Archer
ARCHER
“ I ’m heading to the bar for a drink.” Fletch strides across the boardroom, jacket folded across his arm and his eyes alight as I slowly bring mine up. I lower the report I’ve been reading and tilt my head to the side, searching for context. Sense.
“What?”
He grins. “It’s five o’clock, Malone. We’ve been up since four. I’m heading to the bar and ordering a burger, two drinks, and one particularly delicious female. Then I’m heading home to my baby for the night. We can pick this up again tomorrow with fresh eyes and minds.”
“A drink would be kinda nice.” Detective Taylor glances across the table, his lips curling subtly as he looks from me to Fletch. The rest of our squad is around. Reading. Taking notes. Our wall overflows with Post-Its, grainy pictures, and doctors’ reports. “You guys heading over to Tim’s? He does a good burger over there.”
“You’ve been?” Bored, I set my files down and draw a long, chest-filling breath until my lungs expand. Then, releasing it again, I accept that we’re done for today.
Sorta.
“That’s my brother’s place.”
“Yeah, I know.” He sets his things down too and slowly, hesitantly, since we’re yet to offer a formal invitation, stands and circles his chair. “Timothy Malone. He’s your oldest brother, right? ”
“Uh-huh.” Like we don’t all know . I push up to stand and catch Officer Clay’s watchful eye. Circling my chair and pushing it back under the table, I snag my coat and check my weapons. A habit. Muscle memory I long ago stopped consciously paying attention to. “I guess I could go for a burger too.” I clap Fletch’s shoulder and move him out of the way so I can quickly stack files and place them in a box for later. “Officer Clay. You’re the last body out, okay? Lock the door, secure the room.”
He nods, short, sharp, affirmative. “Yes, Detective. I’ll put in another hour or two, then I’m going home.”
“You heading to Tim’s too?” Fletch holds Taylor’s stare, friendly, but not outwardly obvious about it. “Happy coincidence.”
“It’s a good place, and it’s always warm when the weather turns crap. If you guys don’t mind company…”
“I don’t mind.” I fake a long yawn, noisy and obnoxious as I shrug into my coat, then I turn toward the boardroom door and head through. “I’m not up for a late night,” I tell them both as Fletch follows and Taylor chases up the rear. “I need to clean my apartment before the wife gets home. She’s gonna tear me the fuck up when she finds out what happened.”
“No one got hurt though, right?” Eager, Taylor trots to keep up on my right. His shoulder brushes mine while Fletch remains a step or two back. “She’ll probably be shocked at first, but the fact that you’re okay is all that’ll matter at the end.”
“I guess.” I step onto the escalator and ride it all the way to the bottom. I don’t take out my phone, though I would feel better having it in my hand. I ignore the buzzing texts, though I wish I could read them.
I’m walking with a cop killer, I have no vest on, and even if I did, he’s proven them useless, and I’m leading the prick toward my brother’s bar.
That’s two Malones in the line of fire. Yet, there’s nowhere else in the city that would feel natural for us to go after a long day at work.
“How are you doing, anyway?” Fletch quickens his steps and comes up on Taylor’s other side once we exit the building, sandwiching him in, so we’re taking up entirely too much of the sidewalk. “I don’t know how close you and Haightman were, but me and Arch are like brothers, ya know? I know everything about him, he knows everything about me. There are no secrets between us. If you and Haightman were similar…”
“Isaac and I were still kinda new.” He drops his hands into his pockets and walks, hunching his body forward to combat the cold. “I was over in organized crime for a few years. But when Haightman’s ex-partner transferred out and a position in narcotics opened up, well…” he shrugs. “You’ve read the files already.”
“Do you like it?” I step off the curb at the end of the first block and continue toward the bar. “Narcotics,” I clarify. “Decent team?”
“Really decent. They were good guys, and it’s sad they’re dead. They deserved better. Can I ask you a question, Detective?” He speeds up and pulls ahead fractionally, so he can glance back and hold my stare. His cheeks warm, a war waging between the cold wind and his flowing blood. “Something kinda personal?”
I narrow my eyes… because that’s what a Malone would do when questioned. It’s what I do normally . Then I dip my chin. “About what?”
“Your father.” He licks his lips and drops his gaze, so he no longer stares into my eyes. He can’t handle the heat. Or perhaps he wants to act coy. “Everyone knows, ya know?”
“Knows what, specifically?”
“Who he was. Who you are. I worked O.C. and narcotics, so it’s not like we haven’t been up close and personal with your family’s business.”
