The Hood Will NEVER Love You (HDLY#3)

Prologue

The detective put the tape recorder down on the table and hit record.

"State your name for the record," the detective said with a smug look on his face.

"Darren Bishop," the man identified himself with his arms crossed like he was already bored. "But in your wife's phone, I'm under the name 'Work'. You know because I get the job done."

The detective didn't find the humor. "Do you know why you're here?"

"Because you're haven't finished your quota of harassing niggas this week," Train said. "Cheer up, it's only Friday."

"You have been accused of the death of Detective Vance Knight," the detective continued. "You have been given your Miranda rights. Do you understand them?"

"Yes," Train said.

"Can you tell us where you were on the day of June 14th, 2014 around 10 in the morning?" the detective asked.

"Geez, hmmmmm," Train looked like he was deep in though. "No, I already busted a nut in your wife by then and had her bark like a dog for twenty minutes. Then I pissed on your suits and wiped my ass with that yellow tie you wearing now with the brown smudges on it. Then I got in my car..."

"Mister Bishop, I understand we have to do these formalities," the detective said. "But can you please tell us what happened on that day."

"I'm getting to it," Train said. "I went to the store to pick up some breath mints because your wife tried to kiss me with the yukmouth, then..."

The detective slammed his hand on the table. He took a deep breath and turn off the recorder.

"Listen, you little shit," the detective said. "I'm willing to play ball but you have to get some things straight. I know I have to do this little song and dance with you. But you do know that killing a police officer especially his wife is nothing none of us takes as a joke or thinks it's funny. If it was up to me, I would put you under the jail and let the rats eat at your damn flesh until they all got sickle cell anemia, you piece of shit bastard. You're not tough, you're not funny and you're far from above the law. Soon all the little shit you do is going to catch up to you and  I so hope it's coming up soon so I can be there to watch that stupid smug look on your face vanish for good. You got me?"

Train leaned back in the chair he was in. "Just so you know I don't give a shit what you think, feel or got to say about me. I've spent more times in these seats looking at some bitch ass law enforcer as you've been wearing that same cheap suit." Train spit on the floor. "So that's what I think about what you have to say to me. You think you're different. You're the same piece of shit that works for the same motherfuckers the corner boys hustle for. If you was a real cop and not on a second payroll I would give you respect. But since you aren't one and you are on the take, you can kiss my ass like I was offering tickets at a kissing booth. Let's get one thing straight, it's a new day, partner. And if you feel like this is beneath you, you can go and someone will replace you that likes dirty money just as much as you. Now can I continue on talking about how your wife's pussy smell like rotten toothpaste or do we need another pig for the job."

The detective gave Train a menacing stare. "I'm not scared of you."

"No, you should be scared of that last Twinkie you ate because your belt buckle doesn't look like it can hold up much longer," Train said.

The detective took a deep breath and exhaled. "This shit won't last forever."

"Yeah, but in the meantime," Train smiled. "I'll like to continue my story."