Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“Well, we don’t advertise it,” Andrew said with a dark chuckle. “It was a pretty shitty time to be a cop around here. And because of it, Curly, who is a major scumbag, was released from prison and is now back in town, rich as hell from a state settlement and running a new club. And he hates cops more than anything.”
“Can you blame him?” she asked, gaping at Andrew. “I mean, shit, that’s messed up.”
“Yeah, well, he’s been a criminal his entire life. The man deserved to be locked up. He should still be behind bars. The real crime here is that the truth came out.”
He had to be kidding. “But not for an offense he didn’t commit. You can’t think that’s okay.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes the ends justify the means with a man like him. Come on. We need to go in.” He shoved out of the car with a little more force than usual.
Was he ticked at her? Absurd.
She wanted criminals locked up as much as the next cop, but there was a system and a process to these things. For better or worse, they were there to uphold the law as part of that system. Framing someone for a crime they didn’t commit was just as bad as committing the crime. Hell, it was its own crime and one she’d never condone.
“He’s killed before, Jo,” Andrew said as they walked to the entrance. “Make no mistake about that. They had the right man. Just the wrong victim.”
“So he should go to jail no matter how he gets there? That’s not how it works, Andrew. What about due process and a fair trial?”
He shrugged. “Tell that to all the people he’s hurt.”
She was left gaping in the doorway as Andrew walked up to the counter. “Hey, Brad,” he said to the young man sitting behind the counter. As usual, Brad wore a ballcap, a name tag, and black clothing. His scraggly goatee needed a trim. Worry creased his forehead.
“Hi, officers,” he said in a low tone. Jo had to approach to hear him fully.
“They still here?” she asked.
“Nah, took right off after the bikers showed up. It was just a couple of kids selling meth tonight, none of the main guys, but I was told to call whenever they showed up.”
Jo resisted the urge to roll her eyes. No surprise the drug dealers didn’t stick around when the MC came in. Was she the only one thinking the department needed to take a more proactive approach to deal with the huge surge in meth-related hospital admissions? Sales of meth and meth-related hospitalizations in their town had skyrocketed over the past few months. Taking a drive to the gas station every time the attendant called hadn’t led to a single arrest. Or even a near arrest. It was a reactive waste of time.
“God, I hate those fucking bikers,” Andrew muttered. It was the first time she’d heard him drop an f-bomb in the few weeks they’d worked together. She was learning all sorts of things about her partner tonight.
“They’re still here,” the attendant whispered.
“They are? Where?” Andrew whipped around, scanning the small market. His hand flew to his gun resting on his hip.
Jo tried to be more subtle, but the place wasn’t large by any means. The three big guys in leather vests laughed by the beer case and froze as soon as they felt the attention of two cops on them.
Fantastic. This should be fun.
“Officer Simpson,” one of the bikers said.
Well, it was more of a sneer than an announcement.
He was tall, maybe six-foot-two, fit as hell with buzzed hair and an army tattoo on his left bicep. A patch on his leather vest read ‘Enforcer.’ “Always happy to see my favorite slab of bacon. If you’re here to arrest the meth dealers, you’re too late.”
“Yep, we took care of it for you.” If the enforcer was tall, this other guy was a giant. He stood easily at six-foot-six, maybe even an inch or two taller. And he had the muscle proportionate to his height. “Just doing our duty as good citizens.”
Man, she hoped this situation wouldn’t end up in her needing to take that guy down. Probably the only thing that would stop him was a horse tranquilizer or cattle prod, neither of which she happened to have in her pocket.
The third man remained silent. He appeared a bit older than the other two, maybe in his upper forties with shoulder-length wavy hair, graying in spots.
Was this the infamous Curly?
The president’s patch on his vest confirmed her suspicion.
This was the man framed by her own police department a decade and a half ago. She could only imagine the disdain he felt for her and all cops, and she couldn’t blame him. The best thing she and Andrew could do right then was leave before the situation escalated. Antagonizing these guys would only increase their animosity toward the police, and sometimes, it helped to have friends in low places. Not that she thought this MC would ever make friends with the cops, but they didn’t need to be mortal enemies either.