his waist, anxiously waiting to get his knob polished. When I drew in closer about to do the deed, the odor of sweat made my nose twitch in disgust. Not only was his dick small, but it wasn’t clean, either. I ran my hands up alongside his legs. “It’s all yours, baby,” he said. I felt the dense steel of Itty-Bitty Dicky’s gun that rested idle in his holster. Just as I was about to put him in my mouth, I went for his piece. Before Shit Breath could react, I had it cocked and pulled the trigger. The sound from the shot echoed through the air. I got off my knees, holding the gun on him. He looked at me with a wide-eyed disbelief that a nigger bitch had gotten over on him. A thick stream of red flowed from his mouth, down the side of his face; the cold earth that was as hard as my heart, drank him in. I unloaded one more shot into him. The last one in his dome. I could have written a book on the shit I hated. Cops and bigots were at the top of my list. I tossed the gun into the bushes before making my way toward the opposite side of wherever the hell I was ready to begin anew.