Bullock

Morning draped the city in gray, the overcast sky stretching endlessly above the packed street outside the 52nd precinct. Bullock took a final drag of his cigarette before grinding it under his heel. Exhaling slowly, he pushed through the precinct's wooden doors and found the first floor eerily still. The usual bustle had shifted to the back, where the conference rooms were.

He made his way down the hall and stepped into the first room, already crowded with officers. The air was thick with tension, conversations low and clipped. His eyes landed on Johnson, leaning against the back wall, speaking quietly with Dent. Bullock ambled over.

"That him?" Dent asked, nodding toward a redhead sitting a few rows back.

Bullock followed his gaze to Sergeant Ronny O'Brien, a street cop still in uniform, looking out of place among the suits. "What's the matter, Harvey? Hunting leprechauns?" He smirked, then raised his voice. "Hey, O'Brien! Where do you gingers keep your pot o' gold?"

O'Brien didn't miss a beat. "In your fat ass, Harv!"

The room erupted into laughter, Bullock chuckling along.

"Fucking Irish," Bullock muttered with a grin.

Johnson leaned in. "Harvey's looking for Gordon."

"Chicago?" Bullock snorted, eyeing Dent. "What the hell do you want with him?"

Before Dent could answer, the Chief entered, flanked by Rusty and Chen. The room quieted as he strode to the head of the long table.

"Look at Rusty's crusty mug," Bullock muttered under his breath, smirking. "Guy could be getting a blow job and still look like he's writing a parking ticket."

The Chief cleared his throat. His voice was clipped. "Gentlemen, I'll make this quick. This morning, Sergeant Rusty McDonough and Detective Thomas Chen arrested ten officers from our precinct."

A stunned silence gripped the room.

"Captain Robert Iverson and his entire squad are among them, along with four street officers. As always, everyone is innocent until proven guilty. If the charges don't hold, they'll be reinstated. But for now, these arrests were necessary."

His gaze swept the room, pausing on a few senior officers before continuing. "I supported these arrests fully. Uptown's Assistant District Attorney Harvey Dent has been working closely with us to ensure every step is above board. I've also put a media blackout in place. When the press catches wind—and they will—they'll be looking for comments. You are not to engage. Sergeants Johnson and Mendez are being temporarily assigned to Vice to manage workload and handle inquiries. Every case these men touched will be picked apart by attorneys. When those vultures start circling, direct them to Johnson or Mendez, who'll route them to the A.D.A.'s office."

Bullock nudged Dent with his elbow. "Hear that, pretty boy? You're a fucking vulture."

Dent smirked.

The Chief's voice hardened. "Change is coming, boys. Loeb will likely send some men to conduct their own investigation. Stay strong out there."

Bullock felt the mood shift, fear creeping in like a slow-moving shadow. The room was quieter now, filled only with the faint squeak of bodies shifting in chairs. Arms crossed over chests, elbows pressed against knees. Bronson had gone after Loeb's men, which meant Loeb would come after Bronson's, and they all knew it. Bullock wondered how many would remain loyal when the pressure came.

The Chief wrapped up the meeting. As officers filed out, Dent caught Bronson by the door.

"Chief, I need a word. It's urgent," Dent pressed, lowering his voice.

Whatever he whispered made Bronson's expression flicker—confusion, then understanding. He gave a tight nod.

"Come on. My office." Bronson led him out.

Bullock watched them go, then turned to Johnson. "What's that about?"

Johnson shrugged. "Couldn't tell you."

"Come on, old man, don't feed me bullshit."

Johnson shook his head. "I really don't know anything, but if I had to guess… it might have something to do with Gordon."

Bullock scowled, scanning the room. "Where the hell is that fucking ginger anyway?"