Page 14 of Savage Boss
Inside, the precincthumswith energy in the organized crime division. Iknowthese halls, or at least, halls like these; they’re carved into who I am. Iclearly rememberthose years of playing all sides, of blood and bargainstradedfor lives in back rooms, ofbeingon the other side of the interrogation desk and the prison bars—Idid not getmy tattoos by remaining meek and mild.
But today, with the stakes higher than ever, I’m here for answers.
Wepassthe desk sergeant, whoglancesat Pavel and me with a flicker of concern. Ilethimseemy smile, bordering on friendly but still cold, the kind of smile thatmakespeoplerethinkwhat they were about to say.
Wemovedown a corridor lined with various information and faded wanted posters. The frosted door to the OC unitloomsahead—a portal to those who know the city’s darkest side.
Pressure gnaws at me. The other Bratva are circling, waiting for a sign of weakness. My company is bleeding internally, and every day that passes without finding the mole is another day my enemies whisper about how far I’ve fallen. I’m not a man who tolerates whispers. My father's words echo in my head:Keep your house clean, or someone else will clean it for you.
Time is running out.
Wepush through the doorinto the OC division. Among the detainees and disorganized chaos of copsworking at their desks, Ispot Detective Dean Johnson. Hesitsat the far side, his back straight, jaw set. Iknewnothing about him until Ifoundhim accosting Clara outside my building.
Since then, I’ve learned ofhis reputation, the rumors, and the fact that he’s easilybribed.
Pavelhangsback, silent,lettingmelead. That's how it's always been. Trust in my worldisrare and precious; with Pavel, it's simple. Hewatchesmy back while Iwalkstraight toward Dean, footsteps heavy on the battered linoleum.
“Good morning.” I let my accent color the greeting. “Mind if I take a moment of your time?”
Deandoesn’t lookup as hegruntsthe reply with zero politeness, “I’m busy; someone elsewill helpyou.” He’ssortingthrough a stack of folders. There’s a coffee stain on the faded gray t-shirt he wears under the straps of his shoulder holster, and it’swrinkledenough that itlookslike thisishis second daywearingit, maybe even the third,judging by the stale smell of coffee and cigaretteswaftingfrom him and the day’s worth of stubble on his square jawline.
This is who Clara Benson fell for? The man she spent two years with?
I know that now, too.
“I’m here to see you, Detective Johnson.” I lean on his desk.
When he finallylooksat me, his eyeswidenwith recognition before narrowinginto anger and dislike. Thereisnothing friendly in his gaze. “You.”
Hegives methe same smile Igaveto the desk sergeant, amemento moricomingto life andgunningfor him. To his credit, he barelyflinches—barely. If he is indeedlookinginto me and my company, as he stated last night, heknowsexactly who Iamand what I’mcapableof. Even idiots like him still know when to be cautious.
Detective Johnsonshoveshimself to his feet, chairscrapingagainst the floor. “You have some balls coming here, Smirnov.”
“I believe you’re the one whowarnedme therewasan open investigation into Smirnov Corp. Ihavea vested interest.”
“In the investigation or in me?”
The brute isn’t quite as stupid as he’s made himself out to be, and a shrug is the only answer I give him. “You played your hand, now I’m playing mine.”
His glower grows hostile. “If you want something out of the division, you need to go through the channels.”
I ignore him. “I’m sure you’re aware, but someone is feeding law enforcement bad information about the Smirnov Corporation. And you know how these things go—there are people who would like to see me replaced and will do anything to see that happen, even tell lies. I imagine you’ve heard.”
His jaw flexes. “That’s your mess to figure out. And I hope you don’t.”
I lean in, lowering my voice. “Your office has access to a lot of privileged material, things that go missing, things that turn up where they shouldn't, someone that doesn’t bother with warrants.”
Dean’s lips twitch. He’s good—he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t argue. “We follow procedure here. If you believe otherwise, file a complaint.”
He’s stonewalling, but I’ve played this game before. “Funny how procedures bend when you want them to,” I say. “Especially when a certain detective is involved. I’m sure internal affairs would be interested—if they weren’t so easily distracted these days.”
Dean shrugs, as if it’s nothing. “Your paranoia isn’t my problem. And besides, I’m sure you know all about bending procedures and the rules, don’t you, Smirnov?”
“Smirnov Corporation is entirely legal.” I give him a grin, daring him to contradict me.
But he doesn’t give in. “I guess we’ll have to see about that, won’t we? You'd better make sure your fancy legal team is up to the challenge of defending your ass.”
“You mean my legal team that includes Clara Benson?”
