People are lined up for miles in a procession, starting from the precinct and stretching out into the streets.

The doors open and the desk sergeant exits with Tony's wife and daughter in tow. They're carrying boxes of his stuff, after emptying his desk out.

"Atteeeention!" The sergeant cries out.

The muscles in my face are so taut they hurt.

"Preseeeeent - arms!"

Hands snap to foreheads in a somber salute.

There's a black car waiting behind me. The door is opened for Tamika and her daughter.

"Thanks for everything, Dare," she sniffles. "Tony would be so touched..."

"We take care of our own, Tami," I manage around the lump in my throat.

She hugs me briefly before they enter the car.

I resume my position. Hand to my forehead, jaw clenched and eyes burning but dry - because what the fuck good is snivelling like a little fucking bitch gonna do for him now.

"Order - arms!"

The car pulls away slowly.

It's another funeral for a fallen cop. But this one's different - because Tony was my friend, and he took a bullet that was meant for me. I feel lower than dirt. I shouldn't be alive, and there's nothing I can do to make it up to him now. We'll be lucky if we can have the funeral in peace, without bombs or other...The-Dark-Knight-style surprises.

Officers arrayed in uniform get into patrol cars and motorcycles, lights flashing, to begin the procession to the cemetery.

Amazing Grace is played on bagpipes, twenty-one shots fire into the sky, the American flag is draped over the casket, a crisp folded version handed to the widow and children he left behind. But there will be nothing we can offer to fill the void in their lives.

And then they lower him into the ground.

And that's it.

And still my eyes are dry. Ken and I just look askance at each other with pained expressions. Too numb, too hollow to shed a tear. I've long ago forgotten what crying feels like.

I touch my fingers to his tombstone, heart feeling like it's gone through a meat grinder. I don't try to stop the cases we worked together, the fun we had, from playing on a loop in my head. I've just gotta say goodbye and then keep going. Fuck the pain, I guess.

We'll take it from here, man.

•••

On my first day of the job as a detective, I drive in to work with Ken in the passenger's seat. The underground parking is filled with a wide assortment of vehicles, including sports cars. I've got a sweet ride for a work car: my own. Sleek, blacked-out Ferrari 488 GTB with lots of engine. Affectionately dubbed my Bat Mobile. But now it's equipped with a radio full stack and lighting controls for very well-concealed blue lights - boss' orders if I want to use it while on the job.

Ken and I get our ID card photos taken against a red background, which indicates that we're commissioned to carry a firearm. We receive new badges, with a new design. We're reminded that officers are punished for losing their badge with up to ten days deducted from their pay, but I don't need any motivation to keep this beauty on me at all times. I'll fucking shower with it.

We get a bit of history. I learn that the Major Case Squad was originally formed in response to the wave of assassinations of police officers in the late sixties, early seventies, and has historically played a key role in the investigation of any homicide of a NYC police officer.

Florian's back, and seems to be a lively one. One of the prisoners being transported to Rikers in a vehicle convoy fatally stabbed a corrections officer. The diversion it created allowed prisoners to escape, including a really, really bad man. So Florian went undercover to identify the stabber and get a confession, hoping to reconstruct what presents itself as a well-orchestrated plan. Presently, he's in one of the interrogation rooms with a guy in a jumpsuit. They both look like they've been in a fight recently. Florian's explaining that hell yeah I was a cop the entire time you punk-ass bitch and he got the other man on the wire for murder. So, that mission was accomplished, it seems.

I follow our new captain past the room and into his office, where we get our guns.

Ken mags out slowly, deliberately, brow taut with consternation.

Noticing, cap raises a brow.

"Strictly pink, sparkly wands of deescalation in your old precinct?"

"No, uh, he's... He's fucked up because he'd never killed anyone before. And then he had to, to save my ass." I nod grimly.

Cap nods understandingly.

