The first time Paul Young met Marcus Colston, Colston was new to the force and he had been transferred from the department in Baltimore, Maryland. The two worked a murder together because of apparent drug connections shortly after he came to work there and Young wanted to be optimistic that he had found a true brother committed like he was to public safety. Of course not all of his coworkers were admirable men, and even if he could share a beer with them after work and suit up on the same softball team, it didn’t mean that he considered them all to be close friends. There were the obvious showoffs who joined the force to pose in the uniform with the badge next to the car. There were the ones who thought that the uniform made them superior to others and they were happy to strut around with their noses up. Young noticed that these two type of police officers had something in common, they were usually all bark and quick to draw a weapon in any tense situation. I’m sure you’ve heard how these situations can go south and they usually end with the death of black male. Young isn’t in human resources or recruiting – though he is seriously considering the move – and he isn’t a life counselor, it’s not his responsibility to weed out these types of officers. He has a very stressful job to do. He had learned to associate with the effective officers who demonstrated a love for the job and the people, and he honestly believed that this type made up the majority of his coworkers.
Colston is dead now and Young resists the temptation to say that he deserved it. He deserved more than what he got at the end, he deserved to face justice to answer for his crimes. Someone had cheated justice and Young wants to know who it was.
He wants to put cuffs on Yuri, this whole mess had his stench all over it. But that can’t be more important than helping his department move forward in the absence of Colston and in the wake of the realization that he was compromised.
Young made the news after the death and he was heralded again as the ace detective who had found the truth where others could not, and he refused to be interviewed, just like he refused any accolades or promotions. It felt irrelevant, he didn’t need a reward to be outraged by a corrupt police member of his department and he thought that he would set a dangerous precedence to expect reward for doing what needed to be done.
Lately, for the last month or so, Young has been trying to enjoy his vacation from work that he took because goings finally settled and he can use the breather.
He is at home, mowing his grass, and when he is done, his shirt is soaked in sweat. He removes it and wrings it in his hands, and just then he hears someone call him from the street.
“Nice,” the young lady’s voice called. “You look good for an old man.”
Young wandered lazily to his fence next to the sidewalk where the woman idled in a gray 90s Honda. He smiled and gave a nod.
“Can you point me to race tracks, handsome?” the woman said nicely.
“Well which ones?” Young asked between breaths. It was hot and even though he knew to pace himself, the chore of mowing really took a lot out him. He is getting older, there is no doubting that, and he should be more careful.
“There’s more than one?” the woman asks.
“Well yeah, you must mean the drag strip, that’s the only thing I ever hear about nowadays,” Young says. “You late for a race or something?” Young asks with a smile. He is very handsome for his age. He doesn’t shave often and the stubble accentuates the power of his jaw that is square and hard. His eyes are lot big dots on his face and they always show his optimism, even if the world is trying it’s best to beat it out of him. He has a full head of hair that is graying at his temples, and he has gone to the same baber his entire career to keep a short height and tighter edges on his curly brown hair that grew curly and voluminous.
“I have to see about a man,” the woman said cryptically. “If you hear about a murder out there later today, then this conversation never happened.”
They both laughed out loud and Young gave her precise directions to the track. He’d been there several times to support the son of a colleague who raced a car that he poured thousand of dollars into. The races are fun, it’s why Young has been multiple times.
“Maybe I’ll see you around,” the woman says before she takes off.
Young watches her drive away and notices the North Carolina license plate. He will be glad later when he hears reports of a murder at the drag strip on his radio, and he recalls the license plate number of the car the woman drives. She is a good first lead. If only the car hadn’t been reported stolen
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