Archer
ARCHER
I slide out of the car and slip the phone into my pocket, then I glance up at my newest crime scene. My own fucking apartment building and the little old man, Steve, our landlord, who makes his statement to a couple of uniforms.
“Everything alright?” Fletch wanders across, his face illuminated by the swirling red and blue lights and his jaw tight: a threat against those he loves is a threat against him. “Mayet okay?”
“She’s fine. Just wanted to talk work for a minute.” I look toward our building, the brick wall unscathed, but glass scattered on the sidewalk outside.
That glass used to be our living room window.
“Anyone see our guy yet?”
“Nope. He was either aware of the CCTV placement along this street, or he was especially lucky. You knew he’d hit your place after last night’s stunt?”
“I knew the risk existed, just as that same risk existed at your place. I hedged my bets and swept everyone up, just in case.” I fold my arms and try to puzzle our perp out. Why, specifically, did he target my home? “It’s the same guy, Fletch, but his M.O. was way off. He wasn’t aiming for me. It’s more like he was warning us to back the fuck up.”
“Kinda implies you touched a little close to home on that statement last night.” He draws a long breath and casts his eyes out at the crowd of uniforms and crime scene techs who surround the street. “We’re sure it’s a cop?”
“Yeah.” I drop my hands into my pockets and glance down at my boots. “It’s a cop. But he doesn’t kill for the sake of killing. He wanted Mercer, Wright, and Haightman down. Which means we need to put Taylor up for safekeeping. He’s the last one standing.”
“We’ll tuck him away at the station until we tie this up. Our killer is someone we work with. Directly.”
“Yup.” I look up and scowl when the media vans roll closer, their cameras flashing from the other side of the bollards. They’ll plaster me and this building on the news less than three minutes from now.
If Felix is watching, he’ll recognize our street.
And if Minka sees…
“There are no dead bodies here,” finally, I bring my eyes over to Fletch, “I think it’s time we head back to the station and bring our squad up to date. There are gonna be hurt feelings and big talk after my statement last night.”
He turns on his heels with a scoff and moves toward the cruiser. We could walk, really. It’s a matter of blocks, but with a shooter on the loose and a certain grudge to settle, I think it’s best we choose expediency. “Call them in.” I snag the keys from my pocket, and my phone with them. “Please. Let’s see if our plan paid off.” Walking around to the driver’s side door, I scroll to my text chat and send a rock to Minka. To let her know I’m okay, even if she happens to see something on TV she won’t like. Then I send her a penguin and a diamond ring, too. Because I guess I’m feeling a little fucking needy right now. Finally, I lock my screen and slide into the driver’s seat. “We’ve gotta face the fire, so the sooner we do…”
“The sooner we get shot,” he grumbles. But at least he smiles and gets to work on his phone. “Oy. I should’ve gone into banking or some shit. Mia deserves a dad who works nine to five. And Sera likes those dudes in suits, I can tell.”
W e leave the car in the underground parking lot, locking it up and striding side by side toward the doors that lead into the belly of the precinct. And though I dig my hands into my pockets and drop my gaze, I keep my eyes moving. Sweeping left to right, simply to make sure no motherfucker gets the drop on us.
“What the fuck, Malone?”
Like we knew would happen, the moment we step inside the building, cops explode. They heckle and snarl. They’re angry, and shit, I can hardly blame them.
“You’re pointing fingers at one of our own now?”
“You’re blaming a cop for killing cops?” a third booms. “How fucked up in the head you gotta be to figure that out?”
“Move along,” Fletch rumbles, his shoulder brushing against mine as we walk. It’s not an accidental touch, but a warning. I’m close, and I’m gonna tackle you before you fight another cop inside the police precinct.
“Only the bastard son of a mafia don would have the balls to finger another cop for this.”
“Shit.” Fletch’s hands flail as he spins and attempts to grab me, but I swing around with lightning-fast reflexes, stopping only when my nose practically fucking touches that of the former narc squad, Detective Stohl.
We’ve always had beef; he was put on this earth to annoy me.
“You got something to say to me, Stool?” I shove him back when his rancid coffee breath smacks me in the face. Already, dozens of cops surround us. Some to stop an altercation. Most, simply, to watch it. “We haven’t talked in a while, Derrick. Yet you think you have something to say about my family?”
“If the shoe fits.” He looks up at me, an inch and a half shorter and at least half as many brain cells working for him. “It just strikes me as odd that you’ve been trusted to run a case surrounding dead cops when we know your father’s sordid history. And then it doesn’t surprise me you’re looking at other cops for it. Of all the killers in this city, you decide to point fingers in-house?”
“I follow the evidence.” I shove him back again, because he’s intent on being in my space while the rest of my squad files in. They run closer, to protect me, maybe. Or to watch me get what’s owed to me. “I’ve named no names. Pointed no fingers at a singular person. But you know our vics, don’t you, Stohl? Same division once upon a time. Same C.O. Same cases, even.”
