King's Justice: The Knights of Breton Court, Volume 2 by Maurice Broaddus

especially to Lee; to see him reduced to a helpless pile of bandages incapable of even wiping himself after soiling his bed sheets, the incident left an indelible mark of humiliation on him.
      Lee got back in the car and slammed the door.
      "Can't blame folks for not wanting to mark themselves as a witness," Cantrell said.
      "Oh, that's where you're wrong. I can blame them. And I do. They have only themselves to blame for this mess not getting any better." Lee flexed an insincere smile.
      "Not when they have crusading champions of justice like yourself for them to trust."
      "It's the white thing."
      "More the peckerwood thing." Cantrell didn't trip. He'd been handling racists all his life. At least he knew where he stood with this one. He set the coffee cup back in its holder, still half-full. "Similar to how I pretend every time you say 'they,' you ain't saying 'niggers.'"
      "I haven't said that."
      "Your lips say one thing, your heart says another."
    "I bet you say that to all your dates."
     
    Octavia Burke leaned back in her large leather chair. It sighed. She wore her brownish-black hair naturally. Freckles dotted her medium complexion on either side of her wide-ish nose. She shifted her broad shoulders along the seat, getting comfortable. Bridging her fingers on her chest, she enjoyed the earned authority of the seat. Captain Octavia. Her voice was fraught with an air of quiet thunder and brooked little nonsense, though most of her ire was aimed at Lee. The familiarity between them had morphed into something tense. No longer partnering with Lee meant not having to deal with his day-to-day nasty-ass attitude. Being a boss in his house meant that she still had to deal with his messes, though she was used to his brand of work ethic.
      "You said this case was a no-brainer," Octavia said.
      "Not that deep. One corner boy gets got by another corner boy. We're there to sift through the muck and paperwork until that corner boy gets got." Lee nodded at Cantrell for solidarity. Cantrell's gaze remained locked on the captain's desk.
      "So we don't have anything?" she reiterated.
      "Nope," Cantrell said.
      "The witnesses give a description?"
      "Vague. Average height. Average weight. Average age. Black. Male." Lee smirked after emphasizing the color. "You could've poked out my eye and fucked my socket after that revelation."
      "This file isn't vague. The body in the morgue isn't vague. I'm tired of vague. Get me something concrete." Octavia slapped the report on her desk. "Any ballistic matches?"
      "None." Lee leaned against the wall, his face a mix of smug and bitter. His hands fidgeted in his lap as if he didn't know where to place them to give off an air of command and control. He hated the way she squeezed into her office jacket whose buttons threatened to pop whenever she moved. He hated the way she flipped through paperwork rather than look at him. He hated the way that when she did look at him, she peered over her glasses. Stared down at him over the rims. Dismissed him with a glance.
      "Different shooter for each vic?"
      "Maybe. All the wounds were through and throughs. No shells or bullets recovered. And there were some questions about the wound tracks." Cantrell faced the captain, the desk between them a respectful gulf, his arms folded.
      "What sort of questions?"
      "They didn't specify. Said they'd get back to us." Cantrell hid his frustration with his partner's unnecessary button pushing of their boss. He'd heard they used to be partners. The smart play meant they had someone upstairs in their corner. Leave it to Lee to sour that relationship to curdled milk.
      "One other thing, this isn't just street guys," Lee said. "We're talking lieutenants, wholesalers… the infrastructure of the organization."
      "Professional and clean," Cantrell concurred.
      "For now. Only a matter of time before a civilian catches a stray bullet."
      "The problem with a