Absolute Power (Southern Justice #1
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Authors: Cayce Poponea
Absolute Power
Southern Justice Book 1
Copyright © 2015 Cayce Poponea
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Table of Contents
To Kandace Milostan and Alessandra Torre, for showing me the brand of lady I want to become. For giving me the perfect storm in the creation of Claire Stuart.
“Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men.”
~John Emerich Edward Dalberg Acton
S
unlight breaking the surface of the horizon was one of Mother Nature’s minor miracles, or so my Granddaddy used to say. From the moment I took my first breath, I was destined to be an early riser. It didn’t matter if it was the middle of January or the first day of summer vacation, my eyes opened as the first sign of the morning began.
My dad was the same way. While the rest of the house stayed warm in their beds, we would lace our tennis shoes and hit the pavement. “Dylan, you’ve always got to be ready for battle, son. Doesn’t matter if it’s physical or mental, you’ve got to be ready.” He lived the words he spoke, just as his father and his father before him. “A man is only as good as his word,” he would tell us.
Going to college wasn’t a question in our house. You had two choices, get an education or join the military. Using the words my father pounded into my head, I stayed at the top of my class, graduating with a bachelor’s degree in Criminal Justice. One year later, I raised my hand and swore to protect the citizens of Charleston.
Being a rookie cop wasn’t the easiest thing in the world. I had to earn the respect of the people in the neighborhood I patrolled; get to know who lived there and who was looking for trouble.
I learned more lessons from the people around me than in all the textbooks I carried to class. Some of the most valuable being: How to read people and their body language, and know when they were lying. Learning the thugs had their own language and the meanings behind each word, was an educational experience in itself.
For three years I worked hard at building relationships, not only on the street, but inside the department as well. Gaining the trust of the guy who owned the deli on the corner of Fifth and Grand was easy. Getting your partner to trust you, now that took some work. My first assignment was with a crusty old man named Carson. He had been a patrol officer longer than I’d been alive. He teased me ruthlessly about being too pretty to work the streets; said I was going to find myself pushed up against a back alley with a knife at my back and some crack head’s dick in my ass.
It was a rainy September morning when his opinion of me changed. We had just started our patrol when a lady waved us down on one of the corners near downtown. She complained she had been mugged and the guy had taken off down the alley behind her. Carson half-heartedly told her we would take a look around, but didn’t think we would get her purse back.
The owner of the purse reminded me of my own mother; dark hair, well-dressed, and slender frame, and polite, even in such a drastic situation. She described the suspect better than any seasoned cop ever could, all the way down to the brand of jeans he wore.
My mom was one of a kind; sweet as homemade southern tea, but vicious as a rattle snake if provoked. She was the greatest woman in the world and had saved me and my two brothers from becoming a statistic in the system. I would do anything that woman asked of me.
Carson told me to get back in the car so we could take a look around the block. Reluctantly, I complied. See, it was the end of the month, a time when money and food were beginning to run low. Most of the folks who lived in this particular neighborhood lived in tight conditions. Stealing to buy food and diapers wasn’t rare. I also knew there were three pawnshops within a five block radius of where we stood. My guess was, whoever stole her purse would head to one of those shops to get some cash.
Carson had his head on a swivel, something ingrained in us during the academy. Where Carson kept watch for any movement, I was busy watching the kids on the corners. How many were facing the street? Posing as lookouts for their friends and bosses. Nothing appeared unusual until we came around the second block again.
My partner had written off getting the purse back when the guy we were looking for didn’t come running up to the car and surrender himself. I, on the other hand, had my eyes fixed on three men who looked to be organizing a game of dice.
“Stop the car.” I said this while picking up the radio to call in our location, informing dispatch where we were. “See the guys on the left?” I nodded my head in the kids’ direction.
Carson flashed to the area I mentioned. “Yea. So?” He shrugged, taking a drink from his cup of coffee.
“Gambling is illegal in this county. Why do you think they would do it out in the open, where any cop could drive by and bust them?” Turning my attention to the store across the street, I immediately saw a guy with his back to the wall who looked exactly like the suspect we were looking for.
Again calling in what was going on to dispatch, I opened my door as the kid noticed me. He turned and began to walk casually in the direction of the guys tossing dice.
“Hey!” I called out to him. He took one look over his shoulder and started running at top speed. Just as I suspected, the guys with the dice also began to run in three different directions. Effectively giving me a choice of whom I was going to chase.
The guys with the dice game took a little longer to bolt. No doubt this wasn’t the first time they had been used as bait. I wasn’t interested in their illusion.
Carson ran alongside me for less than twenty seconds, about the time the kid seemed to walk up a wall and hurl over it with ease. I followed as easily; this was only a warm up for me. Carson, however, was already gasping for breath.