"Same thing happened to my partner when I was a patrol officer. I've got my gun on the bad guy, I'm in control of the situation, we can all leave this room alive, you know? Two whole minutes the perp just stares down the barrel of my gun. I'm thinking fucking shit on a reel the whole time. And then - he whips out a gun - out of nowhere. The very next thing that happens is he goes down. My partner shot him."

"Wow. Where's your old partner? Have I met-"

"He killed himself shortly after that."

"Oh." Taken aback, I scramble for words. "I'm... I'm sorry."

I gulp, swallowing hard.

"Yeah. It gets easier. But, uh ... Listen, Johnson? Don't do that to Romano. Give him a call, he'll talk you down."

"Yessir," Ken and I say in unison, and leave with our firearms when dismissed.

"Let's get a few things straight," Ken hisses when we're out of earshot. "One, I am not some fuckin' twelve-year-old-ass-snowflake-ass-cupcake-ass-basement-dwellin'-ass-SJW-ass-unicorns-and-rainbows-ass hippy. Two, that was not even close to the lengths I would go to keep you safe." He grabs my shoulder, jabbing a finger in my face. "Three, it is fucking important that you understand the kinds of fucking nightmares I've been having about something happening to you, man, ever since Tony was shot..."

I regard him with a thin, wavering smile, knowing exactly how he feels because it's the same for me. We're supposed to be men of steel, men of power, but there are a few weaknesses that I'm not ashamed of.

"Listen... Ken? I know we're gonna pretend like we didn't get all soft back there, when they turned the heat up on us, but...can I tell you something?" My gaze is solemn and fierce. "I meant every word. I would do anything, kill anyone, for you - in a heartbeat. Between my life and yours, I'd pick yours." I shrug. "Simple as that. 'Cause you're my partner, best friend, brother - you have no idea how much you mean to me. There's no shame in that, man."

"Oh, you're goddamn fuckin' right there's no shame." A slow grin spreads over Ken's face. "I'm gonna scream I love you, Beast, every time we get in the car for work, and carry around pink bandaids in case you ever scrape your knee, and kiss your booboos, too. No shame."

Before I can tell him to piss off, my phone rings. It's Ari.

"Dare. Remember I told you we got a hit in IBIS for that gun? Well, that was a dead end because the owner has been in prison for six months. But we used traffic cams and got a hit on the car that was used in the shooting. Patrol just found it on the side of the road. Comes back to a forty-year-old Manhattan woman. Says she hasn't seen it since her estranged son stole it. Well, he showed up last week. CSIs are on the scene with her now and he's due back from his errands in thirty."

"Send me the address. We'll be right there."

•••

"Wow, it's clean."

"It's been washed and detailed," Ari affirms. "No prints, no trace, not a spec of dust. We were definitely not supposed to be able to link him to it. We may still not be able to-"

"Fuck," I mutter.

"-unless you manage to extract a confession. The footage wasn't great. But we placed cones where Tony fell, where you were, and where Ciel was. Emulated the car driving by, the angles, the speed, trying to trace the trajectory to an intended target. We know there was a second occupant. And, my hunch, based on preliminary triangulation? The target wasn't you - or Tony."

"Fuck."

"It was Ciel."

"Fuck."

"But we're still working to confirm that."

"Make sure his phone's wire-tapped, we'll see what we get." I turn to one of the officers heading into the house to search it. "You got that?"

"I'll get a warrant," he says, taking out his phone and bringing it to his ear.

I walk over to where a grave Ken is interviewing our suspect's mom.

She's really broken up, says her son started running with a bad crowd about a year ago and she hadn't seen him for months before he showed up out of the blue last week, asking for another chance and vowing to make everything right again. Wouldn't say how. He'd been all caught up in drugs and debt. Suddenly, he isn't.

"I know he's responsible for killing one of yours. But... He's a good kid. If you find him, please don't hurt him," she pleads.

"That's up to him," I nod grimly.

We're gonna wait out his arrival, confront him, see what happens.

