pursuit of Cooper, his blood boiling. On the
other side of the open grave, the others were watching.
"Any of you got something to
say?" barked Owen. "Because now's the time, you understand?"
"Nobody blames you," said
Rosa.
"Bullshit! You all blame me.
Well you were all happy when I was putting us on the front of the
newspapers with the big busts. So guess what guys? The bad guy hit
back. And yeah, they hit back harder and more bloody than we
thought they would, but that's the god-damned job. That's why we're
here. They picked us because we had nothing to lose, no reason to
back down. If that's changed for you, you need to walk away
now!"
Rogers, Hartley, and Nutt all
looked at each other. There was no answer. When Owen had first told
them about the Magpye, some lunatic in a mask and big coat who was
going to go the places that they couldn't, had they even believed
him? If some mental patient wanted to put himself in the line of
fire instead of them, what did it matter? That was the gap in the
plan, the reason for wildcards like Grice. People who don't have
people don't tend to have much in the way of compassion either.
That made Owen White a wildcard too. He cared about this city, he
cared about his team. He'd come here as a man with nothing to lose,
and found himself with a cause and with a family not of his
choosing.
It was Rogers who spoke,
breaking the silence. "We're still with you boss, for Grice if
nothing else."
"Me too," added Rosa.
Owen smiled. "Well then, I
guess we'd better do what Grice would have wanted."
"What's that?" asked Burns.
"We go and find a quiet bar and
we drink until we pass out. For Grice."
"For Grice," they all replied
in unison. Owen's smile stayed fixed on his face. Maybe this was
what they needed. Men who had nothing to lose were dangerous. Men
who had lost something, men who were looking for payback... they
were deadly.
"I'll catch you up, Rosa," said
Owen, sending his partner on her way with the others. He watched as
they filed out of the cemetery, one by one. Seven of them. If it
weren't for the Magpye, it would be a suicide run now no matter
they chose to do. The only option would have been to quit and to
put as many miles between them and this forsaken city as possible.
But with the Magpye, Owen thought there just might be a chance.
He'd seen him do impossible things.
The cemetery was silent for a
moment, just the sound of Owen breathing. And one other.
"You can come out now Garrity,"
the cop said calmly.
Mick Garrity stepped out from
behind a tree, hands in his coat pockets.
"What are you doing here?"
asked Owen.
"Paying me respects," replied
Garrity, looking down into Grice's grave. "He was a cop and no cop
should go like that, no matter what."
"You're no cop, Garrity,"
growled Owen. "You're a lackey and a hood for whoever's lining your
pockets."
"Prove it."
Owen grabbed Garrity and
slammed him against the tree he had been hiding behind. Nose to
nose, he snarled at Garrity.
"I've spent my life in and out
of departments like this and there's an easy way to find the
dirtiest guy... you just look for the guy with the cleanest sheet.
No cop works a city like this for as long as you have without
collecting a little dirt, Garrity, but your file is the most
pristine I've ever seen. Clean sheets mean dirty cops, every
time."
Owen only stopped talking when
he felt the sharp nudge of Garrity's gun in his ribs.
"Then why don't I kill you here
and now and toss you in with your boy there?"
Owen let go of Garrity, shoving
him one last time against the old tree.
"Not your style," he said
dismissively. "You don't get your hands dirty, do you?"
Garrity straightened himself
up, took his hands from out of his pockets, holding them up for
White to see.
"Look, we're all friends here,
OK?" he said, "You don't like me, fine. But I meant what I said,
Grice was a cop and a cop is a cop no matter what. Dirty or clean,
good or bad, you put on a shield and you're one of the brotherhood
until
other side of the open grave, the others were watching.
"Any of you got something to
say?" barked Owen. "Because now's the time, you understand?"
"Nobody blames you," said
Rosa.
"Bullshit! You all blame me.
Well you were all happy when I was putting us on the front of the
newspapers with the big busts. So guess what guys? The bad guy hit
back. And yeah, they hit back harder and more bloody than we
thought they would, but that's the god-damned job. That's why we're
here. They picked us because we had nothing to lose, no reason to
back down. If that's changed for you, you need to walk away
now!"
Rogers, Hartley, and Nutt all
looked at each other. There was no answer. When Owen had first told
them about the Magpye, some lunatic in a mask and big coat who was
going to go the places that they couldn't, had they even believed
him? If some mental patient wanted to put himself in the line of
fire instead of them, what did it matter? That was the gap in the
plan, the reason for wildcards like Grice. People who don't have
people don't tend to have much in the way of compassion either.
That made Owen White a wildcard too. He cared about this city, he
cared about his team. He'd come here as a man with nothing to lose,
and found himself with a cause and with a family not of his
choosing.
It was Rogers who spoke,
breaking the silence. "We're still with you boss, for Grice if
nothing else."
"Me too," added Rosa.
Owen smiled. "Well then, I
guess we'd better do what Grice would have wanted."
"What's that?" asked Burns.
"We go and find a quiet bar and
we drink until we pass out. For Grice."
"For Grice," they all replied
in unison. Owen's smile stayed fixed on his face. Maybe this was
what they needed. Men who had nothing to lose were dangerous. Men
who had lost something, men who were looking for payback... they
were deadly.
"I'll catch you up, Rosa," said
Owen, sending his partner on her way with the others. He watched as
they filed out of the cemetery, one by one. Seven of them. If it
weren't for the Magpye, it would be a suicide run now no matter
they chose to do. The only option would have been to quit and to
put as many miles between them and this forsaken city as possible.
But with the Magpye, Owen thought there just might be a chance.
He'd seen him do impossible things.
The cemetery was silent for a
moment, just the sound of Owen breathing. And one other.
"You can come out now Garrity,"
the cop said calmly.
Mick Garrity stepped out from
behind a tree, hands in his coat pockets.
"What are you doing here?"
asked Owen.
"Paying me respects," replied
Garrity, looking down into Grice's grave. "He was a cop and no cop
should go like that, no matter what."
"You're no cop, Garrity,"
growled Owen. "You're a lackey and a hood for whoever's lining your
pockets."
"Prove it."
Owen grabbed Garrity and
slammed him against the tree he had been hiding behind. Nose to
nose, he snarled at Garrity.
"I've spent my life in and out
of departments like this and there's an easy way to find the
dirtiest guy... you just look for the guy with the cleanest sheet.
No cop works a city like this for as long as you have without
collecting a little dirt, Garrity, but your file is the most
pristine I've ever seen. Clean sheets mean dirty cops, every
time."
Owen only stopped talking when
he felt the sharp nudge of Garrity's gun in his ribs.
"Then why don't I kill you here
and now and toss you in with your boy there?"
Owen let go of Garrity, shoving
him one last time against the old tree.
"Not your style," he said
dismissively. "You don't get your hands dirty, do you?"
Garrity straightened himself
up, took his hands from out of his pockets, holding them up for
White to see.
"Look, we're all friends here,
OK?" he said, "You don't like me, fine. But I meant what I said,
Grice was a cop and a cop is a cop no matter what. Dirty or clean,
good or bad, you put on a shield and you're one of the brotherhood
until
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