Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“Will you quit doin’ that?” I whined as I bent over.
“If the lady wants to play poker, you let her. Besides,” Sharpe apprised us, “Miro and Ian are having a party as well. It’s not just a poker game.”
“No one will have a good time if she goes,” I informed him. “She’s really good.”
“And she cheats,” Lang was adamant. “A lot.”
“Like I believe that,” he said, smiling at her. “I’m sure she’s simply an excellent player.”
“Thank you for taking my side,” Talia cooed.
“Always,” he husked.
“Can you two go stand over there?” I told them, pointing away from me.
“Talia Jean,” Etta scolded her daughter as she came up beside me. “What have we said about putting hands on other people?”
“Mother, both Del and Lang insinuated that I cheat at cards.”
“So, then, why was Del the only one on the receiving end of violence?”
“Yeah,” I complained.
“Because if I hit Lang, he’ll hit me back.”
“You would hit a woman?” Sharpe asked, sounding appalled.
Lang gestured at her. “That’s a sister, not a woman. Big difference.”
Etta scowled at her children as I straightened up. “Neither of you should even be contemplating putting hands on the other,” she tutted. “I raised you better than that.”
They both said “yes, ma’am” at the same time my phone pinged, as did Lang’s and Sharpe’s, telling us we had a message from our office.
Checking, I found two memos. The first one said that Adam Fullerton, who had been in charge of the equipment we carried—comms, guns, batons, everything we needed to communicate and defend ourselves—had been terminated. He’d been on administrative leave since Lang and I had started in Chicago, due to his lack of oversight on many different pieces of equipment. It was an important job, as at any given moment everything that went out the door with me on a daily basis had to be counted on to save my life. Fullerton was being replaced by Deputy US Marshal Jalisa Tate, who was transferring in from New Mexico. Kage had included her very impressive résumé for us all to see.
“He only shows us the résumés when he likes the person,” Sharpe grumbled. “That means he handpicked her for the job and she’s gonna be completely by the book.”
“Isn’t that a good thing where our equipment is concerned?” I asked him.
“You won’t think so when you’re dropping things off every five minutes that you know work perfectly.”
It sounded tedious.
The second memo was solely for me and Lang. It was from Becker, reminding us that our reports were due by five on Sunday.
“Why is he sendin’ a memo?” I asked Lang. “He knows we’re gonna do it. We haven’t missed a report yet.”
“It’s probably just procedure,” he commented.
“Did I miss something?” Sharpe asked.
I shook my head. “No, we owe Becker a report from the situation at the apartment house early this mornin’.”
“Apartment house?” He squinted at me. “You had another situation after picking up Mosbach?”
“Yeah,” Lang answered him. “We had an interaction with a gang at—”
“That was you two out there with Doyle and SOG at those apartments downtown?”
I nodded.
“So two tactical situations in one night? A fugitive capture and a civilian save that resulted in a raid?”
“Yeah.”
“Impressive. You two are moving up in the world.”
“At the moment, I would rather be asleep.”
He smiled at me. “Who sent the memo? Was it Ching?”
“No,” I replied. “Why?”
“Ching always sends his reminders out super fast. That’s his Marine Corps training. Oorah,” he said, chuckling. “That’s why he and Kage have always gotten along so well.”
“Super,” I groaned. “But no, it was Becker.”
“Having known Chris Becker far longer than either of you, I can safely say that he is not, in fact, questioning that you will get it done, he’s merely reminding you. Trust but verify, which is one of Kage’s rules of life as well.”
“Well,” Lang said, “it’s not due until tomorrow, but since we might see him at the party if we go, then—”
“Oh, we’re goin’ to the party,” I told Lang, who turned to me.
“We don’t have to. I know you’re beat.”
“So are you.”
“True,” he conceded. “But there’ll be other parties.”
“But this is the first time all of us newbies and transfers have been invited to play poker. He’s openin’ his circle, so we should make sure we show up.”
“And bring food,” Sharpe suggested. “Or alcohol. Either is good.”
Lang didn’t look convinced. “I think—”
“Except don’t bring margaritas in a can or wine in a box. Ian hates both of those. And I’m not going to repeat what he said those taste like because it’s gross and horrifying.”
My phone and Lang’s pinged again then, and we were informed that we were not going to Vegas on Monday but were instead to oversee the collection of human remains that had been found near the Kennedy Expressway in the Bucktown neighborhood.
“I wonder why we’re not goin’ to Vegas.”