"I don't like him for this," Ken mutters sidelong as we walk to our posts.

"I really don't wanna nail some teenager for this either. But he has to pay for his wrongs. Besides, Ari's saying this is the car; she thinks he looks good for this. And apparently he was shooting at Ciel..."

Ken's jaw tightens a fraction. "I'm afraid I'll really kill him, Ken... I'll hang back here... You apprehend this time."

"I gotchu, brother."

Pretty soon, we spot Jeff walking up the street with his head down and two bags of groceries in his hands. He doesn't suspect anything. We've got no uniforms or cruisers in plain sight - nothing except Ken, poised to intercept him.

Jeff looks up a mere five feet away from my partner, eyes widening comically.

I can see the precise moment Jeff shits his pants.

A big, black wall of muscle descending on him, shoulders the size of watermelons, snarling expression... I'd be shitting my pants, too.

He drops the bags, whirls on a dime, then-

Thunk. His body hits the concrete and he struggles, flailing, while Ken wrests his arms behind his back. He manages to cuff him under a barrage of kicks and swear words.

I circle them slowly, before yanking Jeff up by the collar.

"Opened up on a couple o' cops last weekend, huh, Jeff?" I rasp.

"I didn't know!"

"What's that?" I cup my hand around my ear.

"I don't know what you're - aaagh." Ken has yanked his head back by the hair.

"Let's take this over to One P. P.," he growls in Jeff's ear.

Ken and I sit across from Jeff in the interrogation room. It's been two hours of laying into him. I explained to him that whether he takes this ride alone or lays some off on his partner, the choice is his.

But he swears he doesn't know anything. I just drove, he cries. And I sure as hell didn't know a cop was gonna die. He claims he was offered money by a mystery number - enough money to fix him and his mom up for a long time. They wired him the Gs, which is already gone towards paying off his dealers. Jeff took the bait, and now he's gonna take the fall. Because it's his car we're linking to the murder, and he has no one to rat out. Just another average Joe shooter in a ski mask whose face Jeff never saw and who probably got his own orders from a mystery number.

Fuck.

I pound my fist on the table and stand up to leave. Ken continues the interrogation while I step outside. An officer is waiting, who confirms that Jeff's been making calls to a mystery number. They're doing everything they can to trace it.

I notice Estée leading a suspect out of another room.

"-that makes her an accomplice to your felony skip." She sees me and lifts a hand in greeting before steering the suspect to a chair. "Sit tight for a second. Think about what I said."

She walks over with a bright smile.

"Hey, Dario. Heard you picked up that psycho kid."

"Yeah," I sigh, "but he ain't good for it."

"What do you mean?"

"He's just the messenger. He's working for someone. Higher up the totem pole. There's like a ninety percent chance there's a bounty on my head."

She tilts her head. I can see the cogwheels turn as she tries to follow.

"You said you got a hit in IBIS for the gun-"

"Yeah, it comes back to a John Wheeler."

"Okay, which interrogation room is he-"

"That's the thing. He's in prison."

"Yo, Beast, I'm telling you." Ken comes out of the room, where Jeff is probably still cowering. "The gun owner put a hit on you from inside..."

"Beast?" Estée quirks a brow.

"It's a nickname from my rookie days."

She folds her arms across her chest, head cocked.

"I like it."

I turn to Ken.

"You really think Wheeler ordered the shot from inside?"

"I bet my star on it." Ken is adamant, so it may as well be an angel from heaven heralding divine advice.

I start dialling, then lift my phone to my ear.

"Detective Romano for Warden Briggs..."

•••

"Open it up!"

The cranks whir and grate loudly as the gates slowly lift.

"Detectives. The federal government would like to welcome you to the Sing Sing correctional centre," the warden booms. "We hope you enjoy your stay."

Ken and I follow him through the courtyard, where prisoners are being unloaded from a convoy amidst shouts of keep it moving, fellas.