“So what’s your fuckin’ question?” I want to ram his head into a light pole purely to hear the ting when steel and skull meet. But I force myself to walk. To show him exactly what he’d expect to see when dealing with my family. “I’m not one of them, Taylor. I hold a badge now, not a flame for my family’s former business ventures.”
“Former?” His lips wrinkle at the sides, a small grin etching onto his face. “Come on, Arch. We’re friends here.”
Are we ?
“I’m not one to discuss my private life with people not in my circle. I’m sure you understand.”
“I do. Understand,” he clarifies, tucking his arms by his sides when the wind picks up. “Trust and privacy matter amongst friends. I know that better than anyone.” He allows us to walk in silence for a beat. As cars crawl past and a bus putters to a stop nearby. People get on, others get off. And all the while, Fletch has my back. Because trust matters between partners. That’s something he and I have never, will never, lack. “I keep turning it over in my head,” Taylor finally murmurs. We come closer to the bar, where pedestrians thin out the nearer we come to a crime scene.
The yellow and black tape still surrounds my building… something that should probably come down before Minka gets home.
When he trails off, I glance across and find Taylor watching me. Waiting. “Turning what over? ”
“You. Your family.” He drops his eyes and kicks a quarter when we come upon one lying on the sidewalk. “Like… we’re not on the record here. It’s just us, and you’ve already said you and Detective Fletcher have no secrets. So I guess I just wonder how someone like you balances the badge and family.”
“Balance it how? I do the job. My solve rate is decent. Above departmental average, actually. My lieutenant likes that about me.”
“Right. But how do you keep the brass off your back?” He slows his steps as we approach the bar. Once we step inside, he’s on Malone territory, and fuck, but he’s not so sure about that. It’ll be noisy in there. Packed. Hot. And he won’t have his back to the wall. “How do you keep Bower off you while also serving your family the way you do?”
I come to a stop and pin him with a glare that has him moving back a step. He gulps as nerves wash through his veins. “Serving my family how?” I raise a brow and challenge him to say his shit out loud. “What exactly are you accusing me of, Detective Taylor?”
“Accusing?” He shakes his head and lifts his hands in surrender. He’s a coward behind the powerful gun, a puppet controlled by Nathan Booth. And Nathan Booth is a puppet controlled by someone else. That someone else, eventually, is who will have me in their scope at the end of the day.
Here’s hoping I’m faster than they are.
“I didn’t mean any disrespect, Detective. I’m not…” Taylor conspiratorially lowers his voice. “I’m not trying to bust you for the things you do for your family. I was…”
“What?”
“Just trying to see where you stand, I guess. Loyalty matters. Family matters. When we’re lucky, everything points in the same direction: blood relation or not.”
“Where are your loyalties, Detective Taylor?” Fletch stalks closer, creating a wall that’ll keep everyone else out. Our cop killer wanted a private discussion, so now he’s got one. “Like you said, we’re not on the record right now. We’re not even in the station. So if you’d like to speak plain English and state where you stand, our conversation is bound to go smoother. We don’t deal in vague, sweeping statements. That would be dangerous.”
“It’s just…” He gulps again, swallowing so his throat bobs. “Can I be frank?”
“Please,” I huff, stopping barely short of rolling my eyes. “I’d prefer it.”
“You’re Timothy Malone’s son.” Nervously, he looks left and right. “ Outwardly, you present a fractured front and declare the family is at odds. But I’ve seen behind the curtain.”
“What curtain?”
“Families like yours… there is no fracture. There can’t be. Either you’re in, or you’re dead. So since you’re here and alive, that means a unity exists. Whatever you told Bower, its clearly convincing enough. Either that, or he’s on the take, too. But the point remains… you serve more than a badge.”
“So what if I do?” I step forward until his back hits the wall and his eyes grow panicky. “You think you can bust me down and take the collar? You think they’ll give you a shiny medal when you dismantle the Malone family and deliver this city from their shitty clutches?” I lean closer, closer, and faux-whisper, “I’ve killed men for considering this kind of stuff, Taylor. Cops or civilians… didn’t matter to me.”
“Might I suggest you sew your lips shut,” Fletch growls toward the quivering weasel, “then ask for a transfer over to traffic. You don’t get to throw those words around a Malone and stay out of the sea.”
“I’m not here to bust you,” he argues shakily. “I’m actually… actually…”
Say it, bitch! You’re on the take, and you killed those cops.
A phone trills, ringing from Taylor’s pocket and vibrating until the zipper on his coat hums with it.
