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Chief Pete Jones was used to dealing with the dregs of society. He’d arrested all types of criminals for over a decade before he’d become chief. And sometimes he associated with the wealthier criminals in a more business-like manner. Not honorable, perhaps, but when those same criminals were deciding on the department’s budget, it ensured his job was safe and often gave him extra cash here or there.
Still, it meant socializing with some people whom the chief never quite felt safe turning his back on. Dennis Collins, for example. The first time Jones had seen his work, the chief had vomited into a waste paper basket and needed to take off the next day. The man wasn’t human, and if Jones had any spine, he should have put a bullet in Collins’ head. Yet, Jones had still made sure the investigation faltered because Collins’ employer at the time had demanded it. And Jones hadn’t come forward with what he suspected the first time another of Collins’ employers had put a hit on one of Jones’ own employees because that would have led to Jones miss out on a few grand and likely would have ended with Jones in the Hudson.
Still, it was not a pleasant surprise to come into his office late one night to find Collins in Jones’ seat, feet propped on his desk.
“Evenin’, Pete.”
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Jones cursed, his hand flying instinctively to his service revolver.
The Butcher tsked. “I wouldn’. I’m here as a friend, but that can change.”
Jones didn’t remove his hand from his gun, but nor did he draw it. It was unusual for the people he did business with to use Collins as an intermediary; usually requests were made over lunch or dinner. There was nothing suspicious about a politician or philanthropist taking a police chief out for a meal to discuss a department’s progress and needs.
“Well? Why are you here?”
The Butcher tilted his head slightly. “Why, on account o’ our mutual friend, of course! I’ve been worried about ‘im. Isn’ it only natural I pay you a visit to find out what ‘appened?”
Finley. Of course it would be because of Finley. The detective was currently laid up in a hospital bed with a stab wound to his shoulder and a nasty gash to his temple. Doctors said he’d survive and would make a full recovery, but whoever had attacked him was still at large.
Jones wasn’t exactly sure of the nature of Finley’s relationship with Collins. Finley had never said anything, and Jones wasn’t going to ask. The less he knew about Collins, the safer he’d be. But in retrospect, it was natural for Collins to take an interest.
“He was stabbed. Other than that, we don’t know.” Jones said. It was true, though not for lack of trying. He took attacks on his own seriously, unless he was paid to look the other way. “We’re looking into it.” The Butcher didn’t reply, just looked at him with those cold eyes. “I don’t know what you want me to say. If we knew who it was they’d be in custody.” Still silence. Jones sighed. “Look, he’s being guarded 24/7. Until we get more leads, we can’t bring anyone in. We’re doing the best we can.”
Finally, Collins smiled. “Oh, I know you are, Pete. Yer a smart man, an’ you know I’m fond o’ this one. If I thought you were slackin’ on the job…” He shook his head. “As I said, yer’ smart enough to know better. I’m here because I want the files to the cases Finley’s workin’ on.”
“I… that’s not poss-” Jones forced himself not to take a step as Collins expression went grim and he swung his feet off the desk. “That will take a bit.” He amended. “I’ve already given the files to different detectives to look into leads. It might take a while to find them.”
The Butcher’s grin returned. “O’ course. I understand. Luckily, I have no where else t’ be. I can wait.” He looked at Jones expectantly, and Jones realized Collins meant for him to get them right now.
Jones decided that it was best not to complain about how it wasn’t out of the question for detectives to take files home with them and finding the ones still in the building would require rummaging through multiple desks. How it was one thing to write off evidence for one case going missing, but quite another to find a convincing explanation for multiple case files vanishing.
Instead, Jones slowly backed out of his office and headed toward the first desk. Something told him that Collins wouldn’t take kindly to excuses. It was best to just get him what he wanted.