Letter 21 - Kelly Davis

This is the twenty-first story of the book.

My name is Kelly Davis. I am a thirty-two-year-old Caucasian woman from Tulsa, Oklahoma. I lived there in a white condominium on East Fourth Place in Northside with my Caucasian husband Cameron Davis. Both of us worked for the city as police officers. We took our jobs very seriously. With that, I always viewed myself as a higher power over the citizens of Tulsa. It all began when I was growing up with my father in Midtown Tulsa on East Twenty-First Street. My mother died when I was about five years old. Every day I would always hear my father, Daniel Crowder, say, “Kelly do not you ever trust those monkeys. They will do nothing but break you down like a tower.” As I grew, I would always ask myself who or what was my dad referring to as “monkeys”. That question remained in my mind until one fateful day. Dad and I were eating at a restaurant on South Mingo Road to celebrate my fourteenth birthday. I smiled brightly as I ate my dinner and happily looked forward to another year of life. All that joy came to a halt as I heard my father bang on the table as hard as he could. “What the hell is this?” Dad said. “Um...sir. That is your bill for the meal.” The waiter said. “I do not mean the bill. Why is a monkey like you giving me this bill?” Dad said. “Sir, I kindly ask that you lose the racist behavior in this restaurant.” the waiter said. It did not take long for the conversation to turn into a dispute that dad started. In that moment, I began to understand who my father was referring to as a monkey since both the waiter and the manager who made both of us wash dishes were both African American men. In that moment, while washing plates, I again heard my father say, “Don't trust those monkeys.” I allowed that night to pester my mentality even after I became an adult. It was as if I submitted to my father's racism like a slave.
           The distrust of African American people fueled my wish of wanting to see them suffer. Not long after I graduated from the police academy at the age of twenty-four, I married Cameron who shared hatred to Black people as me. Fortunately for us, we achieved jobs as police officers in the city of Tulsa. Deep down in our hearts, we longed for the chance to destroy African American people. For the past seven years as a police officer, I managed to set many people of color up. Every time I did a traffic stop, I sneakily planted either my spare handgun or a bag of cocaine I stole from the evidence locker. Doing either of those actions gave me the chance to arrest my suspects. Every time I transported my suspects to the station and into lockup, I would smile knowing that I got away with my unjust arrests. It was as if I was replaying a scene from a movie that seemed humorous to me in my mind every time I got away with my unjust arrests. Cameron, on the other hand, committed his racist assaults in a different manner. In a form of a coincidence, I was assigned as Cameron's partner. I took the reassignment as the perfect opportunity of spending quality time with my husband. We looked forward working together to bringing people of color into a living Hell. We failed to understand what we were setting ourselves up for.
            One Spring Day, while we were both enjoying our break at the local mall on East Twenty-First Street, we noticed a lone African American woman with braids and wearing a dress going into her car as she walked out of one of the many stores. We recognized the woman. “Say honey, isn't that monkey the wife of the thug we arrested the other night for drugs?” I spoke. “Yeah, she is. Why don't we go teach her a lesson?” Cameron said. “Yeah, let's get that monkey.” I spoke. “Yeah.” said Cameron with complete confidence and malice. And with that, we waited in our car to watch the woman get in her car to drive off. When it was time to make our move, we started our car and drove off to follow her. For an entire hour, we ignored performing our regular duties and followed the woman everywhere she went. We followed her all the way till nighttime. We hated the fact that the woman was not doing anything incriminating. We scoffed at the sight of the woman minding her own business by talking on her phone while parked and visiting friends and relatives. “Why isn't this monkey buying drugs?” I said with an infuriated glare. “She’s really making me mad with the sight of her supposed goodness.” Cameron said as he clenched the steering wheel of the car. “Yeah. She is evil. I know it.” I spoke. “That's it. I am going to punish her. I do not care about laws.” Cameron said as he turned the siren on making the woman pull over and stop at Interstate Two Hundred and Forty-Four. “You wait here.” Cameron said as he stopped right behind the target's vehicle. “I will dear.” Kelly said. And with that, Cameron stepped out of the police car and walked right over to the intended suspect. I sat in the passenger seat of the police car in excitement of what was about to unfold in front of my very own eyes. It was as if I sat in the living room back home and began watching a suspenseful television show or a movie. I could not close my mouth due to the surprise at the sight of Cameron grabbing onto the woman right through the window of her car making her fall to the ground. I smiled at the suffering my husband was causing her. I never knew that he had it in him to harm that woman. When the scene was all over Cameron returned to the car. “Didn't expect that did you?” Cameron said as he zipped his pants. “No honey. You were amazing. You showed that monkey whose boss.” I spoke. “Yeah, but I want you to swear that you won't tell anyone of what you saw tonight.” Cameron said. “I swear. Cross my heart and hope to die a horrible death.” I spoke. “Good.” Cameron said giving me an evil smile.