“Expecting a call?” I watch as he blindly dips a hand into his pocket. I attempt to see the screen, to read the name of his caller, but all I catch is the unmistakable ‘ unknown’ we’ve all seen at one point or another. “You should take that, Detective Taylor.” I stand taller, towering over him. “Could be important.”
“Let’s get a beer.” Fletch claps my shoulder and drags me back a step. “Let him talk to his friend in private.” He looks at a mildly terrified Taylor and winks. “We’ll order your burger when we get in there. Maybe we can discuss family and loyalty after we’ve had a beer together.”
I push away from Booth’s puppet and stride through the bar’s front door, catching Tim’s stare the moment I cross the threshold, then I glance back when Fletch follows me in.
“You got that intimidation from your daddy,” he chuckles as soon as the door swings shut. “You’re lucky I know better, bud, or I might believe you’re on the take, too.”
“I mean…” I exhale to rid my body of the tension coiled in my belly. The anger, real or not, from my veins. “I’m a Malone,” I speak louder to talk over the music, “and I have a relationship with my brothers. That’s enough to have Bower toss me on my ass. We both know it. ”
“Lucky you have that above average close rate,” he snickers, tapping the bar as soon as he’s within reach and holding up three fingers. Start pouring . “We’ll give him a minute on the phone, then we’ll continue our conversation. He’s pissing his pants afraid of you, Arch. He’s been warned by whoever controls him: Malone is powerful. Be careful .”
“He wants to tell us who he is. But he’s not sure if we’ll congratulate him for being a badass, or arrest him for being a killer.”
“Which is why he’s probing to see if you’re just like him.” He nods in thanks when my brother sets three beers onto the bar. I’m thirsty enough I could chug the whole glass and ahhhh in thanks. But I’m not actually off the clock, and we’re technically running an op. Drinking on the job is frowned upon. Fletch drops onto a stool as I take out my phone, facing the door to keep watch for when Taylor joins us. So while he has my back, I hit dial and wait a single beat for Clay to answer.
“Yes, Detective. We’ve still got you.”
“Audio working?” I peek down at my shirt and the wire hidden behind the fabric. “You copy loud and clear?”
“Yeah, though it’s harder inside the bar. Way more static.”
“You have eyes on Taylor?”
“Yes, Sir. He’s still on the phone outside. We don’t have the tech to ascertain who his caller is. But we know where he is, and we know he’s alone.”
“Do we have eyes on anyone else? He’s probably got someone following him, right?”
“No, Sir.” The kid speaks in a monotone. God forbid he’s accused of being anything but the perfect police officer. “If someone else is tailing Detective Taylor, then we haven’t caught them on our radar yet.”
“He’s taking a while,” Fletch rumbles. “Cold feet?”
“Is he getting cold feet?” I ask Clay. “Moving away?”
“No, Sir. He’s still out the front. He appears agitated, but he’s not moving.”
“He’s on the phone with his handler,” I rumble. When Tim slides a glass of soda across the bar, I grab that and take a long sip to wet my throat. “I’ll call you back in a few, Officer Clay. If he moves, you let us know.”
“You got it, Sir.”
Pulling the phone from my ear, I kill our call and move to my text chat instead.
Rock.
Rock.
Rock .
I’m coming home. See you soon.
Rock.
Rock.
I’m at JFK. Felix insisted on driving with me.
Rock.
Rock.
Wheels up. Love you. Your brother is annoying. Your other brother knows too much. He probably needs to die now.
Rock.
Why is our apartment on the news?
?!
Rock.
Shaking my head, I tap the text bar and quickly type out my response. I’m working. Stay away from the bar until I say otherwise. Stay away from our apartment. In fact, stay on the plane with the doors closed until I come get you. It’s safer that way. Love you, Penguin.
“Ya know, a year ago, I would have never seen you text a broad while on the clock.” Grinning, Fletch’s gaze sweeps across the occupants of the bar. “Never. It’s kind of embarrassing at this point, bro.”
“Uh-huh.” I hit send and lock the screen. “And green’s not a good color on you. Today’s Fifi’s last day at the George Stanley, isn’t it? Have you talked to her?”
Bested, his nose and lips wrinkle as he glances at the still-closed door. “You think it’s cute to throw down like that? I remember a time you were smart enough not to test me. One of us was raised on the streets, Kid. Taught how to fight, because the alternative was to starve. The other one was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and a semi-automatic weapon in his hand. We’re not the same.”
