Page 35 of Thick

He shrugged. “That’s what they said.”

“I’ll be damned,” I said. “A cop’s a cop, unless he’s that cop. Glad there won’t be any heat coming down on us.”

“Felt good to find those girls.” Pee Bee turned his head and looked at his shoulder. “Makes this worth it.”

The bullet that struck Pee Bee came from the rifle of the man I had killed. According to Crip, if it wasn’t for me, the bullet might have hit him in the stomach or chest. Chances of survival from that wound would have been bleak.

I certainly didn’t feel like he owed me anything, but he was more than grateful for my quick reaction to the situation.

I fully realized killing was inherently wrong, but I believed there were often extenuating circumstances that justified the act. If having grown men kidnap children and then rape them at will wasn’t justification, I supposed nothing was.

“Hearing that little girl say ‘thank you’ was all it took for me to realize we were doing the right thing,” I said.

“What girl?”

“The little girl who was wearing Crip’s shirt,” I said. “When you told her help was on the way.”

“I didn’t catch that.”

“I’m sure you were in shock. High on adrenaline, if nothing else.”

“I wish I could have killed that prick a few more times,” Crip seethed. “Killing him once wasn’t enough.”

“The one who had that little girl in the room?” I asked.

“Yeah.” His jaw went tight. “Makes me sick thinking about it.”

“Me, too.”

“Me three,” Pee Bee said.

Crip finished his beer and turned toward the open door of the clubhouse. “Like I said when we were there. I appreciate you fellas being there. Couldn’t have got it done without ya.”

“Got company, Boss,” Pee Bee said. “Smells like bacon.”

Crip and I turned around at the same time. The cop who continued to meddle in the club’s business pulled into the lot and shut off his engine.

Fuck.

He opened the car’s door and got out. “Good afternoon, fellas.”

To date, I hadn’t seen him up close, but now that I was standing within a few feet from him, my guess was that he could hold his own in a bar fight. He was over six feet tall and built like a running back.

Crip turned his head to the side and spat on the ground and then glared at him. “Something I can do for you, detective?”

“Just in the neighborhood, and thought I’d stop in and give you an update.”

Crip looked him up and down. “Didn’t know I needed one.”

“Matter of common courtesy,” the cop said.

“Since when are cops courteous?” Crip asked with a dry laugh. “Last I heard, cops were shooting men through their car windows for legally carrying weapons, shooting them in the back for having broken out taillights, and gunning ‘em down in the 7-Eleven parking lot for selling CDs.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “There’s good and bad people all over this earth, cops included. Don’t label all cops, and I won’t label all bikers.”

Crip rubbed the stubble on his jaw between his thumb and forefinger. “Wasn’t aware there was such thing as a bad biker.”

“There is, and that’s why I’m here.”