Cannibal in the City: A Black Love Detective Story (Book 2)

Present Day

All he could see was the heel of a shoe coming down on his face, a mixture of blood and saliva pooled in his mouth that began to seep out covering his neck and chest. When it seemed he was about to draw a fresh breath, the oxygen was stolen away by another kick to the face or chest.

"Fuck em."

Black thought to himself as he sat back and watched. He once considered himself a 21st century African American man. Apart of the elitist, he would help usher in another renaissance of the African American race. The thought alone was funny. Where he was now, he could show no smiles. He was no longer an African American, he was a Black man, whatever that meant. He reasoned with himself that it had to be a step up under being African American and a step over being a nigga. Whatever the title he was it, and he was here. He knew that whatever he was, that where he was at present the weak got eaten! Cook County jail that was no place for an African American. Hell, that was no place for no sane person. One of the worst county jails in the country, right here in Illinois. The over cramped quarters housed the desperate, career criminals, bad luck misdemeanor type, as well as the gang bangers and repeat offenders and murderers they were all treated the same. Black had long blocked out the smell of raw mustiness of men that hadn't showered in hours if not days mixed with dried blood, and old rusted bars. Inmates were happy to get transferred to prison, likely hood of being killed was less likely there.

He had no fear of prison or getting killed for that matter. He had something more pressing on his mind. That stack of papers sitting on his desk, about 200 pages. All missing kids. Missing Black kids that the city had written off. Part of the reason he was here. He zoned back into the one-sided fight, there was plenty of commotion but a guard had yet to show up, Black shook his head in disappointment. They would probably show up once the noise stopped that way they would have a dead nigga and new nigga to charge with murder. He knew the cycle, the system. He was once a part of it. Former lead District Attorney for the state of Illinois.

He was from these streets, grew up in the hundreds, Roseland graduated from Fenger High School. Still had people out there even though he lived in Jackson Park now, Roseland would always be home. He knew all he had to do was give the word and the beating would stop. He had to prove a point. What point? He didn't know. He had been in lockup for a little over four hours, most he was locked up with knew who he was. Hell, he had put them there before he resigned. It's always one, he thought. Someone always has to be made an example. A young guy maybe early twenties wanted to flex his muscle. He was a Traveler. A branch of the Vice Lord family. Small in numbers compared to the Black Stones, and Disciples but still as deadly and respected.

He knew Black wasn't plugged. Thought he would punk him. Black was toe to toe with him ready to box after he told him once he wasn't in a gang. Instead of walking away he decided to kick it up a notch and began cursing him and talking about what he would do. Before either knew what was going on all the loud talking bluffing got him he sucker punched from the side and was face first on the floor, that's when the kicking commenced. Black didn't know why the stranger was helping him but he didn't question it. A small circle formed around Black. He didn't know what was going on, he thought he would have to fight all of them. It didn't take long before he realized the circle was formed to protect him. He eased back and sat down. The circle parted enough so that he could see the fight.

Black nonchalantly waved his hand.