Archer
ARCHER
“ Y ou take the lead, Officer Clay.” I gesture toward Raymone Terrabone’s cracked and split front door. The aging wood and the flimsy handle partially dangling from its screws. Then I grin when the young officer’s eyes grow wide. “You found the connection, so now you get to follow it up. Terrabone publicly threatened our vics. He has a working relationship with players in the drugs and weapons community, so that places him fairly high on our list of maybes.”
“You don’t want to run this interview?” He gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing with nerves. “Mercer and Wright are your cases.”
“You gotta toughen up sometime, kid.” Fletch stands on Clay’s other side, brings his fist up, and bangs it against the door. “Now’s as good a time as any, don’t you think?”
“I mean…”
“Go away!” A deep, bellowing roar comes from the other side of the door. Raymone, probably. But it’s not until the rack of a shotgun echoes through that I grab Clay’s collar and yank him around until our backs hit the wall.
“Raymone Terrabone?” I snag my weapon and bring it up while on the other side of the walkway, Fletch does the same. “You need to come out here right now.”
“I don’t have to do shit!” He lets off a booming round, loud enough to make me jump. Powerful enough to blow a head-sized hole through the front door. “This is my home and I have a right to defend it!”
“The fuck you do.” I shove away from the wall and turn, lifting my leg and chambering my foot, then I slam my boot down on the rickety handle and bust the door wide open. But I’m no idiot, so I let my momentum swing me across to Fletch’s side, my back hitting stucco until I’m shielded again. “You shot at a police officer, Terrabone! So now I’m gonna have to arrest you. Set your weapon down and come out here with your hands up.”
“I didn’t do nothing!” He racks his long gun again and lets off a round that sends buckshot straight through the doorway and out to spray our cruiser with pellets that embed in the side. Minka’s gonna kill me when she finds out . “I know those other cops are dead now! I saw them on the news. But it’s got nothing to do with me!”
“I find it difficult to believe your innocence when you’re shooting at more cops, Dipshit.” I look at Clay and lift my chin. “Call it in. We need additional units over here now.”
“You don’t need additional anything! Cos I didn’t do shit all!” Terrabone drops his weapon, the loud clatter of heavy steel on the floor ricochets out to meet my ears. Then he screams, like a psycho fucking banshee, and sprints through his house the way rhinos ran through Alan Parrish’s home in Jumanji. Thundering footsteps and a screeching wail. He pumps his arms and comes closer, closer, closer. So I swing out, hammer-hand style, across the opening of the door and collect the poor fucker by the throat as he throws all his weight into the side of my fist.
His feet lift off the ground, sailing into the air, while his head goes backward, slamming to the floor with a crunch that hurts my teeth. But Clay tosses himself on Terrabone’s two-hundred and fifty pounds, flipping him and clapping cuffs onto his wrists in under a second.
I know. Because a second after that, I realize the prick is wearing his tighty-whities, grippy white socks, and nothing else.
“You have the right to remain silent,” Clay recites, sitting on the mound of Terrabone’s ass and panting to catch his breath. “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you.”
“You have the right to put some pants on.” Grumbling, Fletch steps around and studies my hand when I flex it. “Broken?”
“Nah.” I open my fingers wide, then close them again, and say nothing when pain rolls up into my shoulder injury. Because fuck, it still hurts a little bit. “Probably gonna be slapped for that when these reports are written up for Lieutenant Fabian. ”
Clay climbs off Terrabone and struggles to pull the mountainous man to his knees. “I saw reasonable force and a perp who was armed and firing. You stupid ass,” he growls at Terrabone. “Put your damn feet underneath you. If I let go, you’re gonna fall flat on your face.”
“ W hat do you mean he has an alibi?” I stalk the length of the observation room, while on the other side of the glass, Terrabone sits in a dull gray sweatpants and hoodie set we keep on hand for perps who come in with too few clothes. “He was shooting at us, Fletch!”
“I never said he was smart, nor that he’s innocent of all crimes. But he was in a holding cell during Mercer’s murder, and Wright’s too. He was intoxicated, belligerent, and primed for a fight every time officers came near, so they caged him up and gave him space to detox. He was released several hours after the second murder. This alibi is as solid as they come.”
“So his bullshit today was just for fun?”
He folds his arms and stares into the interview room at a crying Terrabone. “I mean… he shouted his innocence. He was technically telling the truth; we just didn’t believe him.”
“Probably shouldn’t shoot at cops then.” I exhale a heady breath and shake my head. “We’ll book him for his shit today. Let a judge deal with him. But we have to get back to our war room and cross his name off. Guess he’s not our guy.”
“Guess not.” Frustrated, he drops his arms and turns from the glass. “Back to the drawing board.”
M inka sends her rock text at two o’clock, my time, which is five for her. So I step out of the squad room in search of a little privacy, and instead of texting her back, I choose to hear her voice instead.
Hitting dial, I move toward the smaller war room and step across the threshold, closing the door at my back, but I open the blinds and pull up a seat so I can watch the goings on of the homicide division bullpen.
“Hang on a second, .” Minka answers on the move. Rustling clothes, echoing footsteps, and the soft chatter of professional people in polite places coalesce to create a picture in my mind. “Thanks,” she murmurs to someone else. “Back to the house, please.”