“Feisty.” I reach across to a bowl of pretzels and snag a couple, since it’s clear we’re not getting dinner anytime soon. “Have you considered a grand gesture yet? A sweeping declaration,” I tease. “Ask her to marry you. Or knock her up. That ought to solve your problems.”
Unimpressed, he brings his focus around and punctuates his temper with a sneer. “You’re a genius. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that before now.” He claps his open palm to the side of my face and shoves, bristling when I chuckle. “I can’t ask her to marry me. We haven’t even dated yet, dickhead.”
“Minka and Tim were engaged three minutes after they met.” I’m unable to find rage for the fact that, if my brother had wanted her, he might’ve been able to keep her. In a different universe. Different time. “Fifi’s mad because her heart stupidly went and got involved. People who don’t care, don’t care as much as she does. It’s as simple as that.”
“Thanks, Gandhi.” He checks his watch. “Taylor’s gonna bolt. It’s been too long.”
“He’s not gonna bolt.” I push away from the bar, ratified when I feel Fletch’s warmth by my shoulder. Because if one of us walks through a door, the other follows. Every single fucking time.
We aren’t Taylor and Haightman.
We’re Malone and Fletcher.
“He’s too invested in this, and his handler wants a seat at my family’s table. No way he’s running when we’ve invited him in for a burger.”
“He’s gonna bolt.” He makes his stride longer, stepping past me to reach the door first. “You came on too strong and turned his bowels watery. No way he’s standing up to that.”
“He’s not gonna bolt!” I roll my eyes and wait as Fletch inches the door open. We peek through the gap, just two inches to ensure our man is still on the other side. Still on the phone. Then, lowering my voice, I whisper, “See? He didn’t run.”
Taylor turns, the device pressed to his ear and his cheeks deathly pale. Then his eyes lock on ours and his entire body stiffens.
Time passes between us. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three. Finally, he lobs the phone and takes off at a sprint.
“Goddammit!” Fletch swings the door wide and charges through. “I told you he was gonna bolt!”
“I didn’t think he would! You take third.” I grab my weapon and sprint onto the sidewalk, pumping my arms and burning the back of Taylor’s head with my stare. “Copeland PD. Everybody down!” I dash around idiots who loiter in the middle of the sidewalk despite the gun Taylor frees from his holster. “Down! Officer Clay!” I shout, hoping he hears me over the thunder of my heart. “He’s running. We’re in pursuit. Fletch!” I dash past him when he cuts left and ducks into a dark alleyway. “I’ll come up on his other side! Watch your back. Don’t get dead.”
“Same.” His boots slam against the concrete, his two-hundred pounds an ominous thunder as he heads one way and I go another.
“We need backup!” I shout for Clay. “Suspect is on foot, armed and dangerous. We’re approximately two blocks from the station.” Ahead, Taylor splits left and disappears down a side street I know will eventually meet up with Fletch’s. The sun went down an hour or more ago, and lampposts on the side streets are fewer than ideal. Knowing I’ll be moving into the dark, I slow my sprint to a jog as I approach the corner, my breath racing ahead of me in short, white pants that would telegraph to any cop killer that I’m coming. “Detective Taylor?” I hesitantly duck my head forward to peek around the corner. “We didn’t finish our conversation. Why’d you run?”
A dog barks in the darkness, the scuttle of loose rocks on the road enough to convince me the prick isn’t within shooting range. So I move into the side street too, willing my heart to slow and for my pulse to quiet.
“Detective Taylor?” Sirens wail to life in the distance, but they’re not nearly close enough for blue and red to illuminate the street. Pressing my back to the brick exterior of an old, functional corner store, I move deeper into the darkness. “Is there a reason you ran? This is hardly how you create trust between friends.”
“You’ve turned the entire squad against me!” He shoots off a round that hits the brick over my left shoulder, sending shards flying into the street. Sharp corners nick my skin, and my old bullet wound sings when I slam my back to the wall. “You think I didn’t see Clay when I was on the phone!? Friends don’t do that!”
“Friends don’t shoot at each other, either.” Carefully, I push away from the wall, straining my eyes to see into the shadows. I search for any movement. For sound. For the pulse of his racing heart. “We already have your financials. We see the money, Taylor. Seems kinda odd that you’d get a cash infusion the morning of Wright’s murder. Then another cool deposit after Mercer’s.”
“You can’t prove shit!” Another bullet pings off the brick and rebounds against a street sign, so the sound of metal on metal becomes a screech that imprints on my eardrums. “You want me to confess. That’s why you invited me to the bar. No confession means no arrest.”
