By W. E. B. Griffin
A brutal crime...A workforce of city terrorists...An research of soiled cops... The leads in those supposedly unconnected circumstances became tangled in a few very ugly--and dangerous--knots. Now unique Operations detective Matt Payne and his colleagues locate themselves fearing not just for his or her jobs, but in addition for his or her very lives...
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Additional info for The Investigators (Badge of Honor, Book 7)
Celine, my gangbanger, knocked over one straggler. Even though I secretly wanted to do it myself, I had to bench Celine and threaten her with suspension from the team if she kept on fighting. I hated doing it, since she and April, along with Josie Dorrado, were our only hope for building a team that could win a few games. If they picked up their skills. If enough of the others started working harder. If they all kept coming, didn’t get pregnant or shot, got the high-tops and weight equipment they needed.
If Josie can come, too. ” Romeo agreed with an expansive clap on his daughter’s FIRE SALE 25 shoulder and told her to hustle; he had to do some driving after pizza. Zambrano’s was just about the only place on the South Side that I remembered from my own youth. Most of the other little joints have been boarded over. Even Sonny’s, where you could get a shot and a beer for a dollar—all under the life-sized portrait of the original Richard Daley—isn’t open anymore. I sent the girls off to shower, in a locker room whose dank, moldy smell usually kept me in my own sweaty clothes until I got to Morrell’s.
Bysen had grown up on the South Side, over in Pullman; I knew that from Mary Ann’s telling me he’d gone to Bertha Palmer High. His standard bio didn’t talk about that, instead dwelling on his heroics as a World War II gunner. When he got back from the war, he’d taken over his father’s little convenience store at Ninety-fifth and Exchange. From that tiny seed had sprouted a worldwide empire of discount superstores—to use the overheated imagery of one business writer. Of the sixteen girls I was coaching at Bertha Palmer, four had mothers who worked at the superstore, and now I knew April Czernin’s father drove for them, too.