Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Season 7, Episode 1
Kam slouched in the cold metal chair, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. The harsh fluorescent lights of the interrogation room made his head throb. He'd barely crawled into bed next to Yassy when the pounding on the front door jolted him awake. Now here he was, his T-shirt wrinkled and hair mussed, facing two stone-faced officers across a battered table.
"Let's go over it again," said the older cop, his voice gravelly from too many cigarettes. "What do you remember before leaving?”
Kam sighed, rubbing his bleary eyes. "Like I said, me and dude were talking, we got to tussling, I fell down, heard the shots go off and I ran out.”
The younger officer leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "You didn’t call anyone, checked on anyone? I mean, I put myself in your shoes, just got into it with some guys, plenty of my teammates around me, my homeboys. Shots go off, you don’t know, who, you run out, go home and just hope everyone made it?”
Kam's stomach churned with anxiety, but he kept his face neutral. He thought of Yassy sleeping peacefully at home, blissfully unaware of this nightmare. He had hoped that after a few questions, with no weapon to attach to him, it would go all away by the time she woke up.
The officers exchanged a skeptical glance. Kam's palms grew sweaty as he gripped the edge of the table. The tick-tock of the wall clock seemed to grow louder with each passing second. He prayed they'd believe him, that this ordeal would end soon. But as the older cop asked him to walk him through the earlier events of the night once more, Kam's heart sank. He had a sinking feeling this was far from over.
…
The door clicked shut, leaving Kam alone with his thoughts. The silence was deafening. He could hear his own heartbeat, a rapid staccato in his chest. His mind raced through the events of the night, trying to piece together the blur of memories. The argument, the scuffle, the sound of gunshots – it all swirled together in a haze of adrenaline and fear.
Outside the interrogation room, Detective Alderman hunched over a laptop, his brow furrowed in concentration. The nightclub's security footage played on the screen, grainy and chaotic. He watched as Kam entered the frame, saw the heated exchange, the push and shove that followed.
"There," he muttered, pointing at the screen. "He goes down right there."
The other officers leaned in, squinting at the pixelated images. The camera angle shifted, partially obscured by the crowd. Kam disappeared from view, hidden behind a sea of bodies. Then, the telltale muzzle flashes, the panicked scatter of clubgoers.
“We know it wasn’t big boy,” The young officer, Turk, pointed to Marlon on the screen, his actions matching what he had told the officers in his very brief interview before lawyering up. This forced them to shift all of their attention towards Kam, who had waived his right to an attorney.
Alderman rewound the footage, played it again in slow motion. He zoomed in, enhancing the image as much as the low-quality video would allow. But the crucial moment remained frustratingly unclear.
"Dammit," he growled, running a hand through his thinning hair. "The shots do go off right after he goes down.”
Turk shifted uneasily. "I mean, what, he crouches down to shoot up? He knows the camera can’t catch him? I don’t know, it’s hard to make sense of it all. Look at how the crowd surges forward right as he falls. Anyone could have pulled the trigger in that chaos."
Alderman grunted, unconvinced. "Kid's story checks out so far, but something doesn't sit right. Look at the argument, the only ones involved from their side is him and big boy and we know it ain’t big boy. What, they shot themselves?”
They replayed the footage again, frame by frame. The club's strobe lights pulsed across the screen, casting eerie shadows that further obscured the details. Kam's fall looked like a slow-motion tumble, his arms flailing as he disappeared into the crowd.
"What about his hands?" Turk asked, pointing at the screen. "Can we see if he's holding anything when he goes down?"
Alderman zoomed in further, the image becoming a patchwork of pixels. "I don’t see anything.”
The two detectives sat back, both lost in thought. The case was balanced on a knife's edge – not enough evidence to hold Kam, but too many unanswered questions to let him walk.
Turk broke the silence. "I mean, maybe one of the victims had something on them, shot someone on their side by accident in the mess of it all.”
Alderman shook his head. "They’re all standing next to each other, the ballistics don’t match up. All the physical evidence is pointing to him, except this footage which doesn’t rule him out, just doesn’t show that it’s him.”
As they debated, the door to the observation room swung open. Officer Chen entered, her face grave. "We just got word from the hospital," she said, her voice low. "Darius didn't make it. He flatlined about twenty minutes ago."
The room fell silent, the weight of the news settling heavily on their shoulders. Alderman closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. What had started as a routine shooting investigation had just become a homicide case.
Turk's jaw clenched. "That changes things. This lead story ain’t going away.”