“You invited yourself to the bar, stupid. You’re shooting at a cop right now, and the money you received for killing your own fucking partner is all the proof we need. You screwed up, Taylor. When there are only four men in the room and three of them die from bullet wounds, logic says the last man standing is also the one who held the gun.”
“Arch?”
“Fletch?”
I jump when the roar of a gun echoes along the street. But worse, the muffled thud of a bullet piercing skin and then a body slamming against the ground. Bile explodes in the base of my throat, burning my esophagus. “Fletch!?”
“You brought this on yourself,” Taylor taunts, dashing through the darkness so I catch the movement of his feet. “You could have worked with me. Not against me.”
I snag my phone when I realize I no longer hear anything through the piece in my ear, and dial blindly, my hand shaking as I inch further along the blackened street. “Officer down,” I recite the moment the line connects. “Officer down, suspected G.S.W. I don’t know…” My breath comes out in a panicked shudder. “Somewhere between third and Maple. Not far from the George Stanley. Fletch?” I drop the phone, the call still live, into my pocket and keep moving. “Speak, Detective Fletcher! We need proof of life.”
“You think you’re superior,” Taylor growls. “You cannot be a Malone and a good cop at the same time! Your loyalties can’t be split like that without the law being broken.”
“Why are you even talking?” Rage bubbles in my blood as I approach the end of the brick wall. “You murdered three police officers, Taylor! You killed cops, and you want me to trust you?”
“You’re not a cop!” He dashes around the next corner before I can squeeze off a round and put a bullet in his temple. “Not a real one! You’re a made man who just so happens to have a badge. That’s what I wanted.”
“Running from us isn’t how you create those relationships. Fletch!” I catch his pained groan from the mouth of the alleyway, his body on the ground right in no-man’s-land. If I walk out there, I become a sitting duck. But if I leave him out there alone, he’s dead. “Where are you hit, Fletch? I need you to speak.”
He attempts to roll onto one side, hissing when the movement hurts. “Um… thigh, maybe.” He drops flat again, grunting with exhaustion. “I think. I dunno.”
“Plug it.” I scrape my back along the brickwork, one eye on my partner and the other in the direction Taylor went. “You need to pack it, Charlie Fletcher. Ambos are on the way, but you gotta take care of your own shit till they do. Philip Taylor,” I turn my attention to the motherfucker I’ll put a bullet in if I get half the chance. “You’re under arrest for the murders of Isaac Haightman, Daniel Wright, and Lucas Mercer. You’re under arrest for shooting and injuring Detective Charlie Fletcher. You’re under arrest for a whole heap of other shit, too, but I reckon those are enough for now. You have the right to remain silent. Step out of the shadows with your hands above your head, place your weapon on the ground, then kick it out of reach.”
He laughs, taunting and desperate. I could be wrong, but I feel like he’s not gonna follow my directions. “I’m protected, Malone! I have a way out of this. Do you?”
“You’re making this worse on yourself.” I pause at the edge of the building and test the airspace, ducking my head forward and bringing it back again. “You’re going away for a long fucking time, man. Be smart now and I can help you.”
“Help me?” Laughing, he shoots the brickwork on the opposite side of the alley. “You can’t even help yourself! You’re stuck in a world where you could be great, but you choose this instead. Loyalty to the fucking law? It’s a joke!”
“Loyalty to those I love, actually. Which means I’m gonna end your miserable fucking life for what you did to my partner.” I dip my head forward to check around the corner, only to realize my mistake when the long barrel of a handgun nestles on the center of my forehead.
The rest of my words garble in my throat. Death, so fucking close, I feel it in the tips of my fingers. In the blood that pumps through my heart. “Shit.”
“Not so fucking slick now, are you, Malone?” Taylor steps around the corner, facing me head on, and jams the steel barrel harder against my forehead until I’m certain metal breaks skin. “You had the chance to be on our side of this bullshit. The winning side.” He flexes his finger around the trigger and tempts fate. I see Minka in my mind. Her smile. Most of all, her scorn when she finds out the situation I’ve put myself in. I see my brothers, and the life I lived with them. After them. I see Fletch, writhing in the street at my back, and sweet Mia, cackling on the swings when her father pushes her at the park. “This city is going to hell, whether you like it or not. It’s smart business to become friends with the devil.”
“Who is the devil?” I grind my head closer, if only to break the lock of his elbow and cast doubt into his mind. “You answer to Nathan Booth. Who does Booth answer to?”
