Free Color of Love by Sandra Kitt

dirty, boring, and routine. Most of the men never saw any of the adrenaline-pumping action that was fictionalized in movies or reported on TV. What the job gave him and most of the other members of law enforcement was the sense of rightness, toughness, and a perverse involvement in the worst kinds of human and personal tragedy people have to endure.
    Yes, he liked being a cop, but he also wondered if he was really just like all the other guys in service. The police force could be seen, and sometimes was, as an exclusive club of misfits, some of whom were doing a truly thankless job. There were also as many cops who delivered babies with confidence, intervened and saved lives and were there when needed, as there were the other kind: those who exercised private vendettas of hate and prejudice and revenge.
    And corruption still flourished.
    Jason heard the commotion in the hallway before he saw what was going on. He also recognized the voices of the two people involved. One adult, the other a teenager.
    The officer who lumbered down the hall toward Jason was of the latter category of cop who hated people just on principle, particularly non-white people. He had not been a high school football player, although he was built like a muscular tank. And he loved to throw his weight around.
    Officer Theodore Spano maneuvered in the busy corridors of his station house with ease and authority. His reluctant companion was not as comfortable. Nor was he supposed to be. Spano had one beefy arm around the neck of a youth half his size and age. He pulled the boy by his head down the precinct hallway.
    “Common, sucka. Get the fuck off my neck.”
    Spano dragged the teen carelessly along, and although the boy struggled, he was no match for the bulky cop. No one watching questioned the use of force, and no one had sympathy for the youth. He’d been in and out of the precinct before.
    “Shut up, dickhead,” Spano muttered as he approached a desk sergeant and handed him a folder of papers. The desk sergeant pointedly ignored the thrashing teen and his shouted curses and threats.
    “Git off me, mother fucker. You gonna break my neck,” the boy sputtered, his head and shoulders bent at a unnatural angle. His efforts to free himself were useless.
    “That’s the idea,” Spano answered.
    Jason stopped in the middle of the hall, directly blocking Spano’s path.
    “Hey, Jason, man. Help me. This sucka is trying to kill me.”
    Spano sourly faced Jason. Jason knew that there had never been love lost between the two of them, not even simple respect. He was fully aware that Spano hated him and the work he did. Spano didn’t recognize the youth squad as legitimate police work. He considered cops like Jason a bunch of wimp faggots who were afraid to get out on the streets where the real danger was.
    “Here’s another of your little street turds, Horn.”
    Jason’s eyes narrowed at the way the boy was being treated, and he knew Spano was waiting for him to say something.
    “Where’d you find him?” Jason asked calmly.
    “There was an attempted robbery of a convenience store this morning. Your boy here was brought in with two others.”
    “Charges?” Jason asked.
    Spano shrugged. “He was there and a gun was recovered.”
    “That don’t prove nothin’. I be outta here …”
    Jason calmly took over the head lock on the boy, but didn’t let up on the pressure or force. Spano turned to walk away.
    “No one came to pick him up this time. I don’t blame them.”
    “I’ll take him home,” Jason said.
    “He don’t need rehabilitation. He needs a fuckin’ cage,” Spano said over his shoulder.
    “Yo’ mama! Eat shit and die,” the boy shouted after the retreating officer.
    “Shut up, Slack,” Jason advised as he pulled the boy into his office.
    Jason abruptly released the boy and pushed him roughly toward an empty chair. Slack collapsed as he continued to curse Spano through the open doorway. Jason ignored him as he sat down