Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Hawk gave him a chin lift and Boone moved to the conference room.
They were all standing in a huddle, but Boone caught Mo’s eyes first, before he focused on Hawk and stopped.
“We’ll get the full story when everyone is here,” Hawk said.
“Got it,” Boone replied. “You call Rush?”
Hawk looked to Mo.
Boone looked to Mo.
Mo nodded.
Mo had called Rush Allen, president of the Chaos Motorcycle Club, which was one of the factions Bogart had named as trying the patience of some of the brothers on the force in what Boone was translating as a veiled threat.
“Knight?” Boone went on.
“Knight’s in New York City with his girls,” Hawk said. “Not back until later today. Rhash is coming.”
Rhashan Banks, Knight’s right-hand man.
But it was pure Knight to take his woman and daughters to NYC, probably to shop, see shows, go to museums, and generally do a variety of shit Knight had zero interest in doing, all this over a school weekend.
But one of his girls mentions it, and they’re on a plane.
There was a lot to debate about how Knight Sebring lived his life.
The way he took care of his family was not part of that.
Hawk’s attention went over his shoulder and Boone looked there to see Lee Nightingale strolling in.
This started the flood of arrivals, which included another Nightingale, Hank. Then came Eddie Chavez. Brock Lucas. Rush Allen. Rhashan. Mag. Luke Stark, Lee Nightingale’s top guy. Malik, another cop friend and Hawk’s office manager, Elvira’s husband. And Carson “Joker” Steele, Boone’s bud in Chaos.
They all began to take seats, and to start them off, Hawk, standing at the head of the table pulling out his chair, announced, “Elvira isn’t here, and even if she was, she’d invite me to fuck off if I asked her to make everyone coffee. The machine is in the corner. Help yourself.”
Ally already had a coffee.
Boone had a white tumbler in his car that said FORTNUM’S USED BOOKS on the side, it had been filled by Ryn before he took off, and on his drive he’d discovered she had a heavy hand with scooping coffee, another indication they worked.
He’d downed it on the way there.
So he was set.
Eddie and Brock were still at the Nespresso machine when Hawk suggested Boone start it, running down Ryn’s convo with Cisco the other night and what happened that morning.
Everyone was seated, and he was not liking the looks on the faces of the cops at the table by the time he was done, so he finished by asking Mitch, “What?”
“Both Bogart and Mueller were Denver PD,” Mitch said. “Mueller moved to Englewood first. Bogart, his partner at DPD, moved a few months later. And when they were gone, there was a sigh of relief.”
“Why?” Hawk asked.
Mitch looked to Hawk. “Mueller’s a racist and a misogynist. He hides it behind good-ole-boy, it’s-just-a-joke bullshit, but there are very few who buy that and not many who can stomach it.”
“Word,” Malik, a Black man, grunted.
“The misogyny, though, was overt. Straight-up treated any female with a badge like shit. Notched it up for those without a badge who work for the department. Dispatch hates him,” Mitch went on. “He left, they put a picture of him on the back of the door. Last time I saw it, there were about fifty spitballs attached to it.”
“Let me guess, Bogart is worse,” Boone remarked.
Mitch looked to him.
“Not sure worse is the word. Worse at hiding he’s a dickhead though, yeah,” he replied. “Not the primary reason, those two are joined at the hip, but impetus behind him leaving…if Bogart had one more official complaint lodged due to harassment, he would have been out on his ass.”
“Sexual harassment?” Mag asked.
“In a big way,” Malik put in. “When the MeToo movement started, Bogart acted like it was a call to arms. He, in particular of those two, made it clear he wasn’t going to accept anyone telling him how to behave. Even if what they wanted was for him not to behave like a fuckwad.”
“This explains why they’re assholes,” Hawk pointed out. “But can the leap be made they’re dirty? And we’ll pinpoint this, do any of you know if Crowley was investigating them?”
All the cops at the table shook their heads.
But Brock also spoke.
“May be ways we can dig around, ask a few questions, find out if that was official. But Crowley had a reputation too, and personally, I liked the guy. He was solid. But generally, in the department, that reputation wasn’t a good one.”
“How’s that?” Boone asked.
Brock turned to him. “If he was undercover IA, this would come as no surprise. That said, if he was, they should have rethought the undercover part of that. This guy was such a straight shooter, you’d show him a circle, and he wouldn’t comprehend the concept. By the book. Ironclad. I knew the man, but not very well. Though I knew his reputation a lot better.”