Make It Home Safely

PAUL

“You calling it a day then, Paul?”

“Yeah, me and Colleen are gonna have us a little date night. The snow’s making everything real pretty tonight.”

Paul Johnson waved goodbye to his fellow officer and pushed open the door of the Orangeville police precinct. The door stopped short, bumping into the person on the other side for a second before closing in Paul’s face.

“Oh I didn’t mean to—” Paul caught himself when the door opened and he was met by the stern gaze of a mountainous, dark individual in a fur lined parka.

“Yeah, whatever. Can you move, bro?” The man said.

Paul straightened up, he clenched his jaw and looked up at the giant man in front of him.

“What you say to me bo—bro?” Paul couldn’t afford another citation for his conduct towards the darker skinned community. He had already caused a media circus with his actions over the passed few years and assaulting another black guy could lead to real consequences.

The black man stared him down for a little while. It was a familiar stare, as if he were looking at someone he was already acquainted with. The man turned away from Paul and walked towards the front desk.

“Hi, I need to report an accident. I slid into someone’s pickup, but before I could get out to check on em, they took off.”

“Okay, can you tell me where you were whe— hey Paul, you think you can check this out before heading home?”

“nah, he looks plenty capable of figuring it out himself” Paul squinted.

The two exchanged uncomfortable glares before Paul pushed the door open and walked out.

JAMAL

Jamal Watson would be having a great day if not for that single dark cloud persistently looming overhead wherever he went. Today was the anniversary of his son’s death and no matter how pleasant the day could have gone, he wouldn’t be able to enjoy it to it’s fullest. It had been four years to that day since his son Richard was killed and for Jamal it felt as though he had been reliving that day ever since.

They tell us to comply and that we’ll be safe.

They tell us they’re here to “serve and protect” but they serve only themselves and protect only their interests.

Every day it’s the same, a black man gunned down for little to no reason at all. Our children grow up terrified of the ones who are appointed to prevent harm from coming to us, believing themselves to be second class citizens.

Jamal loaded a large blue duffle bag into the bed of his pickup truck, got in and left the farm his family had owned to go home for the evening. He drove down the dirt path and onto the main road, his head a mix of anxiety and various voices all jumbled together.

The drive home from the farm usually took Jamal about forty-five minutes when there was no traffic but Jamal needed to meet with his older brother before heading home. Luckily the roads were clear by the time Jamal finished working and got onto the open road.

The day’s leading up to the anniversary were always difficult but this year was different. His misery began manifesting as anger, anger towards the policeman who pulled the trigger, the judge for finding that piece of shit innocent, but most importantly, himself. Where once he was sad thinking about how his son was killed, all that remained now was white hot rage. On Monday, he had even driven past the site of the incident and had to fight the urge to run into the police precinct with his shotgun.

It’ll do no good dad, you know how this works. Angry black man storms the station and is riddled with bullets before he even gets through the door.

His son’s voice had made a good point, nothing good would come from this and the most he could hope for would be to be reunited with his son a lot sooner than he was ready for. He had a daughter and wife to think about, he needed to calm down and clear his head.

He continued driving on the dark road home, the grief he felt was so overwhelming that he didn’t even notice the car in front of him.

PAUL

Paul had been with Colleen for twenty-two loving years, but their marriage had become about as stale as the donuts she laid out for him every morning with his coffee. Paul was notorious for his stubbornness and refusal to change with the times, which made it difficult for his ageing wife who wanted some excitement in her life to deal with.

Things are the way they are for a reason. Why should I mess with a good thing? For twenty years I’ve brought this woman flowers and a magazine every Friday so we could sit back with a beer and talk about our week. Oh, that’s not good enough for her now?

Paul scoffed, he sat in the parking lot of George’s flower shop, googling “perfect date nights for mature couples” with half a beer left in the bottle he was holding.

A few minutes later, he heard a tapping at his window. Paul looked up and rolled the window down an inch. Paul was a paranoid old man and had no patience for the people of color coming up to his car. The man had been looking for George and Paul had no intentions of being helpful, he quickly rolled the glass back up and went back into his phone.

I could cook her a big ol’ pig, and we can go for a nice little drive to the old make out spot. HA, real romance. I’d like to see her complain about that! He thought with a big grin, slamming his empty beer bottle into the cup holder. Paul reached for the keys to start the car when a blue pickup truck sped past him, the driver tossed a cup of coffee out the window and it splashed onto Paul’s passenger window. He couldn’t see much through coffee stained glass except for the driver’s long dreadlocks and obnoxiously big watch, which was enough for Paul to determine that he needed to be pulled over.

Paul squinted to see through the snow and could make out a broken taillight on the pickup, he sped up to try and get the man to pull over, but the man kept driving.

Getting frustrated now, Paul honked his horn and stuck his police badge out the window, shouting “PULL OVER, NOW”. His voice was drowned out by the wind’s whipping and the sound of their cars, so Paul pulled his arm back in and followed.

JAMAL

The sound of metal crunching filled the air, Jamal parked the car on the side of the road and picked up a brown package on his passenger seat. He got out of his car and walked towards the other vehicle with it in hand.

The driver rolled down his window.

“Hey Jamal”

“Hey Malcolm, how’d you know it was me?”

