Coming Soon -- "Part II: Eye for an Eye"

METRO: "Metro Athens 911, what is your location?"
CALL0411152241: "Po-lice's been shot. In Pauldoe. He shot bad."
CALL0411152241 DISCONNECTED 2241
METRO: "Sir, you need to tell me exactly where the officer's been shot! Sir? Sir?!"

METRO: "Any units in the area and all units available to respond... Report of shots fired, officer down, 181 Pauldoe Circle..."

METRO: "All units, now receiving multiple calls about shots fired, officer down..."

- Excerpt from Metropolitan Athens Police Department radio transmissions


Master Patrol Officer Dan Harvey later would not be able to remember anything about the frantic drive to Pauldoe. Although the dispatcher had sounded in a state of calm disbelief as she had given out the call, the very words themselves caused all who heard them to flinch violently. Throughout Athens, points of blue light appeared and began to converge on Pauldoe.

Harvey's and twelve other Metro Police cars roared onto Pauldoe Street, a screaming and wailing swarm of black streaks and blue lights, their sirens shrieking in unison.

For the officers, as they saw the body of one of their own, crumpled in the street, the sirens meant only one thing...

Vengeance was coming.

Part I: Into the Breach

"Gator boots, with the pimped out Gucci suit
Ain't got no job, but I stay sharp
Can't pay my rent, cause all my money's spent
But that's OK, 'cause I'm still fly

Got a quarter tank of gas in my new E-class
But that's all right, cause I'm gon' ride
Got everything in my mama's name
But I'm hood rich, da daaa daaa daaaa..."

- The Unknown Ghetto "Poet"


A cold, hard rain fell from the night sky onto shabby, poorly-shingled roofs. The roofs, built by the finest construction available from the lowest bidder, stood atop small, rectangular, rather unremarkable brick structures, which lined both sides of the street. This particular street was unlike most others: it wound through a veritable armpit of society. Jack R. Wells Homes, named for some long-dead Athenian philanthropist, was the name of this armpit in particular, one of the flagship sanctuaries of the socioeconomically depressed so romaticized by contemporary urban American youth. To most people, a place such as this would be called a project, the ghetto, or simply, the 'hood.

On this cold November night, the steady rain kept almost everyone indoors. Not a single person could be seen loitering under the shelter afforded by the neighbors' porches, a common pastime, be it day or night, rain or shine. Even the crackheads, the human zombies that wandered aimlessly back and forth, between their favorite crack holes and the dealers which provided them with their only reason to live out their pathetic, wretched existence, had taken refuge from the weather. All throughout Pauldoe an eerie calm had descended, a calm which rarely existed otherwise.

A dark shadow interrupted the eerie, deserted scene: a Metropolitan Athens Police Department cruiser, which glided down Pauldoe Street, slowly and silently, lights out. As the black car crept along, deeper into the heart of Pauldoe, a shrill voice cried out from nowhere, a warning to all: "Twelve! Twelve!" Here and there, shadows moved within shadows, some moving to stay out of sight, others to see better what was about to unfold.

The rain wasn't the only reason why most chose to stay inside. It was rumored that P-Hood, a gang that essentially ran Pauldoe, had declared war on the police after one of its members had his arm broken by a Metro cop during a struggle. A few days afterward, a hit list appeared in a parking lot, spray-painted on the asphalt, where Metro officers routinely parked. Most of the officers scoffed and laughed about it with their buddies. A few officers had started to drive past Pauldoe during their regular patrols, going in only to answer calls there, and always with others. The more aggressive officers made their presence known on the streets of Pauldoe, finding any reason to arrest anyone wearing the gang's blue and black colors. A few officers had even spray-painted a hit list of "Pussy-Hood" members in mockery, enraging the gang further.

Officer Jason Green didn't hear the warning shouted by the lookout as he rolled slowly down Pauldoe Street. He had been dispatched to Pauldoe because of a report of loud persons in front of one of the apartments on Pauldoe Circle, in the backside of the complex. He thought nothing of the call, believing that no one would be standing outside in the rain. The caller who had made the report knew that only one officer would probably respond. It was close to the end of the shift, and Green's mind was preoccupied with what he would be doing after work.

As Officer Green turned onto Pauldoe Circle, he noticed that almost all of the streetlights were out. He could barely make out the street ahead of him in the falling rain, and couldn't make out at all the figure standing in between two parked cars at the side of the roadway. Green turned his headlights on, and slammed on his brakes. He saw the blue and black clad figure now, standing thirty feet away from the car, but his mind was slow to recognize what the figure was doing.

The last conscious thought that entered Green's mind was, Oh, shit!, at about the same time the muzzle of the shotgun pointed at him by the figure turned into a bright flash of light.

Coming 11.30.04, Part II: Eye for an Eye...

Coming Soon...

It's coming...

"Incredible... The only thing better is to actually live there..."
-Kirkus Book Reviews

"This is more than just a story about the ghetto... It's an epic..."
-The New York Times

Over the next several months, follow the lives of the residents of the Jack R. Wells Homes, and the police officers who are dedicated to making their little, dirty corner of the world a better place to live... Sit on the porch all day with them, collect disability checks with them, run from the police with them...

The story is coming.

Pauldoe.

The saga begins, 10.30.04...