Jones hastily pulled the passenger door shut as his partner, Harris, slid into the driver seat of their patrol car. “I can’t believe Captain assigned us to the beat in Whispering Oaks again,” Jones muttered under his breath, his back already sweating underneath his Kevlar after loading the trunk with gear. “Third time this week,” nodded Harris in agreement as he started to pull out of the police station. “There’s always some sh*t going down in Whispering Oaks.” The two Black men sat in silence as they headed westbound towards the outskirts of town. Most of the officers in the force are Black. It seems to have always been that way in Allston. As they approach Whispering Oaks, the scenery abruptly changes. The houses, the landscaping, it all looks different from the rest of town. White folks are loitering around the sidewalks in front of their homes and the Starbucks, listening to loud country music and having heated exchanges with each other about the merits of the Keto diet. The mood in the patrol car grew more tense. Whispering Oaks was known to be a hotspot for trouble and colloquial wisdom passed down at the academy was to keep your guard up when patrolling there, if you want to survive. Jones felt his sidearm in the holster pressing up against his hip and took a quick mental inventory of the arsenal in the trunk. He at least felt safer with his partner. There was a sense of brotherhood between cops where you could trust your partner would have your back when things got messy. Jones and Harris rounded the corner onto Rolling Hills Lane, shaded on either side by lush, mature oaks and lined with mailboxes painted in various pastels. “Another day in paradise,” smirked Harris. Driving slowly while scanning either side of the lane, the two officers heard the distinct cackling of White women in a group. Their eyes followed the ruckus to a porch where middle aged White ladies gathered around a table. Harris flipped the siren and pulled off to the side. He and Jones walked side by side up the manicured walkway to the porch. “We heard a disturbance while patrolling over here,” said Jones with authority in his voice. “What’s going on here?” A near-empty bottle of Chardonnay sits at the center of the table, wine glasses scattered around the edges. “I was just showing the girls some new essential oils that just came in. I’m a Young Living distributor,” a blonde one peeped. Jones replied, knowing already where this was headed, “Do you have a business license for that ma’am?” “Listen, I’m just trying to make some side money. This is a good product.” “Ma’am, I’m going to need to look inside your purse.” “Hey, what are you bothering us for,” interrupted a younger brunette at the table. “Do you even have a warrant?” “That’s it,” Harris remarked. “All of you sit down on the ground and put your hands on your head until we can sort this out. We don’t want any problems here.” All the women obliged, withdrawn, seeming as though they had been through this song and dance before. Jones and Harris went down the line of women on opposite ends, searching them all for weapons or contraband. As Jones patted down the brunette, getting close to her hips, she quickly grabbed his hand to throw it off. Harris reacted instantly and drew his sidearm from its holster. All hell broke loose. Most of the women took opportunity in the commotion and ran off into the wooded area behind the house. Jones got the better of the woman who assaulted him and had her in a chokehold. Harris turned his gun towards the blonde. “We told you we didn’t want any problems!” Harris called for backup as Jones handcuffed the assailant, then did the same to the blonde. In the commotion, the bottle of Chardonnay spilled all over his shiny boots. As backup arrived, Harris looked through the blonde’s purse. He pulled out a Ziploc bag of small blue pills. “What do we have here,” he said, almost teasingly. The two White women were escorted by backup uniforms into individual squad cars. Her head being pushed down into the back, the blonde uttered, “This is bullsh*t. I want to speak with your manager.” TC 150 7 YOE
Someone please give me a summary of this story in 10 words. I’m a manager and I’m very busy.
Don’t worry, your product probably won’t even exist a year from now. https://killedbygoogle.com
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