Cooperating Individual

A Gritty Crime Drama About Courage, Corruption, and Integrity

Growing up in San Francisco’s Tenderloin, Liberty Watson has always believed that her past doesn't have to determine her future. Despite being surrounded by crime, she dreams of becoming a police officer and making a difference in the community that raised her.

But when the police department rejects her because of where she comes from, Liberty finds herself recruited as an informant by a corrupt drug squad. Forced to choose between betraying her childhood friends and abandoning her dream, she takes a dangerous gamble: gathering evidence against both the crooked officers and the neighborhood’s criminal kingpin.

COOPERATING INDIVIDUAL is a gripping crime drama exploring police corruption, loyalty, prejudice, and the courage to stand up for what's right. As Liberty navigates a world where the line between law enforcement and organized crime has blurred, she must prove that integrity is defined by actions, not circumstances.

Discover Liberty Watson’s fight for justice in COOPERATING INDIVIDUAL, a compelling story of determination, redemption, and earning the right to wear the badge.

Excerpt from the book

It was just past four in the afternoon. The sun pressed weakly against a veil of high overcast. On the steps fronting the Garden Hotel, the Groves girls assisted each other with final costume adjustments.

They were half-sisters but shared no likeness. What they shared was a commitment to break into the entertainment industry. They lived for the day when a hip-hop promoter would cruise up Turk Street searching for backup dancers to complement the latest gangsta throb. Discovery, they were confident, was imminent.

For today’s performance, Shareen had chosen an orange unitard, heedless that her full figure, unmercifully cinched by a belt of royal blue, threatened the bounds of this synthetic.

Bonita, thin as a crack pipe, attempted to divert attention from her own inadequacies. In golden Capris, green camisole, and a bountiful headdress of neon weaves, she had created an inverted pyramid that successfully concealed the absence of credible breasts.

Shareen checked the traffic, searching for flashy cars. Bonita picked up a bottle of peach brandy that she had cleverly hidden in a paper sack. She took a long pull, and looked at Shareen to make sure she was in position. Then she stabbed the Play button on her boom box.

On cue the girls swayed their hips. After a comparatively soft intro, the music jumped to a blaring melody. Exactly in sync, the dancers faked kicks, ducked, and turned to face the oncoming vehicles. They moved naturally with the music which, judging from their half-closed eyes, touched their souls. The song spoke achingly of love and death, of bling and booty. The two were so enraptured by the music that they didn’t notice that they had gained an audience.

At the top of the steps, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed in critical appraisal, another young woman studied the performance. She wore the starched apricot jumper of a waitress, complete with white apron and a tag, which identified her by first name only: Liberty.

Her hair was corn-rowed, braided, and beaded in the style of Bonita. The difference was that hers was blond. And, not incidentally, Liberty Watson was white.

Her eyes were hard, as hard as might be expected of a young woman who was raised on this block. But this was only a reflection of her concentration. They softened as she bobbed her head in quarter-time to the song’s closing beats.

After the two finished their routine, they noticed Liberty and sought her approval.

“Whatcha think, Lib?” Bonita asked.

Liberty pursed her lips as she considered the question. She took a second to craft her response.

“You’re missing something here,” she pronounced.

“Don’t lie!”

“I’m not lying. It’s true.”

The girls looked worried.

“Whatta we missing?” Shareen demanded.

Liberty walked down the four steps to join Shareen. She was a head taller than her line partner, angular and pretty in a long-necked, gangly way. When stationary she had the awkward posture of a girl still growing comfortable with her height.