Javon and Kimberly

My name is Javon Jackson. I’m a twenty-nine-year-old black cop in a black high-crime precinct in Newark, New Jersey. Besides my service revolver, I carry a blackjack. Often, the blackjack comes in handy when I need to show some perp that I mean business without threatening or, God forbid, using deadly force. Like most cops, I keep a backup piece at home: a Glock 22 semi-auto. It's under lock and key in a gun safe. The combination is my daughter's birthday.

New Jersey is heavily blue and controlled by Democrats. As is their wont, they spend other people’s money on popular programs designed to win votes. Newark is a case in point. The Dems gave substantial tax breaks to big corporations for building gleaming office towers in the desolation of downtown Newark. The hope was that the injection of Fortune 100 money would transform downtown Newark into the garden spot of the East Coast. Prudential, Panasonic, PSE&G, etc., all fell for the come-on. The problem was that, like Vietnam, the indigenous population, primarily prostitutes, drug dealers, and addicts, had nowhere else to go.   

Newark became a dichotomy of beautiful corporate skyscrapers surrounded by slums that, if anything, were worse than before the corporations moved in. During working hours, things were fine. After sunset, the area became a war zone. There were so many rapes and muggings that city officials warned all corporate workers to be out of the area and on their way home by 4:30 in the afternoon. Women were encouraged to avoid working overtime.

I lived at home with my mom, dad, and twelve-year-old daughter Jasmine from a previously failed marriage. We weren't racists, exactly, although the whole family felt being born of color in the United States meant you had been dealt a lousy hand and, no matter how hard you tried, you would always be considered a second-class citizen by the white majority. Jasmine felt it the worst. Unbeknownst to me, constant peer pressure fostered a deep distrust and hatred of whites in Jasmine’s soul.

~ ~ ~

I was on duty one night at dusk, patrolling in my black and white. I always concentrated on the areas frequented by commuters, the paths between office towers and the train station. Around this time each night the area became a ghost town.

I heard a female scream coming from an alley. It was just wide enough for the police car. I hit the lights and the siren and headed in. The perp and the woman were struggling for her handbag. The perp got control of it and started to run away. I pursued and tackled him and gave him a couple of whacks with the blackjack. He was just a kid, no more than thirteen.

“Pig!”

"Gimme the handbag, son, or you’ll never eat bacon again.”

He handed over the woman’s handbag.

“What now?” The boy asked. He looked terrified.

I thought about it. There was no sign of assault, sexual or otherwise. It was a simple purse snatching. Did I really want to spend the rest of the night filling out a police report on a purse snatching? The answer was no.

“Now you get the fuck out of my sight. If I see your ugly mug on the street again tonight, I’ll take you in on G.P.”

The boy got to his feet. “Thanks, man.” He ran from the alley before I could change my mind.

I carried the handbag back to the woman sitting in the passenger seat of my black and white with the door open. For the first time, I noticed she was white—blonde and beautiful. I handed her the handbag. She gave me an incredulous look.

“You let him go?”

“You’re welcome.”

“He should get prosecuted!”

“He’s just a kid. You’re more of a problem than he is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

"Somebody that looks like you walking these mean streets after dark …"

“What does ‘looks like me’ mean?”

I ignored her question and pulled out my notebook and pen. “Name?”

“Kimberly Lawrence. Why must you know my name if you won't prosecute that young man?

“We may need to call you as a witness if he does anything else. I’ll need your contact information.”

“Like what?”

“Cell phone will do.”

She reached into her purse. "Tell you what, let's exchange contact information, just in case."

I didn't know what 'just in case' meant exactly, but I decided to go for it.

~ ~ ~

The next day, I was in my black and white, working the swing shift, when my cell phone rang. It was around 5 p.m. I frowned when I looked at the unfamiliar number. Usually, if I got a call at this hour, it was my daughter Jasmine asking if she could have dinner at a friend's house or if we could have pizza at our house—something along those lines.

“Jackson,” I said into the phone.

“Hi. This is Kimberly.”