            Seven years have passed since that dreadful night of the attack of the young Black woman. We continued our destructive way of life as police officers. It was as if we allowed every physical aspect of our job to have everything with who we are as people. One side I continued to plant guns and drugs on Black people while Cameron continued to beat and rape Black women. We looked at as living like a dynamic duo. Because we felt like we could not be stopped, we continued with our unjust attacks.
            One mild stormy night, all of Cameron's criminal activity came to a halt when another patrolling officer spotted us on Interstate Two Hundred and Forty-Four. “Hey. What are you doing?” said the African American officer. “I'm punishing a monkey for driving while black.” Cameron said. The patrolling officer, angry as he was, pulled out his radio and contacted for backup. I sat in the passenger side of our vehicle watching everything, feeling trapped and not knowing what to do. I had no other choice but to step out of the vehicle and face the consequences of what was coming to me. The patrolling officer gasped feeling angrier at the sight of me. “You were watching this, and you didn't do anything?!!” the officer said. “Yeah. So what?” I spoke. “I am turning both of you in. You both are in serious trouble. Both of you are a disgrace to the Tulsa Police Department. I have all the proof I need on my body cam. Both of you will get what you deserve.” the officer said. It did not take long for more police cars to show up to the scene. When they got to the highway, we were both taken away into custody but placed into separate vehicles.         
            For the next week, I spent it in a holding cell at the jail on West Archer Street. Every day all I could think about was how my life was going to be as I lay on a cot sitting by the wall. At the end of that week, while lying on the cot, the chief visited me. “Kelly Davis.” The chief said. I got up quickly and said in a smile, “Oh hello Chief Roberts. How are you?” “I am not doing so good. The reason is regarding you.” said Chief Robets. “What are you talking about?” I spoke. “You should know.” said Chief Roberts. “I should know what?” I spoke. “Don't lie to me. It is one thing I cannot stand. Someone showed me video surveillance footage of you stealing from the evidence locker. I believe what you stole were drugs.” said Chief Roberts. The moment I heard those words from my boss I felt extremely nervous. I never knew that seven years of committing unjust arrests would ever come back to me. “Yes. It was me.” I spoke. “And then we checked all the gun arrests you did too. Each time we checked the gun it had your serial number on it. Why is that?” said Chief Roberts. “I was responsible for that too. That was my gun.” I spoke. “Thank you for telling me the truth. I have dealt with crooked police officers for many years, but you must be the sneakiest one I have ever met. You and your husband are fired. Just so you know you both have summons to appear in court.” said Chief Roberts as he handed me a file of court papers and left. And there, I stood motionless, jobless, and alone in a damp musty jail cell. The sad moment for me led me to begin facing the battle of frustration within myself. Losing my position as a police officer was as if I lost a piece of myself.
             When the time of being in holding ended, Cameron and I both appeared in court at the courthouse on East Eleventh Street. Being in court was an experience I wanted to forget. The entire jury was filled with people who looked furious at the mentioning of our cases. The court room also had seats filled with friends and family members of each one of their victims including the first woman who Cameron raped seven years prior to our arrests. I could not keep my face off my husband as I watched him cry his eyes out because deep down, I knew that my dreadful life of racial tension was over. Within seconds, one of the jury members stood up and said, “We the jury found both Cameron and Kelly Davis. Guilty!!” “No!!” Cameron said. One of the women in the crowd yelled out, “Don't cry now. You were not crying when you were raping helpless women!” In that very moment, the bailiff took both Cameron and I away. It was as if we were cast away into a lake of fire. Immediately, we were transported to prison. Even in prison, I hoped that my cell mates were not black. Unfortunately for me, my wish wasn’t granted. Standing in the cell were all Black women. Within my cell were half a dozen bunks. There were only two toilets we had to share. Every day in prison I had to fight to avoid beatings by other inmates due to being recognized by those I put in there for nothing.