Loeb's coat hung limp over the chair back. He stood at the window, arms folded, the city reflected beside the hard line of his face.
"I said alone."
"You get both of us," Gordon said, "or none."
Loeb turned, slow. His gaze drifted to Dent and lingered. Contempt flared in his eyes, then cooled into a tight smile.
"Fine," he said, jamming his hands into his pockets. "You and the squad did a decent job digging into Iverson's mess."
Gordon stayed silent, watching.
"I mean it," Loeb said. "My people told me what you unearthed. Rituals. Sacrifices. It's all filth."
"You're claiming you knew nothing?" Dent asked.
Loeb arched a brow, offended. "Of course not." He stalked to Gillis's desk, sneering at it like the man who sat there was beneath him. "GCPD needs a win. I'll give this precinct a pat on the back. Publicly."
Dent let out a low, bitter laugh.
"That's why I'm pulling my boys off," Loeb added.
"Like last time?" Dent snapped.
"Fulman, Lorenzo, Mazzocchi, even Flass won't breathe your air, Jim."
Gordon didn't blink. "That all?"
Loeb's smirk vanished. "No. Your friend keeps clear of my people."
Gordon raised an eyebrow.
"He can haunt the city all he likes. But he lays a finger on another cop, this is over."
Dent shifted his stance. "And they won't come after either of them?"
Loeb glanced between them, then gave a stiff nod. "We'll leave you both be. Keep doing your thing—together." The word dropped like acid.
Dent elbowed Gordon. "That's a good deal."
Gordon looked down at his scuffed boots, discolored from the rain. He took off his glasses, examining the scratch on the lens. Everything wore out, eventually. It's what you did to prepare for when that happened that mattered. This had to be played right.
"No."
"Jim," Dent said, caught off guard.
Gordon raised a hand. "I want your people out of this building."
Loeb barked a harsh laugh. "You've got balls, I'll give you that. But this isn't a back-and-forth. Take it or I walk."
"Jim—" Dent began.
"Half this floor's packing up," Gordon said, stepping in. "Every time I enter a room, your guys scatter. You came without backup. That makes this a negotiation."
Loeb's eyes hardened.
"Your guys don't want to be here," Gordon went on. "They're probably begging for transfers. Maybe even demanding it. You've got no one left holding the line here. So here it is: pull every last one of your men. When the Chief steps down, he names his successor—not you. And the shoot-on-sight order? Gone. Do that, and the string of 'bad luck' trailing your boys ends."
Loeb bristled. He crossed his arms, jaw clenched.
"I want a guarantee," he said, voice tight. "He stays off my people."
"You'll get it. If you hold up your end."
Silence grew louder, Loeb closed the distance between them, "One move from him. One. This ends. Clear?"
Gordon gave a single nod.
Without another word, he turned and left, yanking the door so hard it bounced off the wall. Shoulders squared like the floor still belonged to him
When he was out of the office, Dent exhaled. "Jesus, Jim. You didn't even need me."
Gordon offered a subtle smile. "I was bluffing, only guessing that his guys are pressing him."
"That's a hell of a bluff," said Dent, "But, do you know what you just pulled off?"
"Hold the celebration. I still have to see if he'll agree."
"You think you won't go for it."
"He might," said Gordon, crossing his arms thinking what might cause his partner to walk, "If the benefit outweighs the cost."
"I might be able to help convince him," said Dent.
The gleam in Dent's eyes gave it away, he wanted the meeting. But Gordon knew his partner's answer.
"You don't sell him an idea. He's in, or he's not."
"And if he's not?"
"He'll let us know."