They dragged evidence boxes from the sixth floor to the fifth. Trip after trip. Lee managed it all, clipboard in hand, rattling off chain-of-custody requirements. Bullock told him to sign for him. Lee refused, but Bullock was already down the stairs.
Back on the fifth, Bullock glanced at the far corner where the kid from Little Saigon, Sokha, sat at Gordon's desk. A journal lay open in front of him. He was out of the way but under watch. Meanwhile, Gordon had taken over Pinkerton's desk, which had been cleared off. Rusty sat hunched over photos while Chen sifted through the freak's report.
"I'm just saying there's something about the dates. I don't know what," said Chen to Rusty, fiddling with a black object in his hand.
"You should pick up a fucking box and start looking through this shit," said Rusty.
Bullock set a box down on his desk. Johnson sat in a chair beside Gordon, he'd been explaining how GCPD operated.
"Each precinct's got a captain. Enforcers, middlemen," said Johnson. "In most, it's the precinct chief. Loeb placed his loyal guys as chiefs. In others, he assigns a guy—it doesn't matter his rank—what matters is his loyalty to Loeb and if he can crack the whip when needed."
"Iverson tried to crack the whip, but Bronson's not a pussy. He didn't let shit like that go down," said Bullock.
Johnson nodded. "Iverson was loyal but not one of Loeb's top guys."
Lee reappeared from forensics. "Detective. Your signature."
"Jesus, you don't quit," Bullock said, scribbling his name.
"Is that real?" Lee asked suddenly.
Bullock followed his gaze to Chen. The black object in his hands wasn't a pen, but a blade. The same one that was thrown at his boots the other night.
"It's real," said Chen.
"You sure? They sell knock-offs," Lee said. "Forensics guys buy fakes and sell them on the street—tell buyers they got them from crime scenes."
Chen stretched an arm out. Lee took it and examined closely.
"This one's real. Cap can confirm," Chen smirked.
"I heard it can slice through brick," Lee said.
"That's a load of shit," Rusty said, standing and reaching for it.
"I know guys in Crime Alley who found one stuck in concrete," Chen said.
"Bullshit," Bullock said.
"I've heard the same," said Johnson, standing to take it. He held it, calculating its weight, before holding it out to Gordon.
"Wish there was a way to know if it was real," Lee said.
Gordon swiveled in his chair, taking the blade. He balanced it in his palm, index and ring fingers pressing lightly against the wings. With a slight push, two square plates lifted and the blade folded in on itself. He flipped it open again with a click. Back to its smooth seamless form.
Bullock watched him as he did it twice before those blue eyes darted around, noticing everyone staring.
"How did you know to do that?" said Lee
Bullock cut in, "Tell me something, how'd it all start?"
Gordon hesitated. Bullock shook his head. Didn't expect an answer anyway. He popped off the lid to the file box.
"I was following a lead," Gordon said. "Third case I was given. Gang shooting like the first and second. The guy I was looking for had a girlfriend who funded his commissary when he was in county. I went to her place. Heard a struggle. Glass breaking. Called out—no answer. Drew my sidearm. Kicked it in. At first, I didn't understand what I was looking at. His suit— blended right into the shadows. The guy he was fighting took off down the fire escape. He followed. I chased them both. Caught up with them in an alley, when the guy ran straight to me and said, 'Arrest me.'"
Gordon leaned back in his chair.
"A few nights later, a package falls into my mail slot. It had all the case results I was still waiting for, and more."
Johnson had drifted closer, listening. "Then he helped you with your open cases?"
Gordon nodded.
"Why?" said Chen. "I've never heard of him helping any of us."
"Because we'd all shoot his ass," said Rusty.
Gordon thought a moment before speaking. "You remember how it was. Working patrol—it's a revolving door. Feels like nothing changes. But convictions? Those stick. I think that's what he needed. Not just collaring them. Finishing it."
He turned to Lee, who looked like he'd just overheard a state secret.
"Any updates on that swab?" Gordon asked.
"We're running more," Lee said. "First round didn't make sense."
"How?"
"The toxin came back…human. We're running another to make sure."
Gordon's expression tightened.
"What is it?" Bullock asked.
"That's what his results turned up," said Chen, interrupting. "Been reading the report. Human origin. Needs to be ingested to be lethal. Dosage is about what you'd get from snake bite."
"Can't be human though?" Johnson asked.
They were interrupted by Fritzy, who shouted from the stairs, "We got Jordan Lock!"
"About damn time," Bullock said.
Chairs scraped against the floor. Footsteps tapped as they all moved for the stairs, heading down to the second floor.