Sonny Malevsky's actions might have seemed sudden, but in hindsight, they were inevitable.
Having personally killed the NYPD commissioner's son while in uniform, his fate was sealed the moment the truth came to light. Whether it was because he projected Frank's wrath onto himself or simply couldn't bring himself to gamble on Frank's mercy, the outcome was the same: death was the only road left for him.
Even in the best-case scenario—where Frank did nothing and let him face trial—Malevsky's life in prison would be a living hell. No inmate anywhere holds a police officer in high regard, let alone one convicted of betrayal and murder.
Some officers convicted of lesser crimes might have a slim chance of hiding their identity and surviving behind bars. But for Malevsky, there was no hiding. He would die, and it wouldn't be quick or painless.
And it wouldn't take much effort. People eager to curry favor with Frank would have no trouble getting a message to the right people inside the prison—or even arranging for a particularly violent inmate to take matters into their own hands.
As a seasoned police officer with nearly 20 years of experience, Malevsky knew all of this. And Frank, with almost 40 years in the NYPD, understood it even better.
"We all die, Sonny. It's just a matter of when," the commissioner remarked, with neither pity nor malice, only grim acceptance.
"Bang!"
Red and white matter burst from Malevsky's skull, painting the wall behind him.
"Danny, strip their badges," Frank said, his face twitching slightly but otherwise betraying no emotion. He didn't even glance at Malevsky's body as he turned and walked away.
"Get a good night's sleep. You're off tomorrow, and I'll make your favorite sweet and sour ribs," Jack said, planting a kiss on Hannah's lips before sending her home to rest. He waved goodbye to Jubal, who was driving her back, then took a slow walk to a nearby streetlamp.
There, under the faint orange glow, stood Frank Reagan, his right hand in his pocket and his left holding a smoldering cigar. The faint red ember pulsed in the dim light.
Danny and James were still inside the club, busy with the ESU officers as they searched and cuffed each of the corrupt cops one by one.
"Thank you, Jack. Honestly, I don't even know how to properly express my gratitude," Frank said, his voice heavy with emotion, though he didn't turn to face him.
"Just lend me a light," Jack replied, fishing in his pockets for a lighter but coming up empty—he'd left it in the car.
Frank chuckled softly, his laugh tinged with sadness. He turned, making no effort to hide his red, swollen eyes, and struck a match to light Jack's cigar himself.
"'Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid,'" Jack quoted, exhaling a smoke ring as he spoke.
"Raymond Chandler?" Frank asked, momentarily surprised.
Raymond Chandler was one of the most famous detective novelists of the early 20th century. His hardboiled private investigator, Philip Marlowe, had become an enduring icon of American literature, rivaling even Sherlock Holmes in some circles.
The quote Jack recited was one of Chandler's most famous lines. With Jack's reading habits recently skyrocketing, it wasn't surprising that he could now casually throw out literary references.
"I think he was describing people like Joey," Jack said thoughtfully. He considered himself a small, unremarkable man, unsuited for the moral complexities of undercover work. But that didn't stop him from respecting those who willingly took on such dangerous roles to fight against evil.
Modern culture, in its fascination with portraying the moral struggles of undercover agents, had skewed public perception. People began to associate undercover work with deception and betrayal, overlooking the selflessness and courage it required.
Art and media increasingly focused on the internal conflicts of undercover agents, as if their struggles with guilt and moral compromise were the only way to make their stories compelling. Yet the nobility of their mission—of sacrificing personal peace for the greater good—often went unacknowledged.
"I feel like Joey was here tonight, watching all of this," Frank said after a moment of silence. He rubbed his face vigorously, forcing himself to regain his composure, before once again assuming his commanding presence.
"The 'Blue Templar' is already dismantled?" Dana Moreau, freshly returned from Washington, D.C., was stunned by how quickly the NYPD had wrapped things up.
To be honest, Jack was equally surprised. He rarely followed up on cases once they entered the judicial process, usually limiting his involvement to filing additional reports when requested. But for a legal system as notoriously slow and convoluted as the U.S., seeing everyone involved behind bars in less than two weeks was nothing short of miraculous.
"They apparently reached some private agreements. The convicted officers will serve time in a relatively 'safe' prison, so plea deals were signed almost immediately," Jack explained.
Thanks to an unspoken understanding between the heads of the FBI's New York office and the NYPD, the FBI's involvement in the case had been downplayed. Neither Jack, nor Jubal, nor Hannah—or the two analysts who had assisted—would receive much official recognition for their contributions.
That wasn't to say the NYPD hadn't shown any appreciation. As a gesture of goodwill, the NYPD Police Benevolent Association extended one of their exclusive perks to the FBI's non-field agents: access to their parking lot network.
In a city like New York, where the scarcity of parking spaces was legendary and car ownership rates hovered around 30%, this was no small concession. The NYPD's Traffic Bureau had long been lobbying for additional parking facilities for its officers, periodically submitting requests to the city council whenever new spaces became available. Now, these parking lots were being shared with FBI agents.
Sure, the actual number of agents who'd benefit might not exceed a dozen. But the gesture was appreciated nonetheless.
This newfound camaraderie allowed Jack to boast at Rick Castle's poker games. He could proudly claim that, as a Senior FBI Agent, he had single-handedly improved relations between the FBI and the nation's two largest police forces—NYPD and LAPD.
Of course, the collaboration between Frank Reagan and Dana Moreau likely went far beyond this token gesture. The true extent of their cooperation remained a mystery, even to Jack.
What was clear, however, was the change in atmosphere. In the weeks following the case, Dana walked into the office each day with a bright smile and a spring in her step.
Unfortunately, her good mood didn't last long. As Thanksgiving approached and the temperature in New York continued to drop, Jack and Hannah were rudely awakened by an early morning phone call, pulling them out of their warm bed and into the frigid air.
"What's the—ACHOO!—situation?" Jack sneezed repeatedly as he burst into the operations center, the drastic temperature difference between the freezing outdoors and the heated office taking its toll.
"Bless you," Jubal said instinctively, though he looked just as bewildered as Jack. He'd arrived in a similar rush, still wearing his coat.
The sound of hurried footsteps and clicking high heels echoed through the room. Moments later, Dana burst in, her hair disheveled and her face devoid of makeup. Jack, ever observant, noticed a smudge of lipstick hastily wiped from the corner of her mouth. She looked utterly frazzled.
"A school bus carrying 26 children went missing just moments ago in Westchester County!" she announced, her voice sharp and urgent.
------------------
If you're enjoying this novel, please check out my new work: I Am Zeus, KING OF GODS ⚡
Your support means a lot! Reading, commenting, or voting with Power Stones helps the story grow and reach more readers. 🙌
------------------
Enjoying the story? Support the author and get early access to chapters by joining my Patre@n!
Find me at: patre@n*com/Mutter
You can read each novel for $5 or get them all for just $15.
Fairy Tail: Igneel's Eldest Son (Chapter 256)
I Am Thalos, Odin's Older Brother (Chapter 336)
Reborn in America's Anti-Terror Unit (Chapter 542)
Solomon in Marvel (Chapter 924)
Becoming the Wealthiest Tycoon on the Planet (Chapter 1284)
Surgical Fruit in the American Comics Universe (Chapter 1289)
American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1316)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1402)
I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 660)
[+50 Power Stones = +1 Extra Chapter]
[+5 Reviews = +1 Extra Chapter]