shifted his file from under his arm. He flipped through a massive amount of papers, refreshing his memory. Admiration mixed with discomfort mixed in Stella's head. Had Bishop ordered a background check on her? What had they found? Trying to brush away her sense of wrongdoing – the 7T had undoubtedly used underhanded methods to dig into her partner's personal life – Stella settled into her chair. Agent Jackson didn't deserve privacy, realized Stella, after the attempted abduction.
“He grew up in a hoity-toity, middle-class suburb on the east coast,” intoned the young man as he flicked over his notes. Stella caught a few school logos and coats-of-arms flash through his papers. “Most notably, he got into fights with subversive groups, like LGBT and people of color. Assault charges dropped or cases dismissed for various reasons.”
Coyote snorted, “Unsurprising.”
“He went through police academy near his home town, got accepted at the PD, and had a pretty uneventful life.” Qwerty's words stuttered, his gaze flicked over to Stella. She waited, eyebrows raised. She hadn't found it pertinent to do a background check on her partner. Perhaps, she should institute a personal policy on it, though. Qwerty tore his gaze away from her and continued his report, “Then, he shot an unarmed, fleeing suspect. The community was in an uproar, but someone quashed media attention to it. Jackson then applied to become a fed and, well, the rest is history.”
A huge wave of sickness tightened at Stella's guts. She was definitely going to do background checks on any future partners, now.
Bishop's eyebrows lowered, mentally mulling over the information. Agent Jackson did, indeed, sound like the sort to get involved with the White Knights. Typically, it was a family affair, though.
As if reading his boss's mind, Coyote demanded, “What about his family?”
“His pop is Bernard Jackson, a pretty famous prosecutor with cop bias out the anus.” Qwerty nodded, handing Bishop a sheet of paper. As Bishop gleaned over the printed article, his hacker brother continued, “Rumor has it that he's part of a white supremacist too.”
Stella groaned loudly, her head weighing in her hands. Her head throbbed, wondering how many suspects had been left in a room with Stanley Jackson. How many had been coerced and bullied into confessions due to their skin tone. Her stomach churned, realizing with a start. “I let him interrogate Williams.”
“Crow?” Qwerty's eyebrows furrowed in momentary confusion before he realized it. His brother wasn't only nicknamed for the flying black bird. Nathaniel 'Crow' Williams was painfully, obviously, Native American. Just slightly, Qwerty paled, and his eyes widened.
“I thought Halloway would exacerbate his temper.” Stella winced, turning an apologetic gaze to Bishop. “Had I known any of this, I wouldn't have let him even question anyone.”
Bishop's expression didn't budge. His jaw flexed with quiet anger, but Stella couldn't tell if it was for her or the circumstance. Shaking his head, the biker boss muttered, “It's fine. You didn't know, and right now we need to focus on pinning Stan and Delilah.”
Everyone in the room fell silent. All three present Tribesmen held pinched expressions, mixing between absolute hatred to grim determination. Stella suddenly felt very much like the outsider she was. She shifted uneasily, the pit in her stomach only deepening the more she thought about Stan. If she had eaten breakfast, she'd be racing to the bathroom to heave it into the toilet. Stella curled her arms around her middle, leaning forward.
“Hey, you alright?” Bishop's soft tone broke into her thoughts.
Her gaze darted up to the man's face. Tears burned behind her eyes, but Stella nodded. Softly, she murmured in a cracked voice, “I'll be fine.”
“Hey, boss, I checked those surveillance tapes you asked for.” Qwerty broke the
“He grew up in a hoity-toity, middle-class suburb on the east coast,” intoned the young man as he flicked over his notes. Stella caught a few school logos and coats-of-arms flash through his papers. “Most notably, he got into fights with subversive groups, like LGBT and people of color. Assault charges dropped or cases dismissed for various reasons.”
Coyote snorted, “Unsurprising.”
“He went through police academy near his home town, got accepted at the PD, and had a pretty uneventful life.” Qwerty's words stuttered, his gaze flicked over to Stella. She waited, eyebrows raised. She hadn't found it pertinent to do a background check on her partner. Perhaps, she should institute a personal policy on it, though. Qwerty tore his gaze away from her and continued his report, “Then, he shot an unarmed, fleeing suspect. The community was in an uproar, but someone quashed media attention to it. Jackson then applied to become a fed and, well, the rest is history.”
A huge wave of sickness tightened at Stella's guts. She was definitely going to do background checks on any future partners, now.
Bishop's eyebrows lowered, mentally mulling over the information. Agent Jackson did, indeed, sound like the sort to get involved with the White Knights. Typically, it was a family affair, though.
As if reading his boss's mind, Coyote demanded, “What about his family?”
“His pop is Bernard Jackson, a pretty famous prosecutor with cop bias out the anus.” Qwerty nodded, handing Bishop a sheet of paper. As Bishop gleaned over the printed article, his hacker brother continued, “Rumor has it that he's part of a white supremacist too.”
Stella groaned loudly, her head weighing in her hands. Her head throbbed, wondering how many suspects had been left in a room with Stanley Jackson. How many had been coerced and bullied into confessions due to their skin tone. Her stomach churned, realizing with a start. “I let him interrogate Williams.”
“Crow?” Qwerty's eyebrows furrowed in momentary confusion before he realized it. His brother wasn't only nicknamed for the flying black bird. Nathaniel 'Crow' Williams was painfully, obviously, Native American. Just slightly, Qwerty paled, and his eyes widened.
“I thought Halloway would exacerbate his temper.” Stella winced, turning an apologetic gaze to Bishop. “Had I known any of this, I wouldn't have let him even question anyone.”
Bishop's expression didn't budge. His jaw flexed with quiet anger, but Stella couldn't tell if it was for her or the circumstance. Shaking his head, the biker boss muttered, “It's fine. You didn't know, and right now we need to focus on pinning Stan and Delilah.”
Everyone in the room fell silent. All three present Tribesmen held pinched expressions, mixing between absolute hatred to grim determination. Stella suddenly felt very much like the outsider she was. She shifted uneasily, the pit in her stomach only deepening the more she thought about Stan. If she had eaten breakfast, she'd be racing to the bathroom to heave it into the toilet. Stella curled her arms around her middle, leaning forward.
“Hey, you alright?” Bishop's soft tone broke into her thoughts.
Her gaze darted up to the man's face. Tears burned behind her eyes, but Stella nodded. Softly, she murmured in a cracked voice, “I'll be fine.”
“Hey, boss, I checked those surveillance tapes you asked for.” Qwerty broke the
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