Page 96 of What's Left of Us

Lincoln/ Five Years Ago

Sergeant Anderson clapsmy back as I head toward the exit in my civilian clothes. “Good work on that bust today, Hawk. I overheard the captain say he’s impressed with the work you’ve been putting in. No doubt he’ll give you a good recommendation if there’s anywhere you want to go from here.”

Anderson has been one of my favorite sergeants to work with because he doesn’t limit his patrol officers based on the latest policies. He lets us do our job, even if it means writing fewer tickets for mundane shit like seat belts and speeding and making more arrests for drug deals and violent crimes. Problem is, he’s retiring soon, and God only knows who will take his place.

If he says the captain knows who I am and likes what I’m doing, it means I have a better chance at moving up before he’s officially gone. I can only hope that’s the case. There are certainly people here who aren’t my biggest fans. I’ll take any ally I can get.

Anderson gestures toward his office, closing the door behind us when I step inside. “You’ve been doing a lot of interdiction work lately. Seems like you’ve got a point to prove. I’m curious who it is you’re proving it to.”

He sits on the edge of his desk with his arms crossed, curiosity clear on his face. I like the guy. He’s a hands-on boss and gives a shit about the men at his station, unlike some of the sergeants before him. Despite encouraging us to make a change in our communities, he’ll never understand my determination to clean up the streets.

“I grew up here,” I explain. “I don’t like seeing drugs overrun the streets I used to play on. Heroin has been on the rise for the past ten years, and now fentanyl is a growing problem that’s causing twice as many overdoses thanks to people lacing their product. I don’t like seeing it where my family lives or where my friends raise their kids.”

His understanding nod makes me wonder if he’ll press on the issue, and thankfully, he doesn’t. I don’t want to tell him that Conklin got a list of people employed by The Del Rossi Group who have a lot of criminal history in drug use and distribution. They aren’t your usual construction workers, and I doubt we’ll see them on any Del Rossi job site helping lay out foundations.

I also don’t find it a coincidence that two of the workers we just picked up tonight happen to be working the streets with a hell of a lot more narcotics than anybody should have. Nobody with a habit of using has eighty grams of cocaine stashed in a hidden compartment in their cars, and they sure as hell don’t have stacks of one-hundred-dollar bills tucked away either. The drugs come from the same person the money goes to, and one of these people is going to tell us who.

Conklin doesn’t think they’ll talk.

I do.

Interrogation has always been my strong suit, which is another reason I want to become an investigator. It’s all about how to speak to people—how to make them comfortable, or sometimes uncomfortable, enough to get them to open up. Conklin says I can charm the pants off a nun. That’s a skill set I hope the BCI can appreciate when I formally put my application in.

“I’m surprised you don’t want to work with narcotics,” Anderson notes. “They’d love to have you with all the arrests you’ve got under your belt. You could train the rookies on what to look for when they’re on the road.”

I’ve considered that before, but I don’t want to be a teacher. “I’m a hands-on kind of guy, sarge. Teaching isn’t really for me.”

He shrugs. “It’s an option. Same with CSU.”

Community stabilization? “CSU is just a fancy way of saying you’re a cop. It doesn’t come with the same pay raise as becoming a detective does, even though you’re doing more work by being undercover.”

“Saving up?”

“One day, I’d like to get out of my apartment.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll make a hell of an investigator. You’ve been putting in the time helping BCI close their cases, so your portfolio should definitely gain their interest.”

I ask him an honest question. “You think I got a shot?”

His hesitation makes me wonder what he knows that I don’t. “I think you’ve got a better chance than most people who will apply for an investigative position. You’re always here. Always working. Putting in the overtime. Making arrests. You’re showing results.”

One of my brows pops up. “But?”

He sighs. “But you’ve clearly made some enemies. There are people who want to make a mockery of you. I’m not the only one who’s noticed. I don’t know who you pissed off, Hawk, but it’s clear they’ve got it out for you.”

As soon as Conklin and I started partnering up to go after the people on his list, I started getting called into the sergeant’s office more often. I was a threat to their polished platoon that they wanted me to mold and conform to. When they realized I wasn’t going to do that, they started splitting me and Conklin up like it would stop me from going after the same people I was before.

It’s not a mystery who’s behind the sudden influx of calls to the station about me. When I asked one of the perps who told them to narc on me, they’d been desperate enough to make adeal. It wasn’t a lot of information I got from them, but they told me it was a man in an expensive black Escalade. The same vehicle Georgia said was following her. The same one that ran her off the road. There is no doubt in my mind it was Nikolas or someone he hired.

Question is, why does he care about the people I’ve been picking off the streets?

The only thing I offer him is the bland version of the truth. “When you make the number of arrests I have, you’re bound to make some enemies, sir.”

He studies me with inquisitive eyes before relenting in agreement. “You’re not wrong. My suggestion is to be careful, though. Some people get lost in this job. Obsessed with justice. You have a life to live. You’re young. Got a wife to think about. Kids, I’m sure, one day. Don’t throw your youth away to catch a few criminals.”

It’s my wife’s life that I’m trying to protect. I promised her safety, and dammit, that’s what I’m going to give her. Del Rossi is involved in a lot of shit that I’m determined to prove. I just need time and willing witnesses to back me up.

“Don’t worry about me, sarge,” I reassure, grabbing the door handle. “I’ve got it all figured out.”

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