America 1982-Chapter 270 - 7: Boss, You Are a Friend of the Black People_2

Tommy patted Rick on the shoulder, "Focus on your work, leave the troubles to me."

After speaking, he looked at the others, "Focus on your work, everyone, it’s all good now."

With the files of three women in his hand, Tommy turned and walked out of the studio; his bodyguard, George, who had been waiting at a distance, immediately stood up and came over. Tommy slightly raised his head to look at the burly figure, "Tell Mr. Page to wait for me at my house, I need him to work overtime."

"Right away, Mr. Hawk," George responded to Tommy’s request, promptly picked up the phone, and dialed Page’s number.

...

Beverly Hills.

Tommy turned on the television and, while watching CBS’s talk show, said to Sophia beside him:

"Before Delia finds a suitable Black lawyer, have that law firm run by an alumnus of the Stanford White Shoe Society contact these three Black women, and let them know that BT Television takes incidents of employee harassment very seriously. The harasser has been suspended, and the company has already begun an internal investigation—all that bullshit. In short, see if sincerity can move these women and discourage them from making trouble. If mere sincerity lacks appeal, have the lawyers negotiate with them over the price. Basically, delay things and make them believe that we care about their feelings and are working on a compensation plan. Just don’t let them blow this up."

"Delay?" After listening to Tommy, Sophia asked, "You don’t really want to settle with them?"

"This is fucking extortion. A white person merely touching a Black person’s cheek is harassment? Blacks have become so damn precious these years. A hundred years ago, after chopping off their hands and feet, they would still thank the white masters for their kindness, for sparing their lives," Tommy cursed:

"The files on these three women show they’ve worked in other small TV stations before, like experienced whores who think our station is a greenhorn, caring about reputation, so they’re trying their luck. The price isn’t too high, but it’s not low, either. It’s like when a cavity has bored a tiny hole in my tooth—it won’t make me hurt so bad I’d want to die, but when I try to completely ignore it, it still reminds me with an annoying achiness of its existence."

Mr. Page, dressed in a smoky grey jacket, was led into the living room by a servant, "Mr. Hawk, George said you wanted to see me."

"Correct, Mr. Page. Dorothy, get Mr. Page something to drink," Tommy then looked at Sophia after addressing Page, "Go on, do as I said, and delay things with the lawyers."

Sophia stood up and left, and Tommy beckoned Page to sit down, smiling at the seemingly harmless old fellow.

This harmless-looking old man had, back in 1978, gunned down seven Black people; four of them, even after dropping their weapons and raising their hands, were still shot in the head by him in broad daylight in the Black community.

Of course, he didn’t just randomly kill Black people; his victims were members and suspected members of the Black Pioneer Union.

The Black Pioneer Union, Black Liberation Army, and New Afrikan Republic—splinter groups from the Black Panther Party—were radical African American paramilitary organizations in the United States that committed numerous illegal activities in the name of so-called Black awakening. These included armed robberies to free Black prisoners, shootings at police stations, slaughtering drug dealers to loot money, and manufacturing explosions, among others.

In ’78, the Long Beach Police Department received a bomb package. The police chief, Lotte Page, was lucky not to be blown to smithereens, but his partner was obliterated.

After the Black Pioneer Union proudly claimed responsibility for the act, Page took his officers to a Black community in North Long Beach, where he knew some Black Pioneer Union members resided. He told the police department he was going for an investigation, but in truth, he had no intention of investigating; he only wanted to kill those who had bombed his partner to death.

Then there were two Black teenagers in that community, under the age of eighteen, and a Black woman who, thinking the white man had lost his nerve, openly jeered at the arriving officers, saying the white police deserved to be bombed. Page didn’t hesitate—the three Blacks, under the pretext of threatening the police, obstructing the investigation, suspected weapon possession, and suspected Black Pioneer Union membership, were cleanly shot dead by him.

The four actual Black Pioneer Union members in the community, after being surrounded by the police, immediately dropped their weapons and raised their hands to surrender, thinking they would simply end up in jail. However, each of their heads also received a bullet courtesy of Page.

The lawyer’s defense in court was that the victims’ hands weren’t raised high enough; Page’s old age and failing eyesight meant he didn’t see clearly. Moreover, the tense atmosphere of the Black community he was in caused his finger muscles to cramp up involuntarily, leading to the firearm discharging accidentally and causing the tragedy.

In the end, the court was in uproar over the case, but as the Black Pioneer Union subsequently gunned down two more policemen in New York, the public sentiment shifted. All the deceased were defined as Black Pioneer Union members, and ultimately Page was determined by the court to suffer from serious mental illness due to years of intensive work, which led to a sentence of five years’ probation, six hundred hours of community service, and retirement from the police force.

After this incident, Page made a name for himself in the Black community. Before the court ruling was delivered, he would drive around the Black community in his police car as if nothing had happened, hoping to eliminate all the troublemaking "niggers" in his jurisdiction while he had the chance. Unfortunately, all the Blacks already knew that despite this white old man’s poor vision and inability to handle the intense work of a policeman, he could still accurately target and shoot a Black man’s forehead. If you didn’t want to be accidentally killed by his muscle cramp, the moment you saw him approaching, it was best to immediately raise your hands high and kneel on the ground.