“Well, I finally found a solution to my problem,” Chief Bibb announced. “I figured out how to make you two resolve your issues while also contributing to the LD, which brings me to Dorian ‘The Bull’ Dimitriou.”
I frowned in confusion. Bull was the head of a cartel that operated west of Grangetown. What did he have to do with us, since we had no jurisdiction there?
“Bull, the drug lord?” I repeated.
Instead of replying, Chief Bibb put on his eyeglasses and opened the folder in front of him.
“Dimitriou’s right-hand man, Louis Santiago, was captured six months ago while crossing the border with a shipment of heroin. The drugs were seized, Santiago was arrested, and the entire operation was a success. After a prompt trial, Santiago was sentenced to fifteen years in prison.”
“It sounds like a case closed to me, sir,” Jordan said.
I nodded in rare agreement, eager to get this weird conversation out of the way.
“Indeed,” Chief Bibb agreed. “Except that Santiago knows where his boss is hiding, and everyone wants to know where his boss is hiding, including us. That is where you two losers come in.”
“I don’t understand,” Jordan said, sounding confused. “How can we get to Santiago if he’s in prison?”
“By joining him, of course,” Chief Bibb said matter-of-factly.
I blinked.What?
“What?” Jordan voiced my question.
“You two will enter the prison posing as criminals and make Santiago talk.”
“Excuse me?” I said incredulously. “Do you want to get us killed, Chief? Half of the guys in the Smitsville Penitentiary are there because I put them there.”
“Not at all,” Chief Bibb replied, pushing his glasses up his nose. “That is why you’re going to the maximum-security facility in Grangetown where Santiago is serving his sentence.”
Was he insane? First, a maximum-security facility meant the worst of the worst. Second, someone could still recognize us there. Third, Jordan Slade would be there.
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” Jordan mumbled, just as I exclaimed, “No way in hell!”
Chief Bibb reached for his glass, filled to the brim with a peculiar-looking green liquid.
“The warden is in on it,” he continued, never minding us. “Your transport has been arranged, along with your fake IDs, rap sheets, and the rest of the paperwork. SPD and GPD are working together on this, and Detective Marcello Biancchi will be your contact in Grangetown. The operation starts tomorrow, so I suggest you start packing.”
“What… who are we impersonating?” Jordan said, sounding strangled.
“You are a small-time drug peddler,” Chief Bibb replied, stone-faced. “Detective Markland is your supplier and a local pimp.”
“Is this some kind of joke?” Jordan said as I burst into laughter.
“Not really,” Chief Bibb replied, smirking. “Although I’ll admit, it sounds like one. You could say it’s your punishment for making my life hell all these years.”
Jordan buried his face in his hands, while I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or kill someone.
“You are also sharing a cell,” Chief Bibb added, taking a sip of his green concoction.
“Abso-fucking-lutely not!” I bellowed, jumping out of my chair, because that was where I drew the line.
Chief Bibb shrugged. “Suit yourself. Either do it or resign.”
Jordan stood up as well. “No… erm… let’s think about this for a moment.”
Chief Bibb checked his watch. “Sure, but I suggest that you hurry. Your shift ends in one hour. Oh, and you’re leaving tomorrow at dawn.”
Jordan looked at me wide-eyed as Chief Bibb pointed toward the door. “Dismissed, gentlemen.”