"NYPD Detectives coming in," the prison warden announces.

A buzzer sounds and the door opens. We step inside, and it shuts behind us with a clang.

We head down a hallway towards the general population ward, and then another buzzer sounds and we're accompanied through another barred, sliding door. It creaks as it closes behind us with a loud bang. Vague, distant voices chatter indistinctly over the PA.

"Watch yourselves in here," Briggs advises. "They're in here 'cause of you."

My eyes pan around the rows of jumpsuit-clad men in their cells.

"Let them take a good, long look then."

Briggs points out Wheeler and says that a corrections officer already searched his cell and they found no phone, but it's no matter. I will be searching more thoroughly. Ken stands at the door with his legs staggered and his hands folded in front of him while I walk slowly down the rows.

I pull Wheeler out of his cell, deciding to make an example of him. 

"Listen up, girls!" I stop in the middle of the aisle, my voice echoing off the walls. "I want to give you a demonstration of what happens to men like Wheeler here, whose gun put a bullet in my friend." I grab him by the scruff of his neck. "I'm gonna take your sneakers, I'm gonna take your jumps, I'm gonna take your prints! I'm gonna take your DNA!" I drag Wheeler's head back with my balled up fist. "The man you killed was a cop! So there will be consequences! Prison will not protect you!" I release Wheeler to the warden, who ties him up opposite his cell.

I start going through his stuff, keeping one eye on his facial reactions as I pull out posters, magazines, clothing, cards. Everything I pull out, I throw behind me in his general direction.

Briggs was right; his cell's clean. Turning around, I untie Wheeler and yank him to his feet.

"Take off your shirt."

He scowls but complies, whipping it over his head and handing it to Briggs, who bags it. I turn him around, patting around the hem of his wifebeater. I instruct him to remove that, too. This reveals a solid, muscular build.

"Like what you see?" He snarks, standing shirtless before me.

"Take off your pants," I deadpan.

He hesitates, looking around with a scowl.

"YOU WANT SOME HELP?!"

I know how I look. Lungs heaving, face red, veins jumping in my neck. Worse than a bad cop, I'm a crazy cop. Now that someone's trying to hurt Ciel to get to me... game over.

His pants slide down, and I start patting around his underwear. The inmates snicker as I work. But everyone falls silent when I reach in and pull a small burner flip-phone from beneath his balls. He swallows, all traces of a smirk wiped from his mouth.

Gaze riveted on his, I hold the burner phone in one hand and mine in the other. I call the mystery number. His phone rings. "Ding ding ding..." I say darkly.

Minutes later, Wheeler stares at me across the interrogation room table with a stony, impassive expression.

"I had you pegged for someone with just a little more sense, Wheeler." I shake my head. "Going after me, after my boy..."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he denies flatly.

"I'm talking..." I lean in. "About the fact that you've got sources. You know what's happening on the streets. Everyone knows you were a hitman. People who come in here talk to you, tell you their problems. Someone was gonna be in a shitload of trouble because of me. Only way they get off is if I go bye-bye. How'm I doing?"

An impressive poker face gives nothing away.

"They offered you money, didn't they, Wheeler? You said deal. But you're all jammed up. That's okay, you said. You have connections - like a nephew who owes you, 'cause you took the fall for him. So you recruited him and his friend to take me out. Except they missed, Wheeler. So here I am. And I found your boy, Wheeler. And then he coughed you up like a furball." I spread my hands.

"What the fuck are you talking about-"

"I'm talking about three people who had a plan to take out a cop for a few bucks. Two of them were smart. The other one's you."

"You think I'm some corner boy that's just gonna flip," he scoffs.

"You're not in here for life, Wheeler. But you can be, if you take the fall for this homicide yourself. Don't go that route. Tell me who offered you the money. Tell me who put the bounty on my head."

"You're just threatening time like that to get me to roll."

