BALTIMORE (AP) - Confidence in Baltimore's sworn protectors has badly deteriorated in recent years, but it may be hitting rock bottom after admissions corrupt police detectives on an out-of-control unit resold looted narcotics, conducted home invasions and falsified evidence.
With the city under a federal consent decree requiring expansive police reforms, recent courtroom revelations outlining an astounding range of abuses by rogue officers stretching back to 2008 is making it far tougher to convince people in this starkly divided city a shiny badge promises integrity.
The Gun Trace Task Force, described by federal prosecutors as a "perfect storm" of corruption, was a more chilling reality for some residents than any street gang. Earlier this week, a jury found two Baltimore detectives guilty of robbery and racketeering in an explosive federal investigation that's seen six disgraced law enforcers plead guilty.
"A lot of people were seriously traumatized by these cops," said Akai Alston, a 26-year-old youth outreach coordinator who has turned his life around after a grim adolescence dealing drugs and a conviction for accessory to murder.
Authorities said they're determined to mend fences in a city struggling with a corrosive mix of narcotics, illegal guns and despair rooted in generational poverty. But the attitudes of the many Baltimoreans who mistrust their law enforcers has only been reinforced by the scandal.
"It's only going to make it harder to build the kinds of coalitions for public safety that everybody knows Baltimore needs. It's going to make people suspicious of all officers - not just the bad ones - all of them," said David Harris, who researches police behavior as a professor at the University of Pittsburgh School of Law.
Many locals snort in derision when asked if they trust city police officers. A statehouse lawmaker this week even proposed dismantling the 165-year-old force and rebuilding it from scratch.
Acting Police Commissioner Darryl DeSousa said weeding out corrupt officers will be one of his top priorities, telling reporters "it sickens me to my stomach" to see what occurred with the elite gun unit.
DeSousa introduced plans for random integrity and polygraph testing and created a new anti-corruption unit, not only to probe the activities of the disbanded unit, but also that of a number of current officers and supervisors whose names came up in the corruption trial.
While rogue detectives admitted to lying for years to cover their tracks, it's an open question as to whether the force's command structure had enough integrity to expose them. In a city obsessed with crime statistics, they were praised for taking guns off the streets.
Yet there was no shortage of red flags that members were crooked.
One task force officer, Jemell Rayam, was suspended for two years after admitting to receiving money from an $11,000 theft by another officer. When his police powers were somehow reinstated in 2012, he was bumped up to the plainclothes gun unit.
Another ex-detective, Momodu Gondo, was shot multiple times outside his home in 2006, just two months out of the police academy. At the time, a commander told TV cameras the 23-year-old was a "very well-respected rookie," but Rayam told jurors Gondo was actually shot by fellow drug dealers. The two ex-detectives admitted to running interference for a heroin-trafficking ring including Gondo's childhood buddy.
From the stand in U.S. District Court, Gondo testified he robbed money for years, never sweating internal affairs.
"It was just part of the culture," he said.
Words and phrases by disgraced detectives used in federal court to describe illegal police tactics appear to have swiftly made their way into the local lexicon.
Ex-detective Maurice Ward testified the rogue unit carried out as many as 50 "door pops" a night - accelerating their unmarked vehicles at people hanging out on corners, slamming on the brakes, and chasing whoever fled.
They entered homes with no court approval in illegal "sneak and peeks." Motorists driving what the unit's leader, Sgt. Wayne Jenkins, termed as "dope boy cars" - mostly new model Hondas - were sought-after targets, often pulled over on false or flimsy pretexts.
"I wish somebody told me I was buying a 'dope boy car,'" construction worker Russell Anderson quipped as he hopped in a 2017 Honda Accord TLX outside a convenience store.