On black cops

Finally they went out to the showers, their pace quickening as soon as they left their heated home and ventured out into the unheated corridor. Their sandaled feet clopped loudly on the cold steel floor.
It was cold enough to take Buck’s breath away, the exhilaration waking him up like the opposite of a hot cup of coffee. It felt good, his chest literally steaming because he had been so hot on the other side of their makeshift blanket wall and now the air out in the corridor was around the freezing point. Pinpoints of ice prickled the tips of his chest hair. He wore only his briefs and his shower sandals, so his skin ruddened and tingled.
Lem hot-tailed it into the bathroom, and Buck arrived more slowly after. They were glad to see they had the whole space for themselves. Most roughnecks showered in little nationality groupings, and Buck and Lem were the only two Americans.
The rig shower looked trashy — it was trashy — because it was rarely cleaned. It smelled strongly of feet. A garbage can overflowing with soap boxes, shampoo bottles and abandoned underwear sat in one corner of the showering area.
But there was something cozy about it, Buck thought. It was warm and inviting, and it felt like a sauna in here. People had hung towels up, some of them apparently having been left for years because they were abandoned and never cleaned up — you could tell because there was algae growing on them. In a few places, there were cracks in the walls, filled with makeshift rags and remnants of old life preservers as insulation.
He immediately took off his sandals and briefs, and he sat on the bench in the center of the locker area. Lem undressed more slowly, as he continued a long story that had begun before they entered the corridor.
“So I tolds the cops that that nigga was my daddy, he ain’t sayin’ I took his car — I was r’trievin’ his car from them othuh nigguhs I don’t know,” Lem said. “And the white fellah, he says he believe me but he still gettin’ his taser out and shit, and he lookin’ at me like he ain’t believe me. The other po-liceman, he a nigga — he a redbone nigga, you know ’bout them right? He redbone as fuck, nigga, lookin’ like a crayon and shit.” He wasn’t even undressing anymore. Lem had gotten down to his drawers and shirt, but he didn’t want to take his shirt off because he would have to lift it over his head and that would break eye contact with Buck and interrupt his story. He paused with his shirt half up, baring his ropy chest. “He say outright he ain’t believe me. Black cops is the worst, lemme tell you-“
“Yeah,” Buck said. “Black cops is a buncha shitheads-” He hung his head and sighed because Lem was on a tear and not listening to him.
“I was like, you ain’t gotta tase a brother just cuz you ain’t call the man who reported his car missin’,” Lem said. “My pops’ll say I gots permissy-on to come get it. Them nigguhs who took it ain’t even try to stop me, on account of they know I’ll pop ’em off in a heartbeat.” He stopped suddenly because someone walked in.

From Buck the Roughneck