Page 145 of Gunner

The station had the sort of cold efficiency that made you feel nonhuman . Ben ushered me into the booking area, where he handed me over to another cop. She took me through the motions of confirming my name, address, the usual. The ink from the fingerprinting felt cold and impersonal as she methodically pressed each of my fingers onto the pad, then onto the paper, leaving behind black, swirling patterns that looked like the imprint of my current predicament.

They made me hand over my belongings. My wallet, keys, phone, and smokes. All the items were put into a plastic bag, cataloged, and stored away.

Then came the waiting. I was led to a small room, stark and sterile with just a table and two chairs. The walls were drab and the lighting harsh. They’d left me in handcuffs, but my hands were in front of me this time. Although I wanted to pace the length of my prison, I sat, refusing to let them push me to the edge.

Everything would work out.

God help the bastard responsible for pinning this murder on me. Not even Ben’s calm, rational words would be able to help them.

The door creaked, and I raised my head. My stomach tensed when Thoms entered the room alone. I’d never dealt with him, but I could already tell he was a dirty cop.

He sat opposite me. “You might as well confess. We have evidence that puts you at the scene of the crime.”

Usually, their evidence didn’t matter to me. I could always have it go missing, but what could they have planted that even Ben had had no other choice than to arrest me?

“I only talk to Chief Witter.” I already knew how this would play out. No talking on my part unless a lawyer was present. “When do I get my phone call?”

“You get it when we give it to you.”

I clenched my fists but didn’t respond.

“I’m here to propose a deal,” he said. “We can give you a lighter sentence if you help us get rid of the corruption in this station.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Chief Witter. Are you willing to put it in writing that Chief Witter and you are lovers?”

Ah, so this bastard only wanted to take down Witter. He was even willing to compromise a case in which one of his own was murdered.

“You want my help?” I asked.

“Yes. Chief Witter must go.”

“Here’s your help.” I lifted my middle fingers.

His face turned red. He leaned over the table and grabbed me by the front of my shirt. “Listen to me, you prick. You think you’re so tough because you have a man on the inside who will get you off? Don’t forget where you are. I can make sure you don’t leave this place alive.”

“So can I, you motherfucker.”

I headbutted him, cracking our foreheads together. I clenched my teeth to bear the pain radiating through my skull. It was completely worth it when he stumbled back into the chair and turned over.

The door opened, and Ben walked in, sweeping his gaze over Thoms on the floor, then to me. The sides of his eyes crinkled as if he was trying to stifle his laughter.

“I thought I told you I would handle questioning him,” Ben said.

Thoms rubbed his forehead and climbed to his feet. “You can’t work on this case, and you know why. Your judgment is compromised, since you’re fucking this animal.”

“Get out of here, Thoms,” Ben growled, his eyes cold. “If you have a complaint about how I handle matters, you know the channels to take. Until then, I’m going to continue doing my job.”

“Don’t worry. You won’t get to do it for too long.”

The door shook on its hinges from the force Thoms used to slam it shut.

“Are you okay?” Ben rushed over to my side. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

I grabbed his hand. “Kiss me.”

Ben frowned. “Gunner, now’s hardly the time—”

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