Breach of Peace (The Lawful Times #0.5)(17)

“Who else,” she corrected him once more. That hurt look again.

Khlid was struggling to maintain objectivity. “You need to tell me everything now.”

Chapman scoffed, almost earning himself a bullet in the stomach from Khlid. “Do you really think we have the time for stories?”

Frustration bled into her voice. “Chapman.”

He relented slightly. “The rebels did not murder the Pruits.”

“Who did?” Khlid asked. Her tense jaw began to ache.

“Okay, listen. Bodies have floated ashore, Khlid. Ones with similar deformities. After blackmailing the right people, the rebels learned of a ship. It's a military cargo ship. It harbors at Dock Thirteen, takes a load from Warehouse Two, and sets sail at night. It returns before morning but nothing is ever unloaded.”

“So? Lots of waste is dropped into the ocean.”

“Discreetly at night with an entirely M.O.D. crew?”

It was infuriating the way he let a story drip out.

He fixed her with a dry look. “Corpses, Khlid. Desecrated corpses, filled with viscous black blood. Test subjects like Lord Pruit—ones who didn't survive the process. Best the rebels can tell, it's mostly homeless people.”

Khlid let the pieces fall into place. “That’s impossible. The Empire wouldn't put whatever that shit was into its own citizens. And for what?”

“I don’t know why. Because they are taking extraordinary steps to make sure we don't know why.” Chapman’s shoulders sagged. “Khlid, please think this through. They just used gallons of whatever this shit is on Pruit. We have to go to the warehouse district now. A member of...” Chapman waited for a drunken man to go by. “My friends are confident a shipment is going out tonight.”

“Friends”? These are lies. Chapman is manipulating me for some rebel plot.

Khlid had heard enough. She stood. “Chapman, get up and keep your hands where I can see them.”

More than a few patrons of the pub were looking their way with concern. A bouncer near the front looked unsure how to proceed.

“Khlid, don’t do this.” Chapman remained seated.

Khlid pulled her pistol out and pointed it directly at him. “Chapman, get up, now.” She was being loud deliberately now, loud enough for several nearby tables to hear.

An audible gasp rolled through the pub as patrons noticed the drawn weapon. A few sat confused. Some men stood up and drew knives. Khlid could almost hear the collective thought: Is that inspector arresting her partner? It would be a scandal for the entire Empire. With a scene this public, Chapman was done. