Cell three, Captain. Brandon said, pointing toward the back wall. Shut your mouth. Patterson hissed, cutting him off with a ferocity that made several officers physically step back. Do not say another word. help me God, I will put you through that wall.
Patterson didn't wait for a response. He turned and practically ran down the short hallway toward the holding cells. As he approached cell three, he looked through the thick steel bars. Sitting on the cold concrete bench, wearing a cheap white T-shirt and gray sweatpants, shoeless with red raw marks on his wrists, was the mayor of Oakmont. Aaron Miles looked up at the pale, horrified face of the precinct captain.
Good evening, Alaric. The mayor said quietly. You run a very interesting precinct. Captain Alaric Patterson's hands, normally steady enough to qualify as a precinct sharpshooter, were shaking so violently that the massive brass key ring clipped to his belt chimed like church bells in the dead silent hallway. He stared through the thick steel bars of cell three.
His mind struggling to reconcile the reality in front of him. Aaron Miles, the newly elected mayor of Oakmont, the man who held the purse strings to the entire police department pension fund, was sitting on a urine-stained concrete bench in wet socks. "Mr. Mayor. " Patterson choked out, his voice a gravelly whisper stripped of all its usual booming authority. "Sir. " "Jesus Christ, I I don't. " Patterson fumbled frantically with the keys, finally shoving the heavy iron key into the cell's deadbolt.
He twisted it, and the mechanism clanked loudly. He grabbed the bars and slid the heavy door open, stepping aside as if making way for royalty. "Please, sir, come out. I am so profoundly sorry. I had no idea.
We are getting this sorted immediately. " Aaron did not stand up. He remained seated on the cold bench, his dark eyes fixed entirely on the captain. He didn't blink. He didn't move. "Leave the door open, Alaric. " Aaron said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
"But I am not stepping out of this cell until Chief Hayes arrives. I want the highest-ranking law enforcement officer in this city to see exactly how his department treats the citizens of Oakmont. " Patterson looked like he was going to be physically sick. The color had completely drained from his weathered face. "Sir, please, you don't need to sit in there. Come to my office.
Let me get you a coffee. Let me get you your belongings. " "I said I'm staying right here, Captain. " Aaron interrupted, the absolute authority in his tone slicing through the stale air like a razor. Patterson swallowed hard, nodding rapidly. "Yes, sir. " "Understood, sir. " He took a step back, standing at rigid attention outside the open cell door, acting as a personal guard to a man who is technically his prisoner. Back in the bullpen, 30 yards away, the bizarre scene had not gone unnoticed.
The ambient noise of the precinct had slowly died down to a strained, confused murmur. Detectives had stopped typing. Desk Sergeant Gable was craning his neck over the elevated counter. Officer Thiago Brandon stood up from his desk, a frown creasing his forehead. He nudged rookie Officer Evan Mitchell, who was sitting at the adjacent terminal.
"Hey," Brandon muttered, pointing down the hall. "What the hell is the captain doing? " "He's standing at attention outside cell three. " "Did that prowler know him or something? " Mitchell squinted, the knot in his stomach tightening into a painful twist of pure dread. "I don't know, Tom, but Patterson looks like he just saw a ghost. " "Maybe. Maybe we should have just run his name through the master database before we locked him up. " "Relax, kid. " Brandon scoffed, though a tiny, unfamiliar seed of doubt began to take root in his chest. "He's a nobody.
Probably a snitch Patterson uses. He's just doing damage control. " Before Brandon could rationalize it any further, the heavy steel security doors leading from the underground garage burst open with the force of an explosion. Chief of Police Robert Hayes stormed into the bullpen. The entire room froze. For the Chief of Police to appear in a precinct bullpen at 1:15 a.m., fully in uniform with four gold stars gleaming on his collar, was an event equivalent to a comet striking the building.
"Attention on deck! " Sergeant Gable bellowed, instinctively leaping to his feet. Every officer in the room stood up, squaring their shoulders. Hayes didn't look at any of them. His face was a mask of unadulterated fury and sheer panic. "Fowler. " He marched across the linoleum floor, his heavy boots pounding a terrifying rhythm, heading straight for the holding cells.
Brandon watched the chief walk past him. The seed of doubt in his chest suddenly bloomed into a suffocating icy vine of terror. His breath caught in his throat. He looked at the holding cell. He looked at the chief.
He looked at the name on his arrest report. Aaron Miles. No. Brandon thought. The blood rushing in his ears.
No, no, no. It's a coincidence. It's a common name. It's a guy in a hoodie. It's a nobody.
Hayes reached cell three. He saw Captain Patterson standing at attention. Turn. He looked inside and saw Aaron sitting on the bench. The chief of police, a man who commanded 3,000 armed officers, took off his uniform cap and lowered his head.
"Mr. Mayor. " Chief Hayes said, his voice carrying clearly down the hallway and directly into the dead silent bullpen. "I have no words to excuse this. I'm entirely at your disposal, sir. " In the bullpen, the words hit like a physical shockwave. "Mr.
Mayor. " Desk Sergeant Gable slowly lowered himself back into his chair. His eyes worked, staring at the property bin containing the faded baseball cap and the hoodie. Evan Mitchell felt his knees actually buckle. He grabbed the edge of the desk to keep from collapsing, his mind flashing back to the moment Brandon slammed the man against the roof of the Taurus. He had stood there.
He had watched it happen. He was an accessory to the false arrest of the mayor and Thiago Brandon. Brandon stopped breathing. The pen he was holding slipped from his fingers, clattering loudly against the linoleum floor. His heart began to hammer against his ribs like a trapped animal.
The arrogant sneer melted off his face, replaced by a pale, slack-jawed expression of absolute ruinous horror. The realization crashed down on him with the weight of a falling building. The man he had racially profiled, the man he had mocked, the man he had illegally detained, physically assaulted, and shoved into a cage. It was Aaron Miles, the mayor of Oakmont. Slowly, deliberately, Aaron stood up from the concrete bench.
He walked out of the cell, his socked feet padding softly against the floor. He ignored Patterson. He ignored Hayes. He walked straight down the hallway, entering the bullpen. The room was so quiet you could hear the hum of the fluorescent lights.