Alderman nodded, his eyes fixed on the frozen image of Kam on the screen. "Agreed. Let's go through his statement again, see if we can find any inconsistencies. We need to round up more witnesses, see if there are other holes in what he described before the shooting happen.
Turk glanced at his watch, the second hand ticking relentlessly. "We're running out of time, Al. If we don't charge him soon, we'll have to cut him loose."
Alderman nodded, his eyes still fixed on the grainy footage.
"If we let him walk now, you know what'll happen," Turk continued, his voice low and urgent. "He'll lawyer up faster than we can blink. We'll never get another shot at him without a shark in a suit running interference."
Alderman leaned back in his chair, the worn leather creaking under his weight. He could feel the case slipping through his fingers like sand. The evidence was circumstantial at best – no weapon, no GSR, just a murky video and a kid with a bad reputation around the department. But his gut told him there was more to the story, hidden beneath Kam's carefully constructed facade of innocence.
The detective's eyes drifted to the wall of photos documenting the night's events. Shattered glass glittered on the nightclub floor like a thousand tiny stars. Bloodstains marred the gaudy carpet, a stark reminder of the lives hanging in the balance.
Turk's voice cut through Alderman's reverie. "We've got maybe an hour before the captain starts breathing down our necks. What's the play, Al?"
Alderman's mind raced, weighing options, calculating risks. He could feel the pressure building, like a dam about to burst. The city would be waking up soon, hungry for answers. The press would be circling like vultures, ready to tear into any perceived misstep by the department.
Then, like a bolt of lightning, an idea struck. Alderman sat up straight, his eyes gleaming with renewed determination.
"We charge him," he said, his voice firm.
Turk's eyebrows shot up. "With what? We've got nothing solid."
"Assault," Alderman replied, already reaching for the paperwork. "We've got enough on the video to show he was involved in the altercation. It won't stick, but it'll buy us time."
Turk nodded slowly, understanding dawning on his face. "It's the weekend, won’t see a judge until Monday.”
“If he ain’t the shooter, he knows who is,” Alderman nodded, “Nothing like a couple days in County to jog your memory.”
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Someone gonna be fucking his girl TONIGHT. Running back at Ball State been plotting on Yassy. Meanwhile, Diddy in the cell with the baby oil waiting for Kam.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Dang Kam can't fly right 
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 4997
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
From bad to worse and you can only ever blame him 
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Au revoir Kam
Better hope his celly doesn’t have cheekbusting on his mind
Better hope his celly doesn’t have cheekbusting on his mind
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
some real suckas in here
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Season 7, Episode 2
"Police! Open up!" a gruff voice bellowed from the hallway.
Yassy's stomach dropped. She yanked on a sweatshirt with trembling hands and rushed to unlatch the door. Two stern-faced officers loomed in the doorway, their badges glinting in the dim light.
"Do you reside in this apartment?" one asked, his eyes scanning her disheveled appearance.
She nodded, suddenly acutely aware of her bedhead and Kam's oversized sweatpants hanging off her hips.
"We have a warrant to search these premises," the other officer stated, thrusting a document into her hands.
Yassy blinked, trying to process the words swimming before her eyes. "I don't understand," she stammered. "What's going on? Where's Kam?"
The officers exchanged a look. "Ma'am, we need you to step outside while we conduct our search."
Before Yassy could protest, they shouldered past her into the apartment. She watched in stunned silence as they began methodically tearing through the space. Drawers flew open, couch cushions were overturned, and the contents of the closet spilled onto the floor in a chaotic heap.
"Please," Yassy pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Can you tell me what's happening? Is Kam okay?"
One of the officers paused, a flicker of sympathy crossing his face. "Miss, I'm going to need you to wait outside. Now."
Yassy found herself ushered into the hallway, the door closing firmly behind her. She slumped against the wall, sliding down until she hit the floor.
Through the thin walls, she could hear the muffled sounds of the search continuing. Each thud and crash made her flinch. What were they looking for? Where was Kam? The questions swirled in her mind, a dizzying whirlpool of fear and confusion. Yassy's breath came in short, ragged gasps as the hallway seemed to close in around her.
Time stretched and warped, minutes feeling like hours as she sat there, paralyzed by fear and uncertainty. When the apartment door finally creaked open, Yassy's head snapped up so quickly she felt dizzy. The younger of the two officers stepped out, his face a mask of practiced neutrality.
"Miss," he began, crouching down to her level, "I understand this is difficult, but we need to ask you a few questions."
Yassy nodded mutely, her throat too constricted to form words.
The officer's voice softened slightly. "Kam is currently being detained in connection with a shooting that occurred last night. Do you remember what time he came back last night?”
