Talk

Rodney saw the young policewoman take a step backwards, her hands half-raised in a defensive position. "N-never mind, Big Black Rod, sir," she stammered, "uh, I'll let you go with a warning this time." Intrigued by her sudden deference, especially how she had referred to him as she had been told to, Rodney took a step toward her, and could see fear in her wide green eyes as the pretty redhead retreated again beyond arm's length. 'How interesting,' Rodney thought, feeling that this white girl could be trained to know her role is obeying and serving black men.

"I'm not going anywhere, Caitlyn," the big black man assured her with a smile, making sure to call her by her first name as opposed to any perceived rank. "And I don't think you are either, because I'm not finished with you."

"You aren't?" her voice cracked a little as she took another half-step back, looking like she was either cry or run, or at least fall off the patio at this rate. Rodney imagined her tumbling backward and bashing her head on the concrete below, rendering her helpless and possibly brain-damaged. He knew some very bad men downtown who would take the fetching young Irish girl into white slavery, and would pay extra given that she's a cop, so long as she wasn't too brain damaged to be of service.

Then he remembered the jumbi root in his pantry. During his business travels he had obtained this rare and pungent West African herb, a natural relaxant and aphrodisiac. What was special about it was that white people were all allergic to it, and that white females in particular had a strong reaction to it that left them compliant and easily aroused. It was said that even the most racist cracker bitch could be controlled for hours if she absorbed some powder through her skin, and would beg to be black bred if she ingested any quantity.

"I-I have something to confess," Rodney told her with sudden humility, "would you come inside for some tea while we talk?" He could see Caitlyn struggling to decide whether to trust him, even though she was the armed one, so he continued. "I have a tip for you. It's a big tip that could take your career in new and exciting directions."

He had Cadet O'Neill's attention, he could see the gears working in her head as she imagined what the negro could mean: ****, guns, prostitution, maybe terrorism? Of course, if she glanced down at the stiffening man meat now pushing against the front of his trousers she would probably get a more accurate sense of what sort of big tip the Big Black Rod might have for her.

And so Caitlyn relented and joined him in the kitchen of the house. She noticed him place a bar across the track of the patio door but failed to appreciate that she was now trapped inside with this stranger. He seemed the hospitable host, asking questions of the young redhead as he brewed some tea. Thinking she was laying the groundwork with a valuable informant, Caitlyn O'Neill explained that even though she herself was only just out of academy, she was the daughter of a police sergeant. "But I want to handle you myself," she told him forcefully, sitting down at the table.

"You will, Caitlyn," Rodney replied, as he could tell she wanted to object to the informality but was pleased to see she didn't. "You're going to need to learn how to handle black men."

The perky girl nodded and gave him a half-smile. "I know, it's true I don't have much experience talking to criminals," as though they were interchangeable terms. "Of course, dad tried to protect me my whole life, but here's his little girl ready to work one!" The water came to a boil and Rodney turned his attention to the kettle before he bust out laughing in the earnest young woman's face. He gently turned the conversation to her personal life: she dismissed with a laugh being married or having any children ("I'm far too young for that!") but admitted having a boyfriend on the ****.

"He's not black, I take it?" Rodney inquired casually as he poured her a cup of steaming beverage and placed it in front of the redhead as she laughed again.

"Uh, no," she declared emphatically, rolling her green eyes as though the notion were ridiculous. "Remember what I told you about my father?" Rodney had wondered if the earlier comment had been about criminals, but now he had proof daddy and daughter were racists. He watched her wrinkle her nose at the aroma but when she saw him take a drink, Caitlyn took a short sip herself, followed immediately by a longer one. "Huh, I like it more than I thought I would," she admitted, licking her lips and looking up at him.

"That's what I expected," Rodney said neutrally. He watched silently as she focused on consuming the herbal brew, her pale cheeks taking on a pinkish hue as she finished, her shoulders now slightly slouched as she appeared much more relaxed.

Caitlyn offered a bashful apology, admitting, "I had no idea how thirsty I was!" She looked up and Rodney again, her green eyes a little dopey now as she giggled a little bit. "So, uh, what about that tip, Big Black Rod?"