“What’s wrong?”

She had the cutest laugh. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m calling to see if I can buy you a cup of coffee for rescuing me last night. It dawned on me I never thanked you properly and, well, I apologize for being bitchy.”

“No apology necessary.”

“I’m going to walk past Mel’s diner by the train station in about five minutes. We can meet there if you’re up for coffee.”

~ ~ ~

We sat across from each other in a booth at Mel's. For the first time, I noticed Kimberly's eyes were a beautiful blue with gray flecks.

We chatted. Mostly small talk. She was a project manager at Prudential. She lived with her parents in Upper Saddle River, an affluent lily-white bedroom community in Bergen County. Almost all the residents there worked in New York City, except for the unlucky few who found themselves stranded in places like Newark for the greater good, so to speak. The property lots in Upper Saddle River were two-acre minimums. The houses were palatial. Crime was unheard of. The only time I had ever been there was to take Jasmine on a trip the state had organized for underprivileged kids to see what an upscale shopping mall looked like. Not that Jasmine was underprivileged, but I took advantage of it anyway.

Kimberly was previously married to a Wall Street executive who couldn’t keep it in his pants. I told her my ex had a similar problem. The only difference was I had a daughter, Jasmine. Kimberly was childless.

We talked for hours, though it seemed like only a few minutes. When we came up for air, Mel's was nearly empty. Kimberly got out her train schedule and said there would be a train in about twenty minutes. I told her there was no way I would let her wait on the platform after dark. I would drive her home. End of discussion.

The ride from Newark to Upper Saddle River was about forty-five minutes. During one of those minutes, I realized I was falling in love with Kimberly Lawrence.

~ ~ ~

We started to date. It quickly escalated into an intense romance. We joked that we were a modern-day Romeo and Juliet. Neither of our families would accept what was happening, so we kept it a secret. We both knew that it would have to come out eventually if our relationship was going to last. We were sure it would. We wanted to get married but weren’t sure how to do that without causing World War 3 on the home front. We both pretended it didn’t exist, but it was always the elephant in the room.

Unbeknownst to me, my twelve-year-old daughter, Jasmine, had recruited seventeen-year-old Lamar to help her follow me. Jasmine was curious about why I was spending so much off-duty time away from home. You should know two things about Lamar: First, he had the hots for Jasmine (she was quite beautifully developed for her age); Second, he had a car.

One of our favorite dates was to get some fast-food takeout and go for a long walk through Central Park in Teaneck at sunset. The park was deserted at that time, and it gave us a chance to enjoy each other's company in the fresh air outside of the stale motel rooms we frequented.

It was on one of those walks that it happened.

We were strolling down a secluded path in Central Park at dusk, one of our favorite spots, when I saw Jasmine and Lamar standing on the path directly in front of us. Jasmine had my Glock backup pointed at Kimberly’s heart. I was in shock. Before I could do or say anything, Jasmine spoke.

“She’s a white devil, Daddy. I’m here to save you.”

“Shoot the bitch, Jas!” Lamar yelled.

"Shut your pie hole, Lamar!" I yelled back. "Jasmine put the gun down." I changed my stance, so I was between Jasmine and Kimberly. I think I would have been able to talk Jasmine down, but then something happened that I didn't see coming. Kimberly panicked. She turned and ran. Jasmine fired one shot that hit Kimberly in the back. Suddenly I regretted those Saturdays with Jasmine at the pistol range. A minute later, Kimberly died in my arms.

~ ~ ~

The death penalty was abolished in New Jersey many years ago. That, plus her age, saved Jasmine’s life. Many states reserve the death penalty for exceptional circumstances, like hate crimes, which this clearly was. Jasmine got thirty years, with the possibility of parole. Lamar got ten years as an accessory.

I visit Jasmine every Saturday at the Bordentown Prison for Female Adolescents. After all, she is my daughter. I usually go to the cemetery to visit Kimberly’s grave immediately after. More often than not, I wind up watering the flowers around her grave with my tears. I miss Kimberley every day.