His eyes flash in the darkness, proving to me that I’m on the right track.
“You’re gonna kill me anyway, so there’s no harm in giving me a name.”
“If he wanted you to know, you’d know. The fact that you don’t tells us both that you’re nothing to him. Your blood is the only reason we’re even having this conversation.”
“What about my blood?” I take a step forward, forcing him back. If nothing else, I’ll lead him around the fucking corner and away from Fletch. “Booth wants an in with the Malones?”
Sirens scream closer, louder, so the sound travels through the alleyway. “Quick,” I sneer. “They’re coming. Speak up now or you’ll forever be silenced.”
“If I’m silenced, you’re silenced.” He reaffirms his grip on the gun and wraps his finger around the trigger. Behind it, his eyes burn with desperation. With determination. “Get us out of here,” he snarls on an almost hiss. “You have the power to do that. Work with me and I’ll get you a seat at the main table.”
“That doesn’t sound like fun at all.”
My heart spasms and damn near comes to a dead standstill, because Minka’s voice rings through my ears a single second before her arm wraps around Taylor’s neck and a scalpel rests at his jugular.
“You feel that heavy pulse in your neck, Mr. Taylor?” She presses the blade closer and draws a single droplet of blood to shimmer against the silver of her knife. “That’s your carotid artery. It extends from your aorta and carries blood all the way up to your brain. If I slice it open,” she grins, practically hugging his back and almost resting her chin on his shoulder. “You’ll have approximately two minutes before it’s lights out. Less, probably, considering how fast your heart pounds right now.”
“What the fu?—”
Collecting my wits and finding my common sense, I snatch his weapon and turn it back, lightning fast, and press the barrel to his heart.
“We’re gonna talk about this soon, Doctor Mayet.” I reach across with my free hand, pulling her blade from his skin and nodding toward Fletch. “For now, you need to save his life.” But if Taylor thinks he’s safe when she dashes away, I steal that hope back, wrapping my palm around his throat and digging my fingers in. “You’re lucky the cops are coming, Philip. Because I have half a fucking mind to tear your esophagus clear out. I’ve wanted to try this thing I learned from the medical examiner’s office.” I slam him against the bricks and hold my breath when his lungs evacuate. “Did you know when they’re performing an autopsy, they cut right up here,” I tap the underside of his jaw, “then they bring your tongue down, through the hole. But they don’t stop there. They cut all the way to your stomach.”
“All the way to his pubis, actually.” Minka settles on her knees and leans over Fletch, packing his wound with his own shirt. Unhurried, it seems. So either he’s already dead, or things aren’t all that dire. “Then I reach in and pull the testicles out from the inside. The family of the deceased gets weird about testicles,” she adds, almost as an afterthought. “I come in from the inside, so there are no stitches on the outside when we put them back. The amount of times a loved one has checked is…” She peers over her shoulder when red and blue finally illuminate the alleyway, a goofy expression on her face. “It’s a lot, anyway. Only one time, one, ever, did I forget to put them back exactly right. I learned early on that these things matter to the family left behind.”
“I won’t let my wife perform your autopsy, Taylor.” Grossed out, I look back at the prick and wrinkle my nose at the stench of urine permeating the air. “I don’t want her to touch your balls. Not even for medical reasons. We’ll give you her worst doctor on staff. Have your balls bouncing around the autopsy room when he drops them.”
“They are seriously slippery,” she taunts. “We don’t mention in our reports when we’ve accidentally dropped them. We just put them back and hope it never comes up in court.”
“Detective Malone?” Officer Clay barrels into the alleyway, gun drawn and eyes wheeling with panic. “Is everything okay? You said there was an officer down.”
I hook a thumb over my shoulder and indicate toward Minka and Fletch in the shadows. “I think he’s okay, maybe. Direct the paramedics this way. Doctor Mayet hasn’t announced death yet, so I’m hopeful…”
“Har-har,” Fletch groans, grunting so in my mind, I see him attempting to move. Maybe even sit up. “I’m so fucking done with this case. Where the hell did you come from anyway, Delicious?”
I smile at Taylor and reach back for a set of cuffs. “Turn around, bitch. I suggest you get your affairs in order real quick.” Stepping closer, I trade guns for cuffs and clap one around his wrist. But I lean in and whisper, “As a gangster’s son, I assure you, gnats like you are dead before the cell door is closed. No way they want you on the inside, squealing for a deal in exchange for information.”