November 11, 2016 12:01 a.m.
The streets of Baltimore City's most lit districts laid bare of all—no sirens, no blue light cameras, no red and azure blinking lights. Everything was still, silent—like an eerie tale waiting to begin.
At the city's 911 center, all calls, both landline and cell phone, from the Black Out areas have been blocked, and emergency personnel have been given orders from the President and the Government to not intervene, no matter how severe the matters may be.
Police vehicles lined the roads of Sinclair Lane, Edison Highway, East Monument Street, E. Fayette Street, and South Broadway in East Baltimore—protecting the lit zones and nearby establishments from harm. On the Westside, where there was more ground to cover—emergency personnel lined across Patapsco Avenue, West Pratt Street, Green Spring Avenue, Edmonson Avenue, Pimlico Road, and Liberty Road.
The goal was to protect the adjacent neighborhoods and its people from the strife that was about to be born.
12:10 a.m.
CNN news reporters: James Ashcroft and Kimberly Bowen were on the scene in Berea, capturing news footage of a small gathering outside a half-derelict row-home on the east end of Federal Street.
James Ashcroft was a tall, pale gentleman with glasses, blue eyes and short wavy brown hair. He was wearing a grey button up shirt, a pair of well ironed khakis and all white sneakers.
His comrade, Kimberly Bowen, was about 5'5" tall with a hazlenut complexion, chestnut brown eyes, and very attractive facial features. Much like her partner, she was dressed semi-casual for this event.
She wore a grey collared shirt, with beige jacket, firm dark slacks, and a pair of black sneakers.
As they closed in on the scene—several African American men could be seen on the front stoop smoking cigarettes, weed-laced blunt cigars, and drinking beer from 24 oz. cans and 40 oz. bottles.
Most of them were wearing either white or black t-shirts, and dark saggy denim jeans.
As the reporters began to approach closer—their heavy conversation began to fade to slow heaves.
"Sup," one of the dudes, a younger gentleman with thick pleated cornrows, who was sitting on the bottom of the steps, said in a low tone.
The other men gave the reporters blank stares.
A large gulp slid through James' throat.
"Hello," Kimberly smiled warmly as her bright, white teeth flashed
"Hey there," another gentleman, who was leaning against the nearly rusted railing said sheepishly as he resumed puffing on his blunt.
Another one smiled, particularly fond of the young and attractive reporter.
"Here to film the purge? I tell ya wut, it ain't gonna be nuthin for me, but a party—ya feel me!"
The other men busted into laughter as the cameraman began to pick up footage.
Highlights of the house's penurious state were captured—giving highlight to the rusted railings, the boards on the windows of the house next door, and a large heaping pile of trash that laid between this corner house and the beginning of the next row further down.
James grinned—poking a half-hearted smile through his bewildered face. He was not used to this type of environment.
"What can we expect in the upcoming days," he said dryly, sticking his microphone out.
"All hell gonna break loose motherfucker! Shit ain't even begun—we just here tryin’ ta partay—dats all," another gentleman screeched to the camera, vocalizing with the unpredictable movement of his arms and hands.
Jesus Christ, I'm fucking bored already, James thought to himself.
"How do you feel about the lack of police presence?" Kimberly asked.
"No one to tell me what I can and cannot smoke, no fuckin’ five-O harassing me, that’s how I fuckin’ feel. Ya'll feel me." the gentleman at the bottom of the stoop said as his comrades joined in laughter.
Besides them, right around the corner, a black car, with no make logo on the hood, slowly began to creep up—ominously. The lights lowered as the car pulled to the side.
The men poked their heads over toward the vehicle—suspicious stuff like this warranted attention and was not to be taken lightly.
James gulped deeply again as Kimberly remained cool and collected.
"Harlem," one of the men sitting at the top of the stoop whispered down to the young boy in cornrows.
He looked over bewildered.
The car turned back on, with the dim lights shining.
James looked over and could see the driver and the front passenger clear as day. Two Black men wearing blue flannels and cobalt turbans. They looked back at him with a cold, hard, and stern glare.
"Run!!!" Harlem yelled, as he and his boys dropped everything as they cleared off the block—with Kimberly following them.
In less than a second—they were nowhere to be seen as James and his cameraman stood—wondering what the hell was going on.
RULE #1: When you're in a run-down neighborhood after midnight, and you see a group of Black people running—don't ask questions—get the fuck out of the area. This should have been part of his training, since he was warned that security would not be provided.
The black car slowly pulled up as James became rattled with fear.
The windows slowly whined down as a young, burly black man—with tear drop tattoos on his eyes, sneered as he slowly raised a silver magnum.
Fuck, James clamored in his head.
"You...and him—get the fuck in this car now before I blast the both of you."
"Yes," James said as he held his hands up.
"Tell his ass to keep the camera running," the man said, as he pointed his pistol at the cameraman, an older white gentleman dressed in all black—who had appeared rather unfazed—nodded his head as they approached the car doors.
Oh snap this is already shaping up to be better then the movies!
Super good read. Waiting for the next installment, please.
""You...and him—get the fuck in this car now before I blast the both of you."
"Yes," James said as he held his hands up.
This is a command you never follow. Kidnappers are always taking you to a secondary crime scene - a place that's better for them and a lot worse for you.