The Black Cloud
by Guy Rossi
At dusk Tony and Junior were driven to a street in front of the "Jah Man Record Shop."
When they arrived at their destination, the driver, a black vice cop who looked more like a criminal than a policeman, eased out of the surveillance van, leaving the two narcs behind in the vehicle.
He walked across the street, lit a cigarette and discarded his cigarette pack in a trash can in front of the record shop.
The van was packed with eavesdropping devices, including a periscope that displayed its target on a television monitor. Junior thought to himself how amazing it was that so much equipment could be stuffed into the back of a van. Besides two cellular phones, computers, and a fax machine, the van contained sophisticated listening devices that could pick up conversations blocks away.
Junior adjusted the scope and began to laugh at Tony who continually cursed at the van for not having a john.
Recently, Tony Ballare had been transferred to a newly formed county-wide task force on drugs. Though many considered assignment to the squad to be a step up, for Tony it meant teaching fellow suburban cops survival in the drug-infested streets of the ghetto.
At twenty-three years of age and two-hundred-twenty pounds of muscle, Junior believed that a prerequisite to becoming a narcotics cop was studying Miami Vice reruns. Surveillance details in the $200,000 van with Junior were more like taking a kid to an amusement park than police work.
Throughout the night, the two narcs took turns watching and listening to conversations taking place half a block away. A microphone planted in the trash can outside the shop transmitted the conversations of people congregating in front of the place. So far no one had walked out of the store carrying a record. But everyone stopped and spoke to the small-time drug dealers outside.
During a break in activity, Junior said, "You got a real rep. Some of the guys at the office said to be extra careful when I work with you because things happen to you unlike anyone else. I forgot what thev called it..."
"The 'black cloud'." the older narc replied.
"Yeah, that's it!" Junior exclaimed. "What's with this 'cloud' stuff?'"
Tony looked away. "You know the saying 'shit happens'? Some guys at the office seem to think that I'm the one it was created for.."
Junior laughed and replied, "They broke my chops pretty good about you breaking me in, but they also said that you're the best narc in the unit."
Tony watched the drug dealers on the monitor as he spoke. "I don't know about that. The only good advice I can give you is to watch your ass. In this business, the only people you can trust are your partners. Never, ever, trust a snitch."
Tony looked around the van for an ashtray and blew out the last puff of smoke from his cigarette.
"I once made an error in judgment. I scored a lot of coke from a Jamaican named Ralston. I was trying hard to get to his source, a guy by the name of Spuds. I got complacent."
Tony raised his pant leg past his right knee exposing several scars.
"A DEA agent, a man I didn't even know, was killed protecting my backside. If it wasn't for him, I probably wouldn't be here right now."
Tony told him about the July day five years before. As a plainclothesman he'd made several buys from Ralston. The Jamaican hadn't brought Tony along to meet his source yet. But that day would be different.
The deal was set to go down in the parking lot of the McDonalds at Jennifer Street and Lloyd Road. Tony sat in his rented jet black Sterling, anxiously chomping his Big Mac with a vengeance as he watched the digital clock on the dash.
It was 8 P.M.
The deal was supposed to go down at 7:45. Tony hated the cat and mouse game drug dealers always played.
He thought about the sayings that were taught to every rookie drug dealer, "If he's there on time he's dropped a dime. Ten minutes late, make another date. Bitch and complain, argue and barter; if he wants your shit, he'll try harder."
At 8:03, a baby blue Lincoln Town Car pulled into the parking lot.
As Tony neared the car, a rear tinted window eased down exposing Ralston.
Alongside Ralston was a dark skinned black he introduced as 'Spuds'.
"Get in," Ralston suggested.
"Show me what you got," Tony demanded.
"Yo man, don't ya be trusting me yet?"
"Fuck you, Jake! A new face in your car, and money in my pocket. How do I know he's not a cop?"
Both men began to laugh in such a fit that Tony himself also started to chuckle.
"Give him the shit." said Spuds.
Ralston removed a small white box sealed in duct tape from underneath the seat. Tony took a plastic medicine bottle from his jacket.
"Put a taste in here."
Ralston drew a pinch of the white crusty powder onto a stiletto and dumped it into the bottle.
He handed the bottle back to Tony who placed a drop of cobalt silicide into it.
The powder immediately turned blue.
"Good shit -- that's the stuff, alright," Tony proclaimed.
In a surveillance van across the street Tony's partners monitored the transaction.
Suddenly a DEA agent in a nearby lot saw a black male with dredlocks running through an alley next to the McDonalds.
The man wore a full-length denim coat, which was odd for July. Protruding from it was a black barrel.