“Look at you, being a boss babe and ordering your driver around like that.” I slouch in my chair and release a groan that began somewhere in the depths of my soul. “Mrs. Malone is a title that suits you.”
“I might be the reason a brand-new investigation is opened and the Feds focus on Felix,” finally, she brings her attention back to me, exhaling and shuffling so I see her, mentally, fixing her seat belt and setting her bag on the chair at her side. “The FBI may call me in as a witness.”
“Yeah?” Grinning, I roll my shoulder and allow my old wound to move. Stretch. Warm. “What did you do? Has he hired someone to kill you yet?”
“I was on the phone to Aubree, so naturally, dead bodies were the topic at hand.”
“Naturally.”
“We were talking work. But I also mentioned Felix Malone and something about being in his home against my wishes.”
A cathartic chuckle works along my throat. “Oops.”
“Now, obviously, those dead bodies aren’t because of him, but these people in the sandwich store didn’t know that. I’m certain statements have already been made and a grand trial is being assembled. I haven’t told him the bad news yet, but I figure that’s something he can work out with Micah. Do you think he’ll have me killed?”
“Nah.” I rest my ankle on the opposite knee and stare across the bullpen, spying the boardroom and studying each cop who walks through. Some in uniform, some not. Some happily chatter, while others are more focused. “Felix kinda has this thing for you, Minnnka. He loves Christabelle, of course. And she’s who he devotes his life to. But you came first, and he’s a loyal man. He’ll never truly let go of what he feels for you. So you don’t have to worry about being whacked, but if the Feds tap your shoulder and ask for a statement…”
“I’ll be sure to cooperate,” she teases. “Might even sign my statement with one of Aubree’s cute glittery pens. How’s your investigation coming along?”
“Well…” Tear the Band-Aid off, Dickhead. “Kinda got shot at today. ”
“What?” Predictably, she explodes. “Are you serious, ? Who the hell shot at you? Are you in the hospital?”
My phone vibrates, Felix’s name demanding I take his call. Though he knows I won’t hang up on Minka, so he hangs up just as quickly and texts instead. You were shot at today ?
“For fuck’s sake. Is Felix in the car with you right now?”
“No! Harrison is. Did you get hit?”
“Who is Harrison? And why is he a snitch for Lix?”
“He’s my security detail. Not a very smart one, considering I almost slit his throat today. Did you get hit, ? Does that mean you caught your perp, your case is closed, and you’re coming to New York?” Then she gasps, soft and small and entirely too girly for her. “You weren’t hit! Which is why you’ve called me. If you were, you’d be in the hospital and Fletch would have made the call. That means you can be here by around midnight? I’ll wait up for you.”
“I wasn’t hit,” I sigh, dropping my gaze and smiling. “I wouldn’t tell you if I was: you’re right, I would have made Fletch do it. I didn’t catch my perp, though. This dude today was strange and impulsive, but he’s not our guy. What was that thing about you slitting a dude’s throat? I wanna focus on that for a sec.”
“He was following me. I didn’t know who he was or what he wanted, so I led him into an alleyway, grabbed my blade, and demanded answers.”
“Of course you did!” No longer lax, I shove up from my chair and push it back under the table. “Minka! He could have been your worst fuckin’ enemy, and you led him somewhere secluded on purpose? You’re not as strong as you think you are!”
“Says you. I dealt with my situation, chewed out your brothers, and now here I am?—”
“Still with your security detail,” I groan. “Minnnnka. You didn’t deal with shit. You got noisy, put yourself in a situation, and Felix still got his own way. I don’t think you understand just how powerful he is over there. To you, he’s annoying, but to New York, he’s second only to Cordoza. That’s not something you play with.”
“Sure. If you want to fanboy for him, I suppose. Did you get shot today?”
“Shot at ,” I clarify. “But nothing got me. The guy isn’t our guy, so we’re still looking. Oh, and Aubs thought she caught another D.B. for me, but he wasn’t connected.”
“Yeah, she told me that when I spoke to her earlier. No more dead cops is a good thing. It means it’s not an all-out exodus. This case is about Wright and Mercer, specifically. Not law enforcement, in general.”
“That’s where I’m leaning.” I turn at the sound of shuffling feet in the bullpen. Narrowing my eyes at the—Minka’s words: mass exodus—from the boardroom. Then I stalk toward the door and yank it open, staring at Fletch when he emerges on the other side, his eyes wild.
“?”
“Hang on, Mayet.” My heart thunders, pounding against my diaphragm. Because I think we just jinxed things. “What?” I call out. “What’s the problem?”
“We got another one.” He takes off to follow the team. “We gotta go!”
“Fuck. I have to go.” I skitter out of the war room and sprint across the bullpen, skimming past desks and avoiding a collision with an officer carrying a pile of boxes, four boxes tall. “Minka! I have to go. But I’ll call you later.” I don’t wait for her response before tearing the phone from my ear and dropping my head so I can run faster. I catch up with Fletch on the escalators. “What?”
“Cop,” he growls. “One of ours. But uniforms on scene say it’s a few hours old. The flies have already started on his eyes.”
“Fuck!”