Behind the Badge Read Online Free PDF Page A

welcome.
    Ironic, considering this was outside his precinct's jurisdiction. Truth be told, in Ramon's brief time as a Baltimore resident, this was the first time he had been to the northwest part of the city. He was just a couple streets over from the campus of Coppin State University, one of the two historically-black colleges within the greater Baltimore area. In many ways, this particular section of the city reminded Ramon of his native Inglewood back in southern California. It had been a rough place to grow up, and he could still recall the look of relief on Jorge's face when Ramon told him he had gotten the job in Baltimore and they were moving east.
    Jorge loved living near Towson, and Ramon fell in love with downtown as soon as he laid eyes on it. His apartment with Juanita had a nice view of downtown -- on a clear night, he could see the lights from Camden Yards -- but Ramon was looking forward to moving in with his fiancé. They were a few months from being married, so now seemed as good a time as any to move in together -- especially with Jorge nearing the end of his curriculum.
    Ramon's phone chirped as he emerged from his car. A text from Jorge, with a picture of some sofa he had found and the question What do you think?
    He couldn't hide the smirk as he texted back Blood red? Really?
    Pocketing his phone, Ramon squinted. The body had already been bagged by the medical examiners on-scene, and they were loading the bag into the back of their van when Ramon approached and fished the badge from his belt. “I'm looking for a Detective Paulson?”
    A tall, lanky man with light brown hair cropped into a buzz cut and a disheveled tie around his neck turned away from the uniform he had been speaking with, an unlit cigarette clutched between his fingers. His narrowed his gaze before seeing the Hispanic man standing before him with a badge in his hand, at which point his eyes returned to their normal state.
    “Ah, you must be Detective Gutierrez,” he said, slapping Ramon on the back. “Thanks for coming out. I know you're probably busy --”
    “Working a homicide of my own,” Ramon pointed out. “I dunno what you want from me, Detective. This isn't my jurisdiction.”
    “Believe me, I know,” Paulson began with a shake of his head, hard wrinkles outlining his eyes. “Real fucked-up thing that happened to that boy. We're just glad your captain owes ours a favor.” Off Ramon's confused glare, Paulson hastily added: “No no no... we don't want you to work this case. We just need you to talk to someone.”
    Ramon frowned. “I don't follow.”
    “We got a witness who won't talk.”
    “Still not following.”
    “Alright, the eyewit's exact words were I ain't talkin' to no honkies .” Paulson's lips curled into a sneer as he spat the last word, shaking his head again and placing the cigarette between his lips. Fishing for a lighter with one hand, he tossed the thumb of his other hand over his shoulder at the person sitting on the edge of the sidewalk, shoulders hunched. “Bad enough everyone in this part of town clams up when we roll in, but this little shit insisted on talking with someone who ain't white.”
    “And there's no one from your precinct who fits that bill?” Ramon asked.
    “You kiddin' me?” Paulson finally pulled out his lighter, striking up a flame before lighting his cigarette and taking a long first drag. “Captain Maroney ain't fillin' no goddamn quotas.”
    Fighting the urge to roll his eyes -- and infinitely grateful that he didn't wind up in Maroney's precinct -- Ramon stuffed both hands into the pockets of his overcoat. It wasn't the tan one everyone at the Seventh teased him over; he had sprung for a black one several months ago to celebrate an unexpected bump in pay. Pay raises were almost impossible to come by in publicly-funded jobs anymore, but Ramon had gotten one.
    “Look, just talk to the prick,” Paulson added. “Get 'im to say something useful and you'll be on your