The Empire's Descent (First Draft)

Chapter 5: Babylon

Artist&Song: Louis Armstrong "Go Down, Moses"
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Go down

"Go down," Matteo followed.

Moses

"Moses," he snapped to the beat.

"Way down in Egypt la-a-and," he sung over the track. He was so happy Luca let him drive the car on his own to go see his friend. His first bout of independence! Blue lights flashed in his rear-view mirror and he pouted. Luca is not gonna like this...

An officer approached the vehicle, pressed his fingers against his trunk and his partner followed not too far behind on the opposite side of his partner. Matteo rolled down his window.

"Good day, Officers, is there a problem?".

"Alright, boy, whose car is this?" A hard southern accent formed Officer Whitman's words.

"It's mine, Officer Whitman," Matteo informed, he was a little perturbed by the aggression in the officer's voice, but he responded kindly nonetheless.

"Get out of the vehicle, boy," somehow, Matteo didn't feel like the word 'boy' was affectionate. Was this a police brutality thing?

"Maybe I should call my guardian, he begun reaching for his phone. The officers quickly drew their gun and pointed it at the sixteen-year-old.

"Keep your hands where I can see 'em!" "Don't move!" "Put your hands on the wheel, 10 and 2!" "Get out of the vehicle!" "I said, don't move!" Their words overlapping and it was hard to make sense of any clear instructions.

Matteo thought it best to put his hands on the wheel. Officer Whitman holstered his gun, but his partner kept his own trained on Matteo. Whitman pulled the car door and dragged him out and slammed him to the asphalt. His head bounced painfully off the road and a cut on his forehead leaked blood in his eye; he was disoriented, but they kept screaming instructions.

"Get up!" "Get'cha hands up high, boy!" "On your knees!" "Stop resisting!" "Stand up!" "Do not move!" "Stop resisting!"

Matteo's hearing drifted in at the last command, how was he resisting? He wanted his Dad or any of his big brothers.

There was a knee between his shoulder blade. His ribs protested the weight and his face was grated against the asphalt as handcuffs were tightened painfully on his wrists.

Oppressed so hard, they could not stand

"Let my people go," he sung the rest of the lyrics for comfort.

"Shut up!" Whitman got off of him then and he took a big breath of air. He was pulled up and a dizzy spell hit him. He was shoved in the back of the squad car, Whitman not forgetting to hit his head against the roof on the way in. If he wasn't concussed before, he was now. Maybe Luca was right to keep him with several bodyguards.

At the station, they threw him in a cell with no medical aid. A burly biker picked the young boy off the floor and assisted him to a seat.

"Damn, kid, what the hell did they do to you?", the biker asked gruffly.

"I-," shamefully, Matteo cried and the biker placed his hand on his shoulder and used his sleeve as a handkerchief and pressed it to his head wound.

"How old are ya, kid?"

"Sixteen," he whimpered before falling back into tears.

"Listen, they're not gonna help you so, chin up, soldier, and if they come to question you, keep repeating that you want your lawyer and your one phone call," he advised.