“You’re accusing me ?” He roars and swings, balling his fist and slamming it down on my jaw until my lip damn near explodes and bells ring in my ears. Officer Clay jumps him, hugging Stohl’s arms to his chest and saving me a busted nose and a metric ton of paperwork. “You don’t come in here accusing me of killing a cop, you motherfucker!”
“You’re the one stepping up to me! I haven’t mentioned your name. Haven’t called you in to talk.” I bring my hand up and swipe the line of blood dribbling onto my chin. “Didn’t even invite you into my squad, because fuck knows you and I can’t work together.”
“Yeah, that would be pretty fucking awkward, seeing as how your daddy had mine shot. You know all about cop killers, don’t you?”
“I know all sorts of things.” I push him a third time, knocking Clay off balance and catching Fletch’s shoulder when he attempts to stand between us. “Don’t come at me unless you wanna hang, Stool . We can get a beer and really hash our shit out. But considering you’re a bigger fucking pussy than any other around here, I figure you lack the balls to sit down with me.”
“Sit down with a mafia brat?” He mock-scoffs, fixing his shirt and sneering up at me. “I know better than to associate with trash.”
“Let’s go.” Detective Taylor muscles between us, backing me up until Fletch gets a handle on my shoulders and holds me in place. Then he turns to his former squad member and points over his shoulder. “Go!”
“You hand your loyalty to a fucking traitor?”
“I hand my loyalty to the job! We have dead brothers, Stohl, apartments being shot up, and A.P. rounds out here scaring folks. Do the job, man! Save the drama for after we clock out.”
“Let’s go.” Fletch drags me around, almost lifting me off the ground when I’d rather plant my boot in Stohl’s weaselly face. My eyes burn daggers in the back of Taylor’s head, because he stands between me and a guy I should have dealt with a decade ago. “I said we’re moving!” He yanks me around and smacks the side of my jaw when I attempt to turn and stare over my shoulder. “You’re inside a police precinct, dipshit. Get it together before Lieutenant Fabian comes down to deal with you.”
“He’s just gonna call me out like that in front of the whole force?” Anger washes through my veins, pumping to the heavy staccato of my heartbeat. “Accusing my father of being a cop killer!”
“Your father was a cop killer.” He claps his hand to the back of my neck, steering me toward the escalators as Clay jogs to catch up. “You knew what you were doing when you made that statement last night.”
“He—”
“You knew he’d be on the ground floor, waiting to come at you! You did that, Arch, fully aware of the fat lip you were gonna get. So now you reap what you sow.” He leads me off the escalator and through the doorway of our war room. Not the large boardroom we’ve been working out of, but the smaller, more private room we prefer to be in. He shoves me toward the table and turns back to grab the door handle, but he doesn’t slam it shut until Clay dashes through, his eyes spinning with adrenaline and, maybe, a little too much excitement.
“He did it.” The moment the door shuts at his back, Clay presses his hands to his knees and practically pants. “He did exactly what you said he would!”
“A criminal knows how a criminal thinks, I suppose.” Rage still burns the tips of my nerves. Violence demands to be set free. But I push it all away and accept instead that our experiment worked. “I was born the son of a cop killer. He is a cop killer. I guess that makes us brothers in a way.”
“Makes you smarter than him,” Fletch argues. “Not family.” He studies my face and shakes his head. “Hurt?”
Remembering, I reach up again and swipe my swelling lip. “That asshole. It’s not gonna go down before Minka gets home. So now we’ve gotta watch her tear Stool a new asshole to shit out of.”
“Doctor Mayet scares me,” Clay murmurs quietly. Almost reverently. But when Fletch and I only stare in silence, the pressure in the room growing until it becomes a tangible thing, that’s when he realizes and his gaze snaps back up. “Um… respectfully, Sir.”
I choke out a laugh, finally releasing the tension that bubbles in my blood. “It’s okay, kid. She scares us all. Any decent person with common sense knows it. Anyone else is simply too stupid to know better. Get the squad into the boardroom for me, will you? It’s time we wrap this up.”
“Sure, Detective.” He grabs the door handle, twisting it blindly. But he doesn’t open it yet. He only stares.
“Is there something you wanna say?” I set my hands on my hips and ignore the throb of my fattening lip. “Swear to god, if you ask about my father, I’m gonna?—”
“No, Detective.” His eyes flick between mine, hesitant, and yet, entirely trusting. “I know about your father, Detective. I have no questions and figure, anything I don’t already know, you’ll tell me if you deem it important.”
“So, what’s the issue?” Fletch, being Fletch, steps in front of me. “You’re staring. It’s weird.”