The agent broke radio silence as he got out of his van.
"I got a Jake hit man moving through the alley. He's got dredlocks, five-ten, thin, he's got a long gun under a blue denim coat. I think he going to wack Tony! I'm out!"
It happened as Tony was arguing money with Ralston. Two shots followed by a loud bang rang out. Plain-clothed cops were running everywhere.
Tony shouted "cops" and began to run towards the Sterling with his gym bag still containing eighteen grand in small bills in hand.
As the Continental fled he heard the sound of full auto weapon fire. One of the bullets from Spuds' Mac-1O machine pistol tore through the back of Tony's right knee, sending bone and muscle tissue airborne onto the plastic Ronald McDonald who stood watching from the playground nearby.
The DBA surveillance van rammed the Continental at the next intersection, killing the driver, and pinning Spuds unconscious in the back seat and ejecting Ralston.
Both the DEA agent and the hit man were found dead in the alley by the McDonalds.
Tony shook the memory off. That was then. He was in the present now.
Shortly before daybreak, a gold Mercedes with tinted windows pulled up in front of the Jah Man Record Shop.
Although the store was closed, a black male walked out and approached the car.
Tony was unable to see him on the video monitor, but the unmistakable voice was picked up by the transmitter in the garbage can.
They watched the man hand a small paper bag to someone in the car.
"Did you hear that?" Junior said in disbelief. "They called the guy in the car Spuds! I thought you said he was in prison?"
"Shut up and listen. When the car leaves, we're takin' it," Tony ordered.
"I'll call the dispatcher for back-up," Junior said as he picked up a cellular phone.
"We're taking him alone. He's ours. We'll take him when he stops at a light. Who knows what kind of back-up he's got in that store."
"Yeah," Junior replied as he checked the safety on his 9mm Beretta pistol, returning it to his shoulder holster.
Tony eased into the driver's seat.
Before starting the van, he checked in the sideview mirror to make sure that Spuds' car had turned.
Two blocks ahead a radio car was stopped at a light.
Tony took a radio from the glove box and advised the uniformed car ahead to stop the Mercedes.
When the driver of the Mercedes realized the police car was about to cut him off, he threw the car in reverse and began backing up very fast, crashing into the surveillance van. The impact of the collision slammed Junior into the windshield and the steering wheel into Tony's chest, throwing his service pistol from his shoulder rig.
Spuds immediately bailed out of the Mercedes, spraying the uniformed police vehicle with 9mm lead from a machine pistol. He stumbled as he ran, dropping his gun as he tripped over a curb.
Tony ripped his backup gun out of an ankle holster and started off after Spuds.
As he rounded a back porch Tony found himself face to face with a chained Doberman Pinscher. He pointed his pistol at the dog, sighed and stepped back.
Spuds' waiting arms began choking Tony with one hand and grabbing at his pistol with the other.
Tony struggled to hold on to his gun as Spuds slammed his face into the ground. Blood poured out of his forehead and right hand where the hammer of the pistol had dug deep. The dog barked and snarled at the men who were now less than five feet from the end of his chain.
The Doberman's collar broke with a loud snap, sending him airborne onto Spuds who was straddling Tony's back. Free from Spuds' grip, Tony jumped up and cleared a fence into the next yard as the angry dog tore at the screaming drug dealer.
Spuds was punching at the dog's muzzle as he backed away. He thought he was home free. Then he felt the fence behind him.
Just then the roar of Junior's Beretta rang out, splattering the startled dog with mud from the ground where the bullet had landed.
The instant the dog backed off, Junior had grabbed Spuds. Almost as soon as Junior grabbed him around the neck, he lost consciousness. When Spuds came to he found himself face down and handcuffed to the fence.
Within minutes several officers converged on the scene. Technicians, a shooting team, and an enraged narcotics supervisor.
The sergeant walked over to Tony, who was mediating with the owner of the Doberman. After the gunshot, The frightened dog hid in his dog house and refused to obey his master's call to come out.
"You all right?" the Sergeant asked Tony.
"Yeah. I think I'm going to need few stitches in my hand. But other than that I'm okay."
"After the desk jockeys from internal affairs are through with you, you'll be able to relate to that dog," said the Sergeant. "What happened?"
"We did what we had to do," he said, as he gave the details of the story to the supervisor.
"Okay. I understand why you did it. But what the hell are you going to tell the headhunters when they accuse you guys of totaling the surveillance van and causing the irreversible doggie disorders that the dog owner claims he's suing for?"
Junior placed his arm around his new partner.
"As far as the van is concerned," said Junior. "They backed into us. As for the rest of it, well. . . the drug dealer's just got a black cloud."
