Run

Thinking Out Loud...

Incognito

July 24, 2002
Saturday evening
4:00 pm...

After a long day of work, I found myself in my unmarked Crown Victoria. With a huge weight lifted from my shoulders after finally busting one of New Orleans biggest cold cases in history; I drove through the evening streets of busy city in satisfactory.

With the smell of the morning coffee I left lingering amongst the vehicle from the half empty cup that rested in the cup holder; I kept my eyes on the road alongside the activity that was going on. Murderers and drug dealers were heavily known out here and I had to keep my eyes and ears open, always. See, I took my job as serious as every breath I took.

In these streets there was something that you'd call "The Circle of Street Life" meaning; Drug Dealers would sell faulty products and the client would end up becoming a dope fiend. Heavily addicted and willing to do anything to get it. Terrorizing the city for a quick fix but that's something minor. Drug Dealers turned to murder when the inside owed money and with that they'd turn on one another for short handed cash. That's when a street war begun. These people families didn't take too kindly to it.

Back and forth. The never ending circle continued on. And so many homicides. So many innocent children and elderly people taken out because of what their supposedly loved ones chose to do.

Calliope projects, 3rd ward, Magnolia, 3rd ward and last but not least Melphomine, 3rd ward. Three of the toughest projects in New Orleans held the heaviest crime rate that I've seen in my years in the field. It was always crazy out here as a whole but it felt like a jungle out there. Cp3, Mp3 and Melphomine had a different eerie feel. It was a lifestyle that these people grew into and with that they became a product of their environment and it was always the worst of the worst.

Nothing but crime, niggas killing each other, drugs. Little girls you'd see growing up playing with dolls turning into dope fiends quick. Little boys wanting to be like the thugs around them and turning into them. Thugs hiding dope on the beaten sides and crevices of the graffiti painted buildings. Porch boys shooting dice.

And let's not forget that there's a man selling life insurance to single mothers for their kids, 12 and 13 years old for 500 dollars because their tomorrow was never promised. Shit was a jungle and it goes back to these reckless ass niggas making my home hell on earth.

And the cycle continued...

I love what I do because I get those lil niggas put away and under the prison.

Sad to say that I've never felt any remorse for any of them. Depending on what they chose to do on the outside dictated what goes on in the inside. I'm not talking about their fellow prison mates but what the correctional officers decided to do. If one of them had a bad day and remembered the reason an inmate was put there, they would decide if you'd eat or not. They'd decide if you'd come out your cell. The temperature of your cell and carrying on. It's the hard truth because them little thugs were out causing havoc while being free. A lot of suicides and malnourishment happened because of it and in all honesty, no one cared. Not even me.

With the way that we created our own legal system outside of your typical jurisdiction, we took a different approach with the term street justice as far as me and my colleagues. Sometimes you had to work the system to give a punishment to these niggas out here tearing up the city. My city. The things you'd see on television was furthest from the truth when it came to the prison life.