“I just can’t believe that worked, is all. You had a hunch and nothing more. You have no proof, but you got our killer to admit what he’d done in front of the whole precinct. ”
“It’s not enough to get us over the line yet. Pull the footage from security. It becomes evidence now. But we need more than an accidental admission. We need proof.”
“Yes, Detective.” He steps forward, bringing the door with him, and lopes out without another word. Then the door swings shut, hitting the frame with a slam that leaves the wood vibrating.
“You’re lucky he didn’t shoot you dead.” Frustrated, Fletch spins on his heels and hits me with a glare that calls me stupid, even if his words don’t. “He’s out here killing cops with no fucking remorse. He’s using weapons no respectable citizen should have, which adds a certain immorality to his character. And there you go, stepping in front of the gun and hoping he doesn’t get you.”
“He won’t shoot me. No way.”
“You seem so fucking sure!”
“I am. It all comes back to Nathan Booth. It’s always gonna be Booth until we find who he works for. And we know whoever he works for wants to rule this city, which is why he wants the cops who know too much out of the way.”
“ You’re a cop who knows too much!”
“Yeah, but I’m a Malone first.” I tap his shoulder and cross to the door. “Blood comes first, remember? Booth won’t have me killed, because if he does, Felix returns and takes his city. Or worse… Tim does. If they do that, Booth and his boss are dead anyway. It’s a game.” I grab the handle and glance back. “Think of it like chess. He makes a move, then we make a move.”
“The king eventually has to fall,” he groans. But he follows me through the door and out to the bullpen as our squad files into the boardroom across the way. “You actually suck at chess. I think you forget we’ve played down at the park. You lose every fucking time.”
“It’s a shitty game,” I chuckle, accepting an ice pack from Detective Taylor when he stalls by the boardroom door. “Thanks, Detective. You put Stohl away nice and secure?”
“Yeah, he’s down with his L.T., answering questions about your blood being on his knuckles. That’s bound to keep him busy for the next little while.”
“Great.” I step into the boardroom and swallow when a dozen faces stare back at me. Not all are enraged, but the ones that are… “Okay. I know.” I press the ice pack to my jaw and continue toward the head of the table. “You ha ve twenty seconds to say what you’ve gotta say. Starting,” I look at the clock on the wall, “now.”
What the fuck, Detective?
What bullshit was that, Detective?
What the hell is going on?
I count them in my mind. The swears. The name calling. The questions. I take stock of who shouts, and who remains silent. I glance at Fletch and repress the grin that tries so hard to stretch across my lips—it would hurt my wound anyway—then I glance back up to the wall and let the time run out.
“Alright!” I raise my free hand to silence the group. I don’t jot down the barbs of insubordination, and I have no intention of reporting the egotistical eager beavers who take their chance to call me a prick. But I catch eyes, and let them know I heard them. “You’re mad,” I announce. “I get it. I was trying something, and it didn’t work.”
Clay steps into the room last, silently closing the door and pressing his back to the wooden frame.
“I was trying to ruffle feathers,” I continue. “I wanted to upset our perp and make him make a move.”
“ Something worked,” Taylor declares. “Your place got shot up, but we still don’t know who went after you.”
“I thought making that statement would force our perp into flapping his mouth, but I guess he’s smarter than that. He hit my home around four o’clock this morning.” I cast my gaze out to the rest of my squad, feeding the squirming crowd information they didn’t have before now.
Couldn’t have had, since names haven’t been released to the media, and the apartment is technically in Minka’s name.
“Of everything said last night, something prompted our guy to shoot up my wife’s apartment. It’s our job to figure out what that trigger was and follow it back.” I meet Fletch’s expectant gaze. “I wanna run through Mercer and Wright’s case load one last time.” Then to Taylor, “I know we’ve done it a dozen times already, but tedium typically leads us to the answers. I want you to lead Officer Clay through yours and Haightman’s files. Fresh eyes will help.” Then I look at the rest of my squad. “At first, I thought this was about shooting cops for the thrill of it. A power play that would have an entire city trembling. But now I’m certain this is about silencing badges and burying information.”
Clay raises his hand, like a good little Boy Scout. “You still think this is narcotics? ”
“Yeah. We have a handful of detectives interrupting a supply chain, and each of those detectives has a reputation for being a little too straight.”
His eyes narrow, a line furrowing between his brows. “ Too straight? Is there such a thing in our work?”
“Sure is. Cops are human, after all, and humans are known to fold under the temptation of greed. Seems to me, our vics weren’t willing to accept bribes or keep to themselves, and all three of them came out of the same squad. Pull the files and see what we see. Our killer’s name is gonna be right there, front page and in bold. We just haven’t been looking in the right place up to this point.”
A knock at the door has my entire squad glancing around, then Clay nervously skipping out of the way when Lieutenant Fabian steps into the room.
