Dangerous Distraction

Excerpt From: Dangerous Distraction

“Fucking A! Those bastards from ninth are here,” Gedry snarled. “I fucking hate those guys.”

“Where?” Paulson asked.

“Ninth in our neighbourhood? Fuck that.” Paulson’s partner looked ready for a fight. David Rook could never remember that guy’s name. Frankenfurter? Frententruber? Fronfuckingasskisser should have been his name.

Rook turned his bottle, expanding the moisture ring. “Ninth wouldn’t show up in our precinct for beer and pretzels.” He leaned on the high table where he’d propped his elbows. Hair fell over his eye and he puffed it off his forehead.

“The guy in the suit is DEA liaison for that office,” Gedry insisted.

Rook glanced over his shoulder. Five men huddled around a table like theirs. They were tight, controlled, watchful. These guys didn’t have that hang-dog endlessness about them like beat cops, nor the cadet-superman complex. Those uniformed guys all had one hang-up or the other.

This group looked solid and sported more than their share of confidence.

“Think they’re crossing borders?” Fronfuckingasskisser wondered, excitedly.

“For fuck’s sake, this isn’t gang warfare,” Rook muttered.

“You want a repeat of Strickland?” Gedry asked. His brows shot up, his upper lip wrinkled with scepticism. “You of all people—”

“—know when to let it rest,” Rook finished for him. He tipped the bottle to his lips, taking a long, final swallow.

“They stole our case,” Paulson said.

“It crossed lines. They had the majority of the information and the location of the hostages,” Rook reminded him.

“We had the bank that funded the damn thing,” Gedry said, increasingly disgusted.

Rook rose to his full height. “What the fuck do you want me to do about five guys from ninth hanging out?” He shook his head on a shrug. “It’s beer, Gedry. Get a grip.”