Prologue

 

 

Lawyer

Another domestic dispute; this had to be the third or fourth of the day. As I stepped into the picture, a fellow officer ‘filled me in’ on the situation at hand. Skimming the scene, my eyes rested on the officers as I listened intently.

Officer Malone began, “The man showed up unannounced and banged on the door ‘till she let him in. Upon questioning her whereabouts and her refusal, he placed his hand around her neck, startling her. She’s strong because she fought back. Now, the man is complaining about the scratches along his shoulders and neck,” he explained as my eyes narrowed into tight slits. “One of the children told us that the man yelled at them and told them to go to their rooms, but he didn’t,” he said, shaking his head.

“If I could save every battered woman, I would,” I uttered under my breath as Officer Brown stood beside me.

He replied, “I know, Lawyer... I know you would.” He patted me on the back.

“I just don’t understand some men.” 

My lips tightened, side-eyeing my partner as I stared at the man in question. He had a pool of spit on the left side of his mouth. He was big in strength, muscles on display. The guy put on a ‘tough guy’ appearance, but that didn’t faze me.

My attention turned to the victim as she wrapped her arms around her torso, head hanging low. When her head lifted, I took a deep breath as a feeling surged. She waited at her apartment door, her eyes ablaze with heat. In my peripheral vision, Officer Amina, with her soft demeanor, walked up to the woman to ask her some questions. My gaze returned to the hostile man as he made an accusation, jabbing a thick finger at the woman.

“She made a mistake!” He directed his anger toward the woman. “She didn’t mean to call.”

I shook my head at the nonsense. I couldn’t believe what this man was claiming. His actions disgusted me as a man. When will men learn not to put their hands on women? With a smirk, I looked up and down at the assailant, and we were the same height, so I was ready if he tried to pull a fast one on us, like run, as he seemed like the type.

“I can’t believe she did this shit,” he argued, blaming the woman in the situation. “She told me to stop by and I did. I’m the victim.” He pointed at his chest. “Do you see my arms and neck?” He twisted his arm, but my focus wasn’t on him. “She’s the one who should be arrested if y’all decide to take someone,” he hollered, his voice dropping to a thunderous bass. He made the mistake of walking in her direction. 

As a man of few words, but quick in movement. “Sir, if you move another foot towards her, I’m gonna detain you.” That statement stopped him as he faced me.

“The fuck you gon’ do.” He mean-mugged me, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“You gon’ fuck around and find out,” I warned, eyeing him with my hand on my Taser.

His laughter was animated like I was pretending. They didn’t call me ‘The Enforcer’ for no reason. I watched as the man demeanor changed. He folded his arms and poked out his chest. “Fuck with me and I’m gon’ to have your badge.” He flexed his arms. “I’ma sue the state of Georgia,” he promised, unfolding his arms as he waved his hand dismissively toward the woman. “Since I ain’t do shit to her,” he swore, peeping over his shoulder at the short, female officer walking in view.

 Officer Amina walked proud with her hands on her holster and stated firmly, “The woman would like to press charges, Mr. Smith.”

“Nah, she don’t.” His upper lip curled in anger. “Y’all makin’ her do shit she don’t wanna do,” he argued.

Remaining professional, “Sir, now you’re gonna be place under arrest for domestic battery,” I informed him, taking a step toward him.

The instant the man laughed arrogantly, I knew without a doubt he wouldn’t make it easy for us. The man stuck his hand into his right pocket. 

Dumb move.

With guns drawn, “Sir, get your hands out of your pocket,” another officer yelled, which he didn’t do. Four officers rushed toward him, including me, to apprehend him. We tumbled to the ground to get him handcuffed. His wrists were thick. We had to use one handcuff for one wrist and then another for the other wrist to hook up the third pair. Wrestling with him exhausted us.  

It took several officers to guide him towards Officer Youngblood's patrol SUV. The man resisted, making it hard to place him in the back. He kicked, yelled, and insulted the officers who were manhandling him.  

Wrapping up the scene, we learned the guy violated his probation and would now be imprisoned for some time for domestic battery for the same offense. Before I left the scene, a child who could have been nine or ten walked out and wrapped their arm around the woman’s waist, which broke me. I didn’t have children of my own, but my niece was just like my child. Tipping my hat, I strolled toward my car and answered another call, completing my day with a suspected car break-in.

​

 

CHAPTER

ONE

 

Lawyer

I never forget a face. It was her. Her shoulder-length box braids swung from side to side as she bumped into another coworker, carrying a tray of food. I didn’t know her name as she turned sideways to apologize to her coworker. The brown-skinned coworker, on the other hand, a small woman, wore black pants and a red shirt that seemed too large for her. The mystery woman made her rounds to deliver the crispy hashbrowns, steak and potatoes, pancakes, and an oversized omelet to a group of males at one table and then buttery, cheesy grits and scrambled eggs to another male who sat alone at another table, facing a window. 