“Sir.” Remembering my split lip, I hurriedly drop my hand and attempt to hide the ice pack behind my back. “Can we help you?”
“My office.” His hard, eagle eyes move to Fletch. “You, too.”
“Yes, Lieutenant.” He hands a pile of papers to one of our uniforms and marches his sorry ass toward the door. No good deed and all that. He stood between me and another man’s fist, and now he’s being summoned to the principal’s office for it.
“Officer Clay, you’re in charge of scribing this…” I wave toward the desk. “Meeting. Work with Detective Taylor and find me some names.” Turning on my heels, I stalk toward the door and keep my eyes down as I pass my superior. Then when I’m in the bullpen beside Fletch, we start toward the lieutenant’s office. “You ready for this?”
He digs his hands into his pockets and broadens his back, stretching the leather of his holster so his guns rest firmer against his body. “Nobody likes to be called to the boss’s office. Now we’ve got cops killing cops and mafia daddies being tossed around like it’s totally cool to discuss such things on the clock.”
“In here.” Captain Bower steps out of our smaller war room, surprising my heart into an aching gallop as we change course and move instead toward a room fractionally larger than the lieutenant’s broom-closet office. He steps aside, making space for Fletch and me to pass through, then he circles the table and takes a seat at the head. His power position. The fucking dragon seat, when he gets to look down upon his underlings and keep his back to the wall. “Close the door, Lieutenant.”
I peer over my shoulder to find Fabian following orders, flipping the locks as though our meeting needed that added punctuation. Finally, he moves around the desk too, taking up his stance to Bower’s right, folding his arms and staring down his nose at us both.
“You’ve created a media storm for my department,” Bower rumbles, his bald head glistening under crappy overhead lights, and the bushy mustache that lines his upper lip flicking with each word. “You made sweeping statements on prime-time news, casting doubt on the entire police force when this city needs unity most of all.”
“Our perp is a cop, Captain. I didn’t make that up.”
His eyes, as dark as the hair on his lip, harden. “You’re fighting with your colleagues inside my building. You have blood,” he snaps loudly, “on your shirt!”
Sheepish, I glance down and find proof of what he says.
Shit.
“Are you ready to make an arrest? Or will you continue this circus until the Chief of Police slaughters us all?”
“I can’t make an arrest yet, Captain.” And that knowledge fucking galls me. “I know what I know, and I get the feeling he knows I’m close. But even with footage from today’s altercation, a judge won’t rule based on that alone. It’s not enough.”
“He’s volatile, Cap.” Fletch speaks up, lifting his chin and meeting the older man’s eyes head on. “The fact that he shot up Arch’s place this morning is proof he’s reactive. We don’t make a habit of advertising our addresses, and his is especially veiled, considering the place is in his wife’s name. That was a mistake on Taylor’s part, sir. He slipped.”
“And he mentioned the armor-piercing rounds,” I add. The final nail in three cops’ coffins. “We’ve kept that information intentionally tied up the entire investigation. Mentioning the A.P. rounds was his second mistake. It was an admission, Captain. But it’s not enough for a judge.”
“We believe Detective Taylor is Booth’s inside man,” Fletch presses on. “We believe Mercer, Wright, and Haightman became privy to this arrangement, but were unwilling to join Booth’s side of the war on Copeland. This led to Taylor ending their lives before they blew the whistle. We believe Taylor has been accepting coin in exchange for information and favors, and because of this, we’ve sent a warrant request over to Judge Ruth to search his financials. Once we’re in, we expect to see the trail leading away from the blue line and across to where Booth waits. This is mafia, Sir, and we know which man, within our ranks, is corrupt.”
At the mention of the mafia , two sets of eyes slowly come to me. Scrutinizing. Searching .
Though not accusing, at least.
“Detective Stohl possesses an exceptionally short fuse,” I tell them. “He’s had it out for me from the moment I stepped foot inside this precinct when I finished in the academy. He’s wanted to smack me in the face for as long as I remember. The statement I made last night lit that fuse and left him bubbling over. We knew he’d blow up this morning, so long as he was given the chance to see me. Like Taylor, Officer Clay put Stohl where we needed him to be. Our scene was set and our players were on the board. The moment he saw us, Stohl showed his ass, and Taylor, being the hero he thinks he is, screwed up when he mentioned details he could not have known unless he was our killer.”
“We know he’s our guy,” Fletch says. “But we need proof or a confession. Because even a shit lawyer could get him released on what we have so far.”
“How do you expect to secure what you need?” Fabian questions. “He’s been on the force even longer than you have. He’ll smell a trap no matter how you attempt to set it up. Especially if, as you believe, he’s suspicious that you know.”
“He wants to be our friend. So…” I shrug and flash a smug grin. “Let’s let him. He craves recognition for what he’s done, and he wants it from me most of all, since obviously,” I drawl, “we’re brothers in the mafia war.”