Two blocks over from the tapped-off auto yard, The squeal of car brakes rent the air as Chief McKinney skidded to a halt. He parked askew in front of the mobile field command post tent, jumped out of the driver's seat and marched inside.
The pop-up was filled with folding tables and portable communications equipment, while nearly a dozen supervisors and dispatchers bustled about coordinating the search effort. Scanning past the busy crew, McKinney zeroed in on his man.
Waylon sat near the back, his feet up on a table, lazily scrolling his phone. Temple pulsing, McKinney pushed through the crowd to reach him.
"I thought I said you were relieved," McKinney spat angrily as he approached.
Waylon looked up from his phone and rolled his eyes, "The Mayor wanted me to stay on scene. Besides, I'm not the one who fired his gun. Ryan is already being debriefed with internal affairs."
McKinney knocked Waylon's feet off the table, "I' don't care who your sucking off, if I tell you you're relieved, then you get the fuck out."
Waylon shot out of his seat and squared off with the Chief. "Say again, sir?" he sneered.
Chase sauntered over from the other end of the tent and stood at Waylon's shoulder, both men baring down on their superior. The other officers gathered around the crowded tables froze, watching the exchange with bated breath.
McKinney held his ground, nostrils flaring like an angry bull, when Lieutenant Finnick entered. Seeing the tense standoff, he hurried over to the Chief and grabbed his shoulder.
"We need you back at headquarters boss," Finnick urged.
For a solid minute, McKinney ignored his Lieutenant, keeping his eyes locked on Waylon's. Slowly he turned to one of the Sergeants on scene.
"Get them out, now," He barked.
The detectives let themselves be escorted out, Waylon smiling haughtily as we went.
When they had gone, McKinney leaned, fuming between the cables and laptops on the table as his people resumed their duties.
"Boss?" Finnick said cautiously.
"What's the status on my 'copter?" McKinney asked, ignoring Finnick's concern.
Finnick sighed, "All the external instruments are down. The fucker knew where to hit it. The crew is getting ready to go back up, but it will be line of sight only, no infrared, lights, or cameras."
MicKinney pinched the bridge of his nose, warding off a headache, "and the victim? We get an I.D?"
Finnick pulled out a notepad from his pocket, "Javier Gonzales, sixteen, lived in a group home until he ran away about four months ago. History of B-&-E, grand theft auto, and shoplifting. He had an old school I.D on him which was good because, um..." Finnick swallowed hard, "No one would have recognized him otherwise..."
McKinney grunted, "And no one except Ryan saw what happened?" he asked skeptically.
Tucking his notepad away, Finnick pulled out a cigarette and held it between his lips, "The body camera shows him confront the nutjob in the costume standing over the kid's body before it shorted out. That's all we got."
McKinney swore, "How long since the last sighting?"
Finnick checked his watch, "No one has seen the guy in three hours."
McKinney shook his head, "break it down, he's long gone." He stood up and headed for the tent exit. Finnick followed.
"I wasn't just making an excuse to stop you from decking Waylon," Finnick said as he clicked his lighter, "We really do need you back at headquarters."
YOU ARE READING
The Knightstick Chronicles, Rough Justice
FantasyJustice is real... and he is a dick. After the death of his partner, John Morgan resigned himself to a life at the bottom of a bottle. But fate, and something much stranger, had other plans. A chance encounter forces John out of his reverie, and int...
