“So there I was, with twenty of them on me, just beating me mercilessly. But they should’ve known not to mess with an Irishman.” McCullough bragged, puffing out his chest. “First, I threw one of them into five of the other ones. Then, I grabbed two of them and slammed their heads together. Then, I went and beat the daylights out of the rest of them. That’s what they get for not killing me quickly.”

The detectives were walking up the front steps leading into the police precinct as McCullough recounted his heroic deeds from the day before. Calligan couldn’t help but grin in disbelief as he absorbed the tale, chuckling softly to himself.

“And somehow, after that thrashing, they all still managed to get away.” Calligan replied sarcastically, as they reached the solid wooden doors of the entrance. He casually pulled one open, allowing McCullough to step through before following him.

The precinct was an old building, carved in the Victorian fashion out of gray marble. Through the entrance lay a spacious atrium, where Crystal sat behind a large solid-looking desk, doing the things receptionists do. Branching out from the atrium was a veritable maze of winding corridors leading to various offices, interrogation rooms, and holding cells.

“They all made a break for it, and I couldn’t decide which thug to go after. Though I’m sure the Donahues will think twice before picking another fight with me.” McCullough sneered as they walked up to Crystal, typing furiously away at a typewriter.

She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t seem to notice them as they approached. Smiling Calligan leaned forward, stealthily planting a small kiss on her cheek, only to receive a quick swat in exchange.

“What was that for?” He replied, rubbing his own cheek ruefully.

“Fun.” She returned, a smile crossing her face as she looked up at him. “I need a little of that right now. They’ve been working me overtime a lot lately.”

“It seems things are getting a lot more dangerous on the streets right now.”

“That’s probably why. Criminals never stop, do they?”

“No, they don’t. But I think it might be a good idea if I start taking you home. I don’t want to risk you getting hurt.”

“You already do most nights,” Crystal laughed. “When you’re not busy.”

Calligan nodded. “I don’t think most nights is going to cut it anymore. It’s looking like things might get ugly out there. And it’s either I take you home, or you start carrying a gun on you.”

Crystal laughed again. “I already do,” She reached into her purse, flashing the short barrel of a revolver, before quickly stowing it away. Calligan raised an eyebrow in surprise, but she continued, “Anyways, how do you know? Is it something to do with the case you’re working on?”

Calligan nodded. “You could say that.” He had a solemn look on his face, but quickly erased it, adopting a casual expression. “Say, how about we go somewhere nice tonight, and get a little bit of that fun you’ve been needing?

“That sounds lovely,” Crystal sighed, a look of longing in her eyes, but then she rolled them. “Assuming the boss doesn’t want me to work late again. I’ll let you know if he does.”

Calligan nodded and looked up momentarily. He paused for a fraction of a second as he watched two police officers enter the atrium from an adjoining corridor. One of them seemed very familiar.

“Hey Crystal, I’ve got to go.” He said, bending down quickly to give her another kiss. “Let me know about tonight.”

Crystal nodded, and Calligan casually moved from the desk. He calmly strode towards the two officers, with McCullough following behind, a subtle look of befuddlement on his face.

“Officer Jones.” Calligan said upon reaching the two. “How have you been? I haven’t seen you since...yesterday.” He placed a hand on officer Jones’s shoulder as he said this, squeezing it tightly.

“I need to have a talk with you for a moment. Are you willing to humor me for a moment?” Calligan asked, tightening his grip. The officer winced as Calligan’s fingers dug into the nerves in his shoulder and nodded vigorously in reply.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Good.” Calligan responded curtly and began ushering Jones towards another corridor. He hesitated for a moment when he realized that McCullough wasn’t following, and turned to see him standing next to the other officer.

“Are you coming?” Calligan inquired.

McCullough shook his head. “Roughing up thugs is one thing, but a fellow officer? That crosses the line.”

“Who said anything about roughing anyone up? Officer Jones and I just need to have a little chat, and as long as he’s cooperative, that’s all it’s going to be.”

“But that’s not how it usually is when I’m around. I think it’s best I sit this one out.”

McCullough crossed his arms obstinately, forcing Calligan to begrudgingly nod his consent. He knew there was no way he could persuade McCullough to come now that he’d made up his mind not to.

Turning back towards the corridor, Calligan escorted Officer Jones to an empty interrogation room. It looked much like the room that Ms. Taylor had been questioned in before, with only a single table, a chair on each side, and walls of concrete.

Calligan gestured for Jones to take a seat and closed the door, smiling as he turned the key in the lock. Calligan then joined Officer Jones at the table, still maintaining an air of steady calm. Surprisingly, this calm seemed to be matched by Officer Jones, who wore an expression of utter calm in spite of his circumstances. Seeing this, Calligan allowed himself another smile and reached into his suit jacket, removing an object from it.

It was small, spoon-shaped, and appeared to be made entirely of leather. But looks can be deceiving, as the inside was filled with lead, giving it a powerful weight. The object was pretty well known for ‘convincing’ certain people to be a bit more forthcoming, while also minimizing physical signs of harm.

“So, Officer Jones. . . about yesterday.” Calligan started, his voice was smooth and relaxing, yet he still held his ‘persuasion implement’ firmly in his hand. “A man was gruesomely murdered yesterday, and you were one of the officers who was responsible for securing the area. How is it that a dangerous hitman managed to make it to the scene without your noticing?”

“What do you mean?” Jones inquired, a look of confusion painted on his face.

“Exactly what I said, Jones.” Calligan replied, his voice rising. “A hitman just walked past all of you officers yesterday, and you didn’t do anything. So I want to know, how did it happen?”

“I guess we just weren’t paying close enough attention.” Jones returned. He had now returned to his relaxed demeanor.

“Funny, that’s not how I heard it.” Calligan laughed. “You know what I was told? I was told you’re on the take.”

There was a faint flash of a smile from Jones at this, but it vanished just as quickly as it had appeared.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jones replied.

“Really?” Calligan responded, cradling his weapon. “Then perhaps I can jog your memory.”

Calligan lunged at Jones, aiming his club at Jones’s face, but Jones quickly raised a hand to stop him.

“Alright, alright, there’s no need for that! I work for the Donahues!” He yelled before Calligan could strike him.

Calligan lowered his weapon, allowing himself to relax.

“Good. It’s nice to see you’re being cooperative. How many other police officers are there like you?” Calligan asked, smiling broadly.

“In the upper or lower ranks?” Jones returned.

“Both.”

“It’s hard to say for sure, but I’d have to say at least half the force if I were to give an estimate. And that’s between both the upper and lower ranks.”

“I see. Can you give me names?”

“Do I look suicidal? Of course I can’t give you names. All I can say is that if you want to take down the Donahues, you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

With that, Jones got up, gesturing for Calligan to unlock the door.

“You do know that I have a confession. I could have you arrested and put away for a long time.” Calligan responded, remaining obstinately in his seat.

“Do you really want to start a war in the department when one’s already brewing in the streets?” Jones returned.

Calligan shrugged and stood up, unlocking the door.

“By the way, one last thing.” Calligan interjected, before opening it. “What do you know about the Syndicate?”

Jones’s expression suddenly went grim and he reached quickly for the doorknob.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He replied and pushed his way out of the room, rapidly making his way down the hall and out of sight.