"Fuck!"
"Fuck!"
"Fuck..."
Barry Weiss, the junkie, was dragged along by two officers without a hint of rcy. His legs trailed uselessly behind him, his expression contorted with pain, yet he laughed like a maniac. "I'm suing you! I'm suing the NYPD! I'm suing everyone! I want a lawyer! I demand dical attention—"
*Thud!*
"Jason!"
Kate Beckett rushed forward, grabbing Jason Braut's arm just as he delivered a heavy fist that knocked out the few teeth Barry had left. She had to hold him back before he sent the man to the afterlife right then and there.
"Spit!"
Barry Weiss spat blood, his eyes wild and clearly unhinged as he looked at Jason's dark, murderous face. He laughed triumphantly. "I'm innocent! I want a lawyer!"
Jason looked like he wanted to swing again, but George said grimly, "Get him to New Amsterdam Hospital."
The two officers, faces expressionless, resud dragging the junkie toward a cruiser. Jason shook off Kate's grip and wiped his face. "I'm driving."
"No, you're not."
"What?"
George stared at Jason, his voice flat. "We are law enforcent officers!"
Jason laughed, reaching for his badge as if to throw it in George's face. He hesitated, let out two dry, cynical chuckles, and then turned without a word to walk back to his own car. Within monts, he had sped away.
Kate watched his taillights vanish. She turned to George. "I'll take the team to the hospital. Why don't you go ho and check on things?"
In truth, they had been racing toward Gwen's apartnt from the mont she called. In Barry Weiss's hideout, they had found photos of Jason, Jeff, and George—including surveillance shots of their families. When George had seen a photo of Gwen with a red 'X' drawn over her face, he knew the nightmare was real.
Fortunately...
George nodded, his mind racing. He let out a long, heavy breath and walked toward his house.
...
Half an hour later.
Gwen listened to her father's recount, her jaw dropping. She covered her mouth and looked at Locke. "My God. I saw him on the lobby cara—he was right behind you! Thank heaven you didn't let him in, Locke."
George looked at Locke as well.
Locke smiled easily. "I saw him quicken his pace the mont I opened the door. It felt off, so I made sure to shut the door behind ."
George let out a breath he'd been holding. "You did the right thing, Locke."
"Dad?" Gwen asked, her eyes full of worry. "Is what the assassin said true? Is there really no way to convict him?"
Locke watched George intently.
George was silent for a mont. "We have no direct evidence."
"But you said you found his fingerprints in the couple's apartnt!" Gwen countered.
George shook his head. "That's not direct evidence of murder."
His prints were in the first apartnt, but they found nothing in the second or third scenes, nor in the ho of the officer killed that morning. Weiss was a veteran of the criminal justice system; after forgetting gloves the first ti, he had learned his lesson.
Without a murder weapon or a confession, any decent lawyer would argue he had simply lived in the apartnt previously. And under the law, you only get one shot at a conviction.
"So, what are you going to do?" Gwen asked.
George managed a small smile, seeing his daughter safe and protected by Locke. "Don't worry. Catching bad guys is what we do."
He stood up and gestured for Locke to follow him to the door. As George put on his shoes, he lowered his voice. "Locke, I have a safe in my study. The code is Gwen's birthday. There's a spare pistol inside."
Locke looked shocked. "I'm not eighteen yet, George."
George opened the door. "I'll get you a permit later."
Locke blinked as George walked away. For a split second, he actually felt a pang of guilt.
But then he rembered: this was the second ti George had "snatched" his prey. First the textile factory, and now this. Even if Locke had allowed it this ti, a hunt was a hunt.
'Fine,' Locke thought. We're even.
One junkie in exchange for a legal gun permit and the explicit authorization to "open fire" at ho.
Wait. Open fire?
Locke turned back to Gwen, who was standing up from the sofa. "By the way, where are the boys?"
George's three sons had such low presence in Locke's life they were practically background noise. It was easy to forget them.
Gwen tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, hanging up her call with Cindy. "Mom took them to Jeff's house early this morning to help with his kids."
Locke nodded. He'd wondered why Helen wasn't at the hospital.
"Why?" Gwen asked.
"Nothing. Did you talk to Cindy?"
"Yeah. We're rescheduling for tomorrow."
"Good." Locke walked over and pulled Gwen into his arms, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Guess what your dad just told ."
Gwen looked up at him, sensing the change in his mood. "What?"
Locke leaned down and whispered in her ear.
Gwen froze. "What do you an, 'open fire'...?"
"Ah! Put down!"
With a startled laugh, Gwen felt Locke lift her off her feet. He hiked her up until her legs wrapped around his waist and began walking briskly toward the stairs.
From this mont on, he had official permission from the man of the house to "open fire."
And he had proof!
...
New Amsterdam Hospital.
George stepped out of the elevator and was imdiately t by the gazes of a dozen officers lining the hallway.
When it ca to cop-killers, the NYPD had a singular philosophy: shoot to kill, don't take them alive. The fact that this junkie was breathing, let alone receiving top-tier dical care, was a bitter pill for them to swallow. If it weren't for their deep respect for George Stacy, any other captain would have been t with an open revolt.
Kate Beckett and her two detectives were sitting outside the room. They couldn't leave; if they did, there was no telling if the junkie would "accidentally" stop breathing within minutes.
"George."
"Status?"
Kate pointed toward the room. "His lawyer is here."
George grunted and pushed the door open. Barry Weiss was in bed, his legs in fresh casts. His lawyer, a man in a sharp suit who looked far more respectable than his client, sat nearby.
The lawyer didn't wait. "The NYPD has the right to hold my client for forty-eight hours. After that, you either charge him or release him."
George sneered. "If we release him, do you think he'll make it to the sidewalk alive?"
Barry looked nervously at the lawyer.
"Peerless is a wanted fugitive by the FBI and the NYPD," the lawyer said smoothly. "My client's life is under serious threat. The NYPD has a legal obligation to protect him."
George's eyebrow twitched.
The lawyer pulled a docunt from his briefcase. "My client is also filing suit against Jason Braut for felony assault and terroristic threats, and a civil suit against the NYPD..."
George grabbed the papers, his face a mask of stone. "We have questions for your client."
The lawyer shrugged. "Of course. But my client will be exercising his right to remain silent. I will be here for the full forty-eight hours until you either charge him or provide him with protective custody."
The lawyer was ambitious. He had seen firms like TNT&G make a na for themselves by suing the FBI and SHIELD for millions. He figured he could follow in those footsteps. If the feds could lose, the NYPD certainly could too. A ten percent cut of a multi-million dollar settlent would set him up for life.
Unfortunately, he forgot one thing.
He wasn't a Wall Street shark from a top-tier firm. He was a bottom-feeding lawyer who made a quick buck representing the dregs of society.
And in New York City, suing the NYPD?
Good luck with that.
***
Read 30 Chapters early on P-atreon/Redestro666
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