"Oh, I'm not bluffing. The phone? Texting could get you another five years, Wheeler. I know that someone contacted you and put the hit on me. I got your phone, Wheeler, all your texts about your nephew getting busted for drugs and going to jail. Then suddenly, you take all the charges? He goes free, but he's broke and the dealers are after him for their money. Now all of a sudden he has all those Gs to pay them off and build a new life with his mother? Just like that? You and I both know where that kind of money comes from."

"Go fuck yourself. I'm no snitch."

I stand up slowly, nodding at the officer standing near the door.

"Don't you have some paperwork to do?"

He nods slowly.

"Yeah... Yeah, I got some paperwork..."

He leaves us alone.

I look at Wheeler, tilting my head to the side.

"Telling me to go fuck myself? That hurt my feelings." The smile on my face has his slipping slowly away. Walking around behind him, I lean in close and whisper in his ear. "Ascoltami, amico mio. I make one phone call, they roll your nephew up. They'll take him to jail. You know what happens in jail, don't you? Oh, that's right..." I husk breathily, right in his ear. "I'm gonna ask you one more time..."

"Fuck you-"

I pound my fist against the table.

"You think you're hard, killing a cop, huh, Wheeler?" He stares evenly back at me. "There's two ways this can go down. But only one of them ends well for you-"

"Hey, Beast." The door opens and Ken pokes his head in.

"I'm busy."

"It's Ciel."

I look at Wheeler another few seconds before slowly backing out of the room.

My phone was on silent so Ciel called Ken.

"Hi daddy," Ciel says.

"Hey, kitten."

"Whatcha doin'?"

"I'm in prison right now-"

"What?"

"-interrogating an inmate."

"Okay. I'm out of chocolate shampoo."

"I'll pick some up on the way home."

"Okay, thanks, bye."

"Bye, babe." I hang up. Total fuckin' sweetheart.

Where was I?

•••

"Oh, come on. Why do I have to investigate the Nut Hut?"

Ken and I were finished our work on time for the first time in ages, stood up slowly so no one would notice, managed to get halfway out the doors when an urgent case came in - a kidnapping. Victim is a minor. Everybody goes. Turns out the baby's father is the prime suspect, whereabouts unknown, but he frequents a local strip club.

"Shouldn't it be a woman who goes in?" Ken suggests.

Cap walks into the room.

"Should I be worried about sending you in?"

"You know I'm on the up and up, sir, but that doesn't mean I want to see women degrade themselves for money."

"They're more likely to talk to hot guys." He waves his hand dismissively. "Officers will wait outside to detain and transport the father here for questioning, should you find him. Every officer under my command knows better than to fraternize with witnesses. One misconduct complaint, one hair, one fake nail on their person, one print on their brass, tell me. I turn them into mall cops." He claps his hands together. "It'll be your first case and I want you to work it. Problem?"

"No sir."

I suppress a sigh before following Ken out the door.

I should've just called in dead today.

•••

A man chatting up a tall blonde by an ATM splits as soon as he notices us. Nothing throws cold water on a guy's libido like a couple cops out for an evening stroll.

"Excuse me, ma'am, why don't you roll up the sidewalk; he's not a good idea. Tell your parents to keep a better eye on you."

I stop the man with a flashlight in his face.

"You, hey, different story, zero tolerance. I see you again, I'm gonna give you a ride home to your wife."

We flash our badges to the bouncer and he sighs before letting us through.

Strobe lights and club music assault us when we walk through the door. Not a single person here is fully-dressed. It's a whirl of neon colors, sparkles and sweat. I'd really rather pretend places like these don't exist. Not in my city, not in my jurisdiction.

"Try not to touch anything," I mutter under my breath.

Bodies press against us from all sides, some accidentally, others not so much.

"Mm, hello, officers." A tanned blonde in a bright pink lingerie set sidles up to us. "Can I help you?"

Wow, she nailed us as 5-0 right away and we're not even in uniform. That's not good.

"Yeah, we're looking for, uh, Sugar Plum," I grit out. "She available?"

