Streets Of Blood Page #3

to back that up?

More than you know.

So this was your first

shooting incident?

Yes, ma'am.

How did you feel?

I felt pretty good,

'cause, see, I realized right there

that if I needed to fire my gun

to protect and serve, you know,

I could.

How do you feel about taking

another human being's life?

I did my job.

It was a righteous kill.

It was all good.

They are f***ing animals out there,

all right?

I go after the animals.

It's what I do.

I had a snitch the night

before last finger Ray Delacroix.

- I wanted to talk to him.

- It's too late for that,

unless you want to call

Psychic Friends Hotline.

You did a good job on it. Did he say

anything I might want to know?

He called me a punk motherf***er.

I knew that.

Is that why you shot him?

Sh*t, we're from Mid-City, yo.

- We eat our dead.

- Yeah, we eat our dead.

In other words, f***,

it was getting late and I was hungry.

Sh*t, I like me a little dog meat

from time to time.

- You know what I'm saying?

- Preach it, brother, preach it.

Yeah, it looked like a good meal,

so yeah, I did...

I shot him.

Cocksuck, motherfuck.

Give me some chew.

I'm a Mid-City cop.

Who the f*** are you?

So it really is true... those rumors.

Y'all really do eat your dead.

They eat their dead?

Well, I hold my socks up

with thumb-tacks.

I wipe my ass with razor wire.

I'm not asking, I'm telling...

you're gonna help me find out what

I would have, had you not smoked him.

You didn't hear? Lincoln freed the

slaves. I don't do your heavy lifting.

- Yeah, you do.

- Yeah? Since when?

Since you put Ray Delacroix in hell.

- Come on in. The water's fine.

- The water is fine.

But bring your f***ing

water wings, huh?

Bring your water wings.

Uh-huh.

- Bring your f***ing water wings.

- Let's play.

Hey, Stan, I'll treat you

to a lap dance later,

get you away from that wife,

loosen you up a little bit.

- I think we should rush him.

- F*** him up.

This is bullshit.

I didn't do anything.

Come on, man, just let me go.

Hey, any harder

and I would have to charge you.

Ferraro, in my office, now.

- Yes, sir.

- I got the feds so tight on my ass,

I feel like I'm wearing

J Edgar Hoover's G-string.

Are these guys mentally sound?

There are some red flags,

some warning signals.

The normal feelings of guilt

and remorse after shooting

are sublimated by the feeling

that it's us against them.

This mindset can lead to feelings

of paranoia and isolation.

Oh, man, all the neighborhoods

in this area...

they're run by...

controlled by violent gangs.

And there's large sums

of dope money at stake.

And as a result the police have been

given extra latitude to enforce the law.

- Given or taken?

- What the hell? That's the way it is.

You didn't answer my question.

I'm not finished with my analysis, sir.

I think one of the cops

on my street unit

cut himself a deal with the FBI.

Blowing the whistle

on other cops?

Did they tell you this?

I think they wanted me to know

to see what I would do.

Regardless, if there's a rat

in the squad...

You expect me to find this out?

That's a job for Internal Affairs.

But you're supposed to

have their backs.

I am supposed to evaluate

their mental state.

They are protected

by my oath of confidentiality.

Which you can break

to report misconduct.

If you happen to hear anything...

Oh, if I happen to find a rat?

No, you need to talk to me, Ferraro.

You work for me.

Uh-huh.

So much for the 3NGs.

Yeah.

Chamorro and the Latin Kings

did a heck of a job.

That used to be the 3NGs.

You think they pissed off the do-rags,

the Latin Kings?

Used to be five guys

standing on a corner make up a gang.

This is different.

You can't buy that

in a local gun shop.

It's not even legally imported.

Someone spent a lot of money trying

to lock up drug traffic in New Orleans.

More likely this is a local turf war

between 3NGs and Latin Kings.

If that's true,

how come the FBI is on it?

FBl... they're always playing

their own game.

They're probably investigating

the same sh*t we are.

Damn, look at this.

Relax. You all know

why we're here.

Someone's gotten greedy.

Are you trying to start

a turf war?

New Orleans is ready,

open for the taking.

We have to establish

who's in charge.

You mean, like a vote?

I guess the ayes have it.

F*** you.

Check this out.

I've been working on this.

All right, let's hear it.

I'm from Mid-City.

We eat our dead.

Preach it.

Preach it, come on.

Delacroix, that motherf***er,

forgot he was a puppet.

Now he rocks the flowerbed.

I feel like I'm riding

with f***ing Edgar Allan Poe.

- You see what I see?

- We got something.

- Oh, sh*t. Go go.

- Good morning.

Barney, go get her. Go get her.

Get on the ground.

Get on the f***ing ground.

I'm not above that.

Hold on a second.

All right, you're gonna like this.

Abracadabra!

Everybody get back inside.

Are you still living on the corner

over here? Which one?

You're not gonna f***ing move.

You're not gonna f***ing say a word.

Don't f***ing move.

It's too tight.

Sh*t, it's too tight.

Let me get my...

- What's your name?

- Tanya.

Tanya. Tanya, okay.

I see you.

- Jimmy. Jimmy Dean.

- Hey, what up, dawg?

You all right?

Where are we going, Barney?

- I told you straight ahead.

- Straight ahead, boss.

Straight ahead, all right.

Who's the lit b*tch?

Just little chickenheads in here.

Hey, how are you doing?

Whoa whoa.

What's the b*tch's name?

- What's her f***ing name?

- Selina.

Selina, open the door.

Metro Narcotics.

- Open the f*** up, Selina.

- You need a search warrant.

We don't need a search warrant.

Tanya here gave me permission

- to get her sh*t.

- Open up.

Selina baby, you're not in trouble,

but you make me huff and puff

and blow your door down...

I'm gonna find your sh*t.

I'll find it and then I'm gonna

set some cops on you.

I'm getting pissed.

Open the motherfucking door.

- Open the f***ing door.

- Okay okay.

- Hand up. Here we go. Hands up.

- Hands up. Hands up.

Get your f***ing hands up.

B*tch, you want to get punched

in the mouth, huh?

Turn the f*** around.

Get your nose in the f***ing corner.

- Dump the f***ing bag. Okay.

- What have we got here?

You were going

somewhere hot with this.

- I was going nowhere.

- Good sh*t.

Why don't you make love to this thing

here? I don't want to see your face.

What have we got here?

Don't you know that this...?

This roca right here is peligrosa,

Barney.

- What do we got?

- Oh, we're racking it up now.

There we go. There we go.

Now I see why you were in such a hurry.

- You're on parole, huh?

- Yeah.

- Spread 'em. Here we go.

- Oh, man.

Don't be scared. Don't be scared.

You're gonna spend the rest

of your sentence in the slammer, baby,

maximum security,

whatever they tack on

for the possession of crack cocaine.

That's a felony, baby doll.

So what do you want?

You girls used to party

with Ray Delacroix?

We did.

Delacroix? Who do you think

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