Page 88 of Ricochet

The urge to roll his eyes tugged at the back of Cox’s sockets. Rookies. Undermining the cop, Cox stepped in front. “Followed a tip. The guy who owns this place led us here.”

“I own the fuckin’ place.” The heavier male stepped forward, rubbing his hands like he was itching for a fight. Cox recognized him as one of the Bojanskis. “And I sure as shit didn’t lead you here.”

Hand rested against the butt of his gun, Cox stood with his feet apart. “The tenant of this apartment.”

“There is no tenant in this apartment, asshole. You see the sign out front?” A smile stretched across Bojanski’s face. Whether he was Leon, or his infamous brother Frank, Cox didn’t know. Both men carried a bad reputation on Detroit’s west side, and most cops didn’t fuck with them.

“Then, who the fuck left the computer?” Burke pointed over his shoulder.

Bojanski’s eyes shot to Burke. “No idea.”

Cox gave a nod toward Burke. “Meet you downstairs.”

“I’m sorry … what? We’re leaving? We need to dust for prints. Collect evidence. This is as much a crime scene—”

“You shut your fuckin’ mouth, Burke,” Cox barked back. “Downstairs. Now.”

“The fuck?” Burke’s lip twisted as he passed, and he waved to Corley beside Cox. “What about him?”

“Corley stays.”

Corley had a relationship with just about every non-law-abiding bastard that roamed the streets, like a fucking pied piper of criminals. They respected him, which ordinarily grated on Cox’s nerves, but right then, he’d make an exception.

Burke pushed past the group of men, storming off like a pissed off toddler.

“Now you’re outnumbered.” Bojanski tipped his head and smiled, like threatening a police Chief was as normal as changing his goddamn underwear.

“I want his name.” A bold request, but Cox had been brought to the level of stupid moves since he’d been tagged the next victim.

“Go fuck yourself. Pig. I don’t take orders from cops.”

Cox snapped for Bojanski’s throat, pinning him to the wall inside the bedroom.

Three guns clicked at once, two of them pointed at the Chief.

“Whoa! Hold up!” Corley’s voice thundered above the blood swishing inside Cox’s ears. “Just hold the fuck up! We’re here to investigate a string of murders. We have reason to believe the killer lives here.”

Bojanski snorted when Cox’s grip fell from his throat. “Killer. More like hero. Taking out all the shit that you cops are too fuckin’ lazy to do.”

“Look, this person is a bit unorthodox, and I can’t deny that.” The calm in Corley’s tone made Cox want to punch the bastard. The cocksucker probably hoped Bojanski would snuff Cox right there so he could steal the throne and be crowned the next police chief. “Whoever it is, is targeting some major players, no doubt. But he’s climbin’ the food chain, and sooner or later, he’s gonna hit one of the top dogs. These are psychopaths he’s going after. Ain’t like you and Rev, Leon.”

“You know Rev?”

“Yeah, I know Rev. We go back a long ways.” Just as Cox suspected, Corley knew all the shady bastards.

Bojanski sniffed. “All right. Name’s Alec Vaughn. Skipped out six months ago. Ain’t been back. Bastard stiffed me on half a year’s rent.”

“Alec Vaughn,” Corley repeated. “What’s he look like?”

“Looks like a fuckin’ gangster, that’s what he looks like. Like Al Cappone, or some shit. Likes pinstripe suits and fedoras.”

“You know anything about him? Relations? Family? Interests?” Corley’s line of questioning seemed worthless at that point. It was no mystery why the killer chose the Bojanskis. If Cox hadn’t been so damn preoccupied with the possibility of stumbling upon something incriminating, he’d have called on the goddamn military to take out the asshole, if necessary.

“Look around. This ain’t Trump Tower. The fuckin’ tenants who’ve lived here came from the streets. I’m not courting the bastards, I’m their landlord, not their goddamn fairy godmother.” He straightened the collar of his shirt. “You got the information you needed. Finish up and get the fuck out. And if I ever find you on my property without my knowing, search warrant or not, you’ll be the next Jimmy Hoffa.”

The three of them exited the apartment, sparing no fear that they’d just told off the Chief of Detroit Police.

Cox turned to Corley. “I want you to look into this Alec Vaughn. I want to know everything about this cocksucker—his favorite color, what time he shits, how he takes his goddamn coffee. And you report directly to me. No one else. Understood?”