“Leave that filth alone,” Deputy Chief Charleston drawls. “He’s a criminal with the audacity to say we’re just like him. That’s as slimy as they come. Don’t be the chump he manipulates for pity.”
“He said he has proof,” Rhett says as he stands. “Physical proof. I don’t think he would make up claims like that for misdirection and pity. And Shelby worked with several police departments during his tenure. I think we should take this seriously and investigate.”
I want to turn to the man and plead with him to stop talking, but I’m too busy attempting to take in air. I wish I could use my arms. I remain curled in on myself, blood soaking into my hair as I slide away from the deputy chief.
Deputy Chief Charleston offers a grunt of disapproval. “Rhett, you’ve been helpful in this investigation, but we’re in Noimore—my jurisdiction. I’ll handle everything from here. Forget you even talked to this scum.”
“Well, Joliet is my jurisdiction,” Rhett says, firm in his stance and confidence. “And that’s where Shelby had his office. You can take Pierce and question him, but I’m going to investigate his claim. We should know if someone in our ranks is using their post for personal gain. Especially if it involves human trafficking.”
Deputy Chief Charleston doesn’t answer.
“And to be frank,” Rhett continues, “it disturbs me how quick you were to manhandle someone in custody. You’re the deputy chief of police. The officers of Noimore look to you for guidance. I have half a mind to report you.”
I got to give it to Rhett… he has some testicles. He’s naïve as fuck, but at least he’s no coward. Even through the agony and dull ache, I half smile at his bravado and confidence.
To my surprise, Deputy Chief Charleston laughs. “Ya know, Rhett? You’re right. Maybe I’m just overworked and takin’ it out on the little guys. Tell ya what. You take this scumbag over to the station, and I’ll speak to Chief Huang on the subject. Maybe she’ll have a plan to utilize some of the detectives within Internal Affairs.”
Rhett takes in a deep breath and then exhales. “All right. I’ll take him in and get you the report as soon as possible.”
“Good man.”
Rhett takes one of my arms and helps me to my feet, but I struggle the entire way, nauseated. Despite that, I see the officer coming up behind Rhett, his Taser at the ready, and I cough when I attempt to speak. Rhett must sense something is up, because he turns on his heel, ready to engage. He grabs the other officer and twists his forearm. When Rhett goes to pull his gun, three other officers fire cartridge Tasers, two of which strike Rhett on the exposed skin of his neck, dropping him hard.
The other men of the special-response unit leap on Rhett the moment he’s down. They remove his weapons, belt, radio, and bulletproof vest before handcuffing him. When Rhett thrashes and fights, they plant knuckles onto his face—a few one-two combinations to the cabbage and the guy is more cooperative.
When the police thugs gather around me, I remain as passive as I’ve been this whole meeting. I don’t need another strike to the gut to know I’m at a disadvantage. They don’t rough me up, but they do jerk me around like they’re hoping I step out of line.
“Take these two to Castor,” Deputy Chief Charleston commands. “He’ll handle the rest.”
“Even Rhett?” one officer asks.
Poor, stupid officer. Did he not learn his lesson?
Deputy Chief Charleston wheels on him, the veins of his body pulsing with restrained rage for the world to see. “Do you want to go with him to make sure he’s okay?” he growls through thick clenched teeth. “Otherwise, you forget you ever saw Rhett here, do you understand me? You’re all to write reports that Rhett went rogue on this. That he went to apprehend this piece of shit and never came back. Got it?”
The officers nod. No further questions.
They lead me over to the armored police van, and there’s a piece of me that wishes I hadn’t left the gala. Even if I meant to leave Miles, this isn’t my preferred method of doing so. Anything would be better than getting a bloody beating at the hands of corrupt cops and their stooges.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“YOU DON’T have to do this,” Rhett says, his back to the corner of the van, his arms handcuffed and restrained to the reinforced steel siding. “Anderson, Thompson… you both have wives and kids. What would they say if they saw you—”
“Shut up!” one officer barks. He stands, moves a short distance down the van, and pulls his gun. “Don’t you mention my family again.”
“Calm down, Anderson,” another officer says. “Just ignore him. This’ll all be over soon.”
Rhett sits up as straight as he can, his expression neutral. “Whatever you’ve done, it can be mitigated if you turn yourself in and stop this. It only gets worse the longer you go.”
Anderson rushes over, grabs Rhett by his black police shirt, and jerks him close. “This didn’t have to happen! It’s your fault we have to do this! If you had let it go—if you weren’t such a fucking Boy Scout—we all could’ve gone on our merry way!”
“I didn’t force you to do this,” Rhett states. “You could’ve just done your job.”
There’s a quiet moment where nothing happens before Anderson completely loses his shit. He punches Rhett with the gun in his hand, allowing the weight of the weapon to add to the strike. After the second go, he switches to using the handgun as a blunt club, bashing in part of Rhett’s ear and splattering blood across the floor.
Two officers jump up to