Bojangles was my spot, but thought I’d give it a try on this Wednesday morning since I heard great things about Bigma’s Country Cooking diner from my coworkers. I was a through and through grab and go type of person. The bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit combo with black coffee. Shaking my head, I picked up the plastic menu. It was worn with split edges and stained. Not only did the food sound interesting, but seeing her face, I was sold.

Swallowing hard, my heart skipped a beat. I didn’t know what brought that on since I wasn’t a nervous man. The natural rhythm of my heart returned normal. The woman was a busybody; grabbing the pot of coffee to refill mugs, to setting food on tables, to almost never slowing down. I often wondered did she get back with her man. Not saying they all do but with most cases, the women do.

Clearing my throat, I studied the menu again and the assertive tone mixed with warmness caught my attention. 

“Good morning, officer?” Her smile blossomed, highlighting the delicate creases that framed her lips, each one a testament to her laughter and the moments she cherished. “What can I start you off to drink?” she asked, her uniform fitting her body type well.

Lifting my head, my focused remain composed. “Coffee,” I answered.

“With creamer or just black?”

“Black.”

“Comin’ right up.” She winked, tapping the pen on the pad. “I’ll give you a few moments to look over the menu.” With that, she took off again, heading to another table.

In record time, she placed the coffee cup and saucer in front of me while she poured the hot liquid from the coffee pot. I watched as she worked, her beauty never wavering. “Know what you want yet or need more minutes?” Her soft voice had taken on an edgier tone than before.

“I’m ready,” I answered as she got out her pen and pad. I wasn’t big on pancakes so I ordered, “Let me have the country fried steak and egg combo.”

“How do you want your eggs?”

“Scrambled.”

She jotted everything down. “With cheese?” She asked, without looking at me.

“No thank you.”

“Alright, everything will be out in a few.” She took off in a flash. 

I wondered if she remembered me the way I remembered her. Some people just leave a mark—even in silence.

The buzz in my pocket pulled me back. I pulled out my phone and glanced at the screen. A text from my brother.

Richmond: *What time does your shift end?*

I typed back quickly.

Me: *Should be five. What’s up?*

His reply came fast.

Richmond: *Need you to pick up your niece. Running behind schedule.*

Me: Gotcha.

Richmond: Thanks. I owe you.

Shaking my head, my brother knew he didn’t owe me anything but a good upbringing for our niece. My brothers and I had a tag-team routine. My niece stayed in after-school care most days, but life didn’t always run on schedule. Richmond was a single dad doing his best—and sometimes, his “best” needed a hand.

His daughter—my niece—was eight going on eighteen. Vibrant, loud, endlessly curious. The kind of energy that lit up a room and left no corner untouched.

She was our princess. The heartbeat of our little family. The only girl in a world of men still learning how to carry grief and joy at the same time.

 “Excuse me, sir—”

Sir? I scrunched my brows together. From the first time I saw her, she didn’t look a day over twenty-five.

“I forgot to ask… Did you want sausage or bacon?” 

 My head popped up. “Sausage is fine.” Checking her out, my eyes traveled from her oval-shaped face toward her red uniform shirt, and then back to her full lips. With black women, you couldn’t tell their age. Would it have mattered if she was my age? No, it wouldn’t have mattered.

 “Alright, comin’ up, officer.”

“Thank you, Sanoyah.”

She twisted around, eyes wide, with a furrowed forehead.

I pointed to my nametag and then hers. “I read your nametag. Did I pronounce it correctly?” I picked up the coffee mug and sipped, waiting for her answer.

Her large, chocolate-brown eyes slowly blinked, as if fighting against a praise. Then, with a sudden spark of energy, her lips curved into a wide, radiant smile. “You... you did, and that’s why I’m surprised.” She placed her right hand over her chest, where my eyes never left hers. “Most people get it wrong.” Her head tilted to the side. “They say “San-o-yah. Or pronounce it as if my name was Sequoyah. They see the ‘s’ and the ‘yah’ and just call me that.” The top of her lip curved before she pointed her pen at me. “I tell people all the time it rhymes with Sequoyah though.” She grinned, flicking her wrist. “Just for that, officer--” She squinted her eyes as I moved my hand out of view. “Officer St. Cassi?” she asked, checking to see if she pronounced it right. I nodded. “You get a double portion of sausage.” 

I hid a smile behind my eyes. “You don’t have to do that.”

 “Don’t argue with me,” she said sassily in a typical Georgia accent. “A double portion it is.” With a wink, she turned around, leaving me to ponder whether we had shared a moment.

Sanoyah sat my food in front of me and asked if I needed anything else. I shook my head and thanked her again. When she stepped away, I bowed my head and said grace.