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Nikki Armstrong-Auntie Nikki’s Got this

Nikki was three months away from completing another roller coaster ride of a year fighting crime and working hard to change lives for the better. She was tired, mainly bsecause of having to deal with the bureaucratic bullshit that came with her commitment to the cause of making life better, whenever, and however, she could.

Nikki had long since abandoned the illusion that anyone above, or for that matter, equal to her in rank appreciated her efforts. She wasn’t saying that she was the only one who gets it; no, it was far from that. What she was saying is that most see this as a job.

An even smaller percentage see it as a profession, while she, herself, embraced it all as a calling—a quest to be the best. One of the first things she learned after taking on this quest was, she had to accept that it never has been and never will be about gratitude or thanks. If that was what she was looking for, she should be ashamed of herself and move on to something else. Maybe becoming proficient at saying, “You want fries with that?”

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Nikki Armstrong-Rank is sometimes Just a Smell

After graduating ROTC, Nikki spent three successful years as a naval officer before resigning her commission to, at long last, continue her goal of taking up a career in law enforcement.

Nikki was a few days away from graduating from the police academy. Through arduous work, her naval training, perseverance, and the skills poured into her by Papa and Mama Armstrong, Nikki was number two in her class academically. She was number one in physical training and marksmanship, due in large part to her military training. Nikki was number one in defensive tactics, in which she had relentlessly trained since she was fifteen, at the feet of the Old-Man and the Professor.

The young gladiator had never been bested in battle. She had developed a practice of staying late after physical training to work on her skills that hadn’t been kept as sharp as she would have liked, as she went through the limited training program offered at 29 the academy. Nikki also took the opportunity to get some extra time on the treadmill and exercise bike. That was for no other reason than her addiction to running.

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Nikki Armstrong-Let the Music Play

This was Mayday’s fifth trip to Nassau. Up until this morning, there was no place on earth he would rather be. Hell, even his dreams back home were filled with lazy days looking forward to a return trip to the Bahamas and the success he was certain was coming for his son and daughter in the music industry.

As the next page of life turned to start this new day, his life changed in a way he never thought possible.

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Nikki Armstrong-Handle with Care

Today, BB needed to push the memories of 911 aside and get ready for a new day, with a new addition to the CARE ensemble. A new piece of the CARE package which BB unflinchingly believed could take his vision to a new level, which was the joining of Nikki Evelyn Armstrong to the crew.

BB knew precisely how Nikki felt when she decided to toss her badge and end an important stage of her life’s calling. It was ten years ago to the day in which BB too had a Nikki experience, depositing his gun and badge into the East River. 

It was ten years ago to the day in which BB too had a Nikki experience, depositing his gun and badge into the East River. With the jettisoning of that weight, BB came to the realization one man could make a difference, and that man would be him, Butch B. Brennan, BB to his close friends. For the record, few called him triple-B. Nikki came through the doors at CARE (Corporate Alliance to Restore Equality), intent on making a difference, intent on meeting all challenges, intent on continuing to pursue her life’s calling.

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Nikki Armstrong-Measure of a Woman

Detective Nikki Evelyn Armstrong, a stunning young African American, kickass decorated member of the United States Navy and the New York City Police Department, stood at the site of the freshly dug grave surrounded by its moist piles of dirt. From where she stood, Nikki could see all the acreage known as the Canarsie Cemetery.

The cemetery was a City-owned burial ground, which ran along Remsen Avenue in Brooklyn, New York, just a few blocks south of Canarsie Park, once a part of the famed hunting ground of the Canarsie Indians, and about two miles from the Belt Parkway, the handy escape route for many Canarsie residents needing to just get away for a while.

Nikki began to shed a tear as her finely manicured, slender fingers stroked the oversized wooden casket sprinkled with knotholes, splinters, and other imperfections that housed the small body of Kamari Prescott. A young boy who seemed to love life despite its harsh realities.

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Kamari had been befriended by abuse far too often in his battered young life and visited by death much too early than what Nikki believed the good Lord intended. As she stood at the grave, she questioned the wisdom of God’s gift of free will.

It saddened Nikki deeply that she and the gravediggers were the only ones in attendance for the Home Going Service of a little boy whose life had been painfully, with no mercy, taken by his uncaring bitch of a mother. The reality of this setting renewed Nikki’s rage over the entire heartless chain of events. As she stood wondering if there was more, she could have done; or should have done, she began to ponder the injustice of it all.

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