"No, no, no—this isn't right. Something's not adding up." Ronick paced anxiously back and forth.
Connecting the dots from what Bishop had said earlier, Jack already had a rough idea of what was going on. He tested the waters: "Danny Barbero... he was also a member of DPD's Anti-Gang Unit, wasn't he?"
Ronick nodded and, with a grim expression, pulled a pair of handcuffs from his waistband. "I need to talk to Bishop. Are you coming?"
——
A few minutes later, in a cold, heater-less office, with two corpses laid out under jackets, the infamous gang boss sat in handcuffs, his expression unchanged.
Ronick pointed at the body on the floor. "His name was Danny Barbero. Like Ray Botteno—the one you killed in the church—he was part of DPD's Anti-Gang Unit.
Now I need to know: Why would Anti-Gang Unit officers risk sneaking into my station to rescue you? Do you know who those men outside really are, Bishop?"
Before answering, Bishop turned his face toward Jack. "I'd like to know who this gentleman is first. A federal agent. Are you also here because of me?"
"If I told you I just happened to be passing through with a friend, would you believe me? My office is in New York, not Detroit," Jack replied, flashing his badge with impatience.
He had no sympathy for the gangster. Even with cuffs on, Bishop still carried himself like he was in control—Jack had no time for that kind of swagger.
"Captain Ronick is a good cop doing his job. My advice is to cooperate."
Ronick was far less diplomatic. "Answer the question, or I'll be more than happy to throw you out there with those bastards. I'm about to take a desk job at Precinct 21—I doubt anyone's going to raise a fuss over a 'small mistake.' And it's not just my life at risk here."
Bishop's eyes flicked between the two men before he raised his cuffed hands in surrender.
"Alright, fine. This isn't actually that complicated. First of all, Captain, Agent... I assume you both know who I am?"
"A violent thug," Ronick growled.
"Sorry, never heard of you until today," Jack replied honestly. Across the U.S., or even just in Detroit, there were dozens of mid-tier gang lords like Bishop. Unless you were specifically targeting organized crime, it was impossible to keep track of them all.
Bishop clearly wasn't expecting that. It took him a moment to regain his composure.
"Okay, then I believe you really are just passing through."
"I work with a partner—Marcus Duval. More accurately, Marcus Duval and every single member of his unit."
"Who the hell is Marcus Duval?" Jack remembered Ronick mentioning the name earlier.
"Captain Marcus Duval of the DPD Anti-Gang Unit," Ronick explained. "He was the direct superior of both Ray Botteno and Danny Barbero."
"So you're saying you're in bed with them? Then why did you kill Botteno? Why murder him in a church this morning?" Ronick pressed.
Bishop's expression turned complicated. "It's simple, really. We used to split things fifty-fifty. But Duval wasn't satisfied. He wanted a seventy-thirty split in his favor. I refused."
"So you killed his guy to send a message?" Jack raised a brow. "That doesn't sound smart."
"No," Bishop shook his head. "I underestimated them. Clearly, they've already found new partners. Botteno came to kill me. I just struck first."
That explanation made more sense. Jack rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So Duval and his people want to silence you permanently?"
"Exactly. My lawyer contacted a federal prosecutor to propose a deal. I have enough evidence to put Duval and his crew away for life.
So when I saw you, I thought the DOJ had already sent someone."
That clarified Bishop's earlier behavior—he hadn't been posturing, just mistaken.
In the U.S. legal system, prosecutors can't directly command police officers. Just look at the Reagan siblings in Blue Bloods—Erin the ADA had no authority over Danny the detective. They often clashed, like when she refused to press charges after he made an arrest.
But the FBI is a different beast. They report directly to the Department of Justice, whose head is the Attorney General.
Jack was calm, but Ronick looked like he was about to explode.
"How many cops are in on this?" the young captain demanded.
"The whole Anti-Gang Unit? I don't know the exact number. But I'd guess no fewer than twenty. They're not going to let anyone leave this precinct alive—not me, not you, not even the other three prisoners in the holding cells."
Bishop gave a bitter smile. Unlike Jack's detached calm, Bishop seemed resigned—playing it step by step, hoping for a break.
Ronick misread that expression and snarled, "You think this is funny? If they've come this far, they're not letting anyone walk away. Not you, not us, not even those three other prisoners. We're all dead."
A soft knock came from the door.
"Jack, Captain—you'd better come see this," John's voice called from the hall.
——
Out on the snowy street, three large SUVs slowly rolled toward the precinct, headlights blazing. Behind them followed two police cruisers in DPD livery.
The SUVs parked brazenly across the main road, directly facing the station's front doors. Their high beams cast glaring light at the building, a blatant show of force.
The two cruisers pulled up on either side, blocking off both ends of the road.
Inside, Jack lifted a corner of the blinds and pressed himself against the cold brick wall, watching the scene unfold.
"I thought I came to Detroit to go after criminals," John muttered, half-joking. "Not to get into a shootout with cops."
Jack glanced at his old friend. He'd always been laid-back, but he hadn't expected John to keep such a level head in a moment like this. Clearly, in the years since Jack left LAPD, John had seen his share of hell.
By contrast, the others weren't doing so well.
Alice, a civilian employee with no firearm training, was visibly pale—her lipstick couldn't even hide the tension on her white-knuckled lips.
Old Officer Jasper's face was like stone. His eyes burned with hatred as he stared at Bishop, like he wanted to tear him apart with his bare hands.
Dr. Alex looked completely lost but was starting to realize the people outside weren't here to talk.
______
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