The words hit Yassy like a physical blow. A shooting? Kam? The two concepts refused to align in her mind. She shook her head, struggling to find her voice. "N-no," she finally managed to croak out. "That's impossible…”
As the initial shock began to ebb, Yassy noticed a glint in the officer's eyes. His posture had shifted subtly, leaning in closer as if trying to catch every nuance of her reaction. She suddenly felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with her disheveled appearance.
"Are you sure?" the officer pressed, his tone deceptively casual. "Did he come into the apartment and hang around a bit? Came straight to the bed? Was anyone else here?”
Yassy's mind raced, replaying every conversation, every text message from the past few days. Had there been any signs? Any hints of trouble she'd missed? The officer's gaze bore into her, patient yet relentless, waiting for her to crack open and spill her secrets.
With a jolt, Yassy realized the true nature of this interaction. They weren't just informing her – they were fishing for information, hoping her shock and confusion would loosen her tongue. She clamped her mouth shut, shaking her head more firmly this time.
"I don't know anything," she insisted, her voice stronger now despite the tremor that still ran through her body. "I want to talk to Kam. I need to see him."
The officer's expression hardened almost imperceptibly. "That won't be possible right now," he said, rising to his feet. "We'll be in touch if we have any more questions. Don't leave town."
…
Mark burst through the doors of the police station, his suit perfectly tailored despite the occasion and hurried morning since receiving the news from Yassy.
"I'm here to see Kamaldeen Seidu-Harris," he announced, his voice echoing in the near-empty lobby. The smell of stale coffee and disinfectant hung in the air, making his stomach churn.
The desk sergeant, a heavyset woman with graying hair pulled back in a severe bun, peered at him over the rim of her glasses. "And you are?" she drawled, her pen poised over a clipboard.
"Mark Holloway. I'm his..." Mark hesitated, the word 'agent' suddenly feeling inadequate. "I'm family," he finished firmly.
The sergeant's eyes narrowed slightly, but she began typing into her computer. The click-clack of keys filled the tense silence. Mark's gaze darted around the room, taking in the faded posters about crime prevention and the dusty plastic plants in the corners. His fingers drummed an anxious rhythm on the counter.
After what felt like an eternity, the sergeant looked up. "I'm sorry, but Mr. Seidu-Harris is currently being processed into county jail. He won't be able to have any visitors until that's completed."
Mark's heart sank. "How long will that take?" he asked, leaning forward as if he could will the answer to change through sheer proximity.
"Probably tomorrow," the sergeant replied with a shrug.
Mark ran a hand through his hair, frustration building in his chest. "There has to be something you can tell me. What are the charges? When will he go before a judge?"
The sergeant's expression softened slightly. "Look, I understand you're worried. But right now, all I can tell you is that he's being held in connection with a shooting. Once he's processed, you can arrange a visit through the county jail."
Mark's mind raced, searching for any angle he could use to gain access to Kam. Suddenly, an idea struck him. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
"Listen," he began, "I don't think you understand who Kam is. He's not just some kid off the street. He's Kamaldeen Seidu-Harris, he plays for Kentucky."
The sergeant chuckled, “Trust me, we know who he is. He’s been in our drunk tank before.”
"Look, I'm not asking for special treatment here, but we need to think about his safety," Mark let the implication hang in the air. "All I'm asking is that you put in a request to have him segregated. For his own protection."
"Everyone gets treated the same here," she said firmly. "Famous or not. I won't even put that request through. Mr. Seidu-Harris will go through intake like anyone else, and the corrections officers will determine his housing based on standard procedure."
Mark's shoulders slumped in defeat. He could feel the eyes of the few other people in the lobby on him, curious glances darting his way at the mention of Kam's name. The weight of the situation pressed down on him, suffocating in its intensity.
"Is there anything else I can help you with?" the sergeant asked, her tone making it clear the conversation was over.
Mark shook his head, stepping back from the counter. "No," he said quietly. "Thank you for your time."
He turned and walked out of the station, each step feeling heavier than the last. Cars rushed by, people hurried along the sidewalk, all oblivious to the storm brewing inside him.
Mark leaned against the rough brick wall of the station, trying to steady his breathing. He pulled out his phone, staring at the screen for a long moment before dialing a number he'd hoped he'd never have to use.
"Hey bud," he said when the call connected. "I need Cole down here by tomorrow morning. We've got a situation with Kam, and it's bad. Real bad."
Last edited by Soapy on 24 Sep 2024, 21:22, edited 1 time in total.
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 4997
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
When it rains, it muh'fuckin pours