"Of course. I'm always available for New York's finest." A brunette in a green set steps forward.

"We're here about a loyal customer of yours-"

"We have a law enforcement discount, every day." Her lips curve in a cheshire grin. "I just made it up..."

I give her a weak smile.

"What makes you think I'm a cop?"

"Please. There's thirty-one flavors of freak going on in here. In walks mister vanilla, buff build, crew cut, brooding expression, scanning the place like some Nordic Terminator..."

Ken narrows his eyes, jabbing a finger at her.

"Are you quoting something? You watch cop shows?"

"Me, a uniform kink? Pfft..." She flashes me a lopsided grin. "Where's your gun?"

"On my waist..."

"Can I see it?"

I narrow my eyes.

"Listen," Ken intervenes, "we're here because a little girl was kidnapped around 9PM yesterday."

"I've got an alibi officer. Been riding the pole allll night."

I hold up a photograph.

"Have you seen this man?"

"He's kind of cute. Is he a model?"

"Oh yeah," I deadpan, "he's about to model for a mugshot. Wait and see his layout in the sex offender registry if my theory is right."

"Mm, never seen 'im."

"There were fake nails found in his stuff that look exactly like yours."

Her eyes widen.

"You cops sure have an eye for detail... Anything else you wanna investigate further?"

I fold my arms across my chest, levelling her with a flat stare. "Look. Last time I saw him, the guy was all smiles."

"Your parents gonna be all smiles when they find out you turn tricks for kicks, Sugar Plum? Hmm?"

"Wow," she whispers sultrily. "So much righteous indignation. I've never seen a man so wound up before; your job most be really stressful-"

"I'm stressed out because what you're doing is degrading to women. And because now you're lying to the police."

"I'll tell you what you wanna know, if you tell me... what's your ideal woman?"

I cock my head, accepting the challenge.

"Hmm. My ideal woman believes in low taxes, small government, and supporting the local economy. She owns at least three guns and a Lamborghini. Likes Crown Vics. She's never been involved with anyone before. She just likes to tease, keep the men at bay. She's coy, demure. Ruthless glint in her eye. She's off-limits, unattainable but so desirable. She always keeps you guessing, always two steps ahead of you, and every time you turn around she disappears. She's strong, intelligent, brave. Type A..." I pause, frowning. "Oh, I'm sorry. You meant, like ... hair color and bust size, that kind of thing? Sort of like how you might order a pizza."

Sugar scoffs, cocking her head.

"Listen, Boulder Shoulders-"

"Hey! Kasey! Just answer his questions."

Turning around, I recognize the approaching woman as one of the strippers I encountered last time I was here, responding to a sexual assault complaint.

She walks up to us, arms folded across her chest and face devoid of any mischief.

"How can I help you, officers?"

"We're looking for this man. You seen him?"

She takes the photograph.

"I think so..."

My phone rings. Ciel. I leave Ken with the ladies and step aside.

"Hey, baby doll. I can't talk right now, I'm at a strip club."

"Okay, please pick up Nutella after work. We're out."

"Why do you assume I'm on the job? I could've come here myself."

I can practically hear Ciel roll his eyes on the other end of the phone. "I thought I asked you not to do that again; it's disrespectful."

He hangs up.

So he's fucked.

"Got him," Ken grins when I rejoin the trio. "Right over there."

I follow his gaze and wade through the crowd. Tapping the man on the shoulder, I put on my flirtiest smile.

"Hey, wanna dance?" I offer.

He turns around and his eyes widen in shock before narrowing.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Police." I flash my badge. Ken moves in to grab him.

"What the f-"

"Alright. Let's take this outside."

Ken and I each grab an arm and escort the man towards the door. "Come on."

"You know," Ken says to me after he's secured in the back of an officer's cruiser. "You don't need someone just like you. Maybe you should be looking for someone who complements you."

I scoff and shake my head with a smile.