 “You’re still driving dad’s old pickup”

“Yeah well, it’s reliable. Kind of like my big bro”

The hulking man sitting in his fur lined coat looked up at Jamal and smiled.

“Always.” He said and outstretched his hand.

Jamal handed him the package and their hands met in the custom handshake the two had developed as kids.

Without another word, Jamal walked back to his pickup, got in and continued driving.

His family’s farm was on the outskirts of the town and Jamal’s route home took him through it. He drove past all of the store’s closing and parked at the grocery store across from George’s flowers where he had ordered flowers to place at his son’s headstone.

Jamal trekked through the snow towards the front door.

It was late. The Smith’s would be just getting ready to go home, but Jamal was a good friend of George, so he was sure it’d be okay. He saw a green mazda parked outside and assumed it to be George’s, so he walked on over to it.

Jamal tapped the window and the old white man inside jumped, he rolled his window down half an inch and replied

“The fuck do you want?”

“Oh my bad, have you seen the shop owner George?” Jamal said peering into the window and around the car.

The man snarled and rolled the window back up, muttering curse words under his breath.

Jamal stared back into the man’s car, balled up a fist, but then walked away, forgetting about his flowers. He hopped back into his pickup and slammed the door behind him. He then started punching the steering wheel before starting the car. 

PAUL

The pickup slowed to a halt right before the beginning of a dirt road, the driver pulled over to the side of the road and turned their lights off.

Paul tucked his service revolver into his pants and got out the car.

You fucked with the wrong asshole today, tar baby.

His feet crunched the fresh snow with every step he took towards the blue pickup.

Paul couldn’t wait to come face to face with the jerk who threw coffee at his car. He had been annoyed since the bigger black guy was giving him attitude earlier and felt justified in wanting to punish this one instead.

He tapped the window with his knuckle, then got closer to the window to try and see inside.

The glass rolled down and sitting in front of Paul was the barrel of a shotgun.

“Turn around.” the man holding the gun said.

“Okay, calm down.. Im going to reach for my bad—” Paul began

The dreaded man shoved the shotgun into his mouth knocking Paul off his feet.

Paul’s mouth filled with blood and he spat it out.

“I said turn the fuck around.”

Paul reluctantly got to his feet and turned around before placing his hands on his head. He heard the pickup door open and then slam shut before feeling a cold hand placed on his shoulder.

“Walk.”

JAMAL

Jamal pulled up next to the green mazda and tossed the remainder of his coffee at the passenger side door before speeding off. His heart racing, he thought to himself:

Bet he won’t ignore that.

Jamal drove to the edge of the town and then back onto the road leading to his family’s old farm. He drove just slow enough so that the old cop would think he’s catching up to him.

Jamal drove until he was just a few minutes way from the dirt road that led up to the farm and stopped. He parked his car, turned off his lights and reached through his back window into the pickup’s bed and grabbed his duffle.

Jamal waited patiently with his eyes closed while sweat dripped down his face. He thought about the night of his son’s murder. He thought about what he felt the night he arrived at the police station to ask what had happened only to be given a half assed explanation and see his murderer laughing with other cops as if it were a big joke. Jamal took a deep breath and opened his eyes, he zipped open the duffle bag and pulled out a shotgun. He placed the shotgun on his lap and then threw the bag into the pickup’s bed and waited patiently.

We are done complying.

We are done being civil.

We are done with this bullshit.

Jamal heard a tapping at his window. He peered through the glass into the face of his son’s murderer.

BOTH

 “Can you tell me what this is about? Is it money you want?” Paul asked as Jamal wrapped ropes around Paul’s wrists.

Jamal stayed silent.

“Make it easier on yourself, boy. You saw the badge, I’m a cop!” Paul protested.

Jamal tied the knot around Paul’s wrists and ankles before shoving him forward

“Exactly.”

“Exactly?! What?! Don’t you know what that means, is your little brain not comprehending the shit storm you’ve caused for yourself?”

“You know what.. Maybe, I haven’t. What I do know is that you won’t be around to find out just how bad it is. Now fucking move.” Jamal said in a matter of fact tone.

The two men pushed through the snow and up towards the farm’s barn.

Jamal pulled open the giant door and shoved Paul in. Paul awkwardly fell to his knees in a pile of cold animal waste.

“You really don’t recognize me. After all the pain you caused my family, you go home every night and lay with that fat BITCH of a wife and fall asleep with a smile on your face. While I’m up racked with grief and self loathing over some shit YOU did.”

Paul raised his head to better see his captor.

“You’re just like the rest of the animals. Lawless, and unappreciative of what WE have allowed you to have.” Paul spat blood mixed with saliva onto the ground in front of Jamal.

“Animals. Is that what you call us, or are you just too afraid to say the word that you want to use”

Jamal tied a rope around Paul’s neck and kicked him into the ground.

The door to the barn opened once again and Paul could hear multiple feet walk inside.

Jamal pulled on the rope and lifted Paul up just enough to see a group people now standing around him.

"My son was a beloved member of our family, he was just one of many young black men trying to make it home safely. Another one brutally murdered by you racist fucking pigs."

Malcolm Watson stepped from behind Jamal's wife and kids holding an ax.

"Now, this isn't the most humane way to do things but it's late, i'm hungry and

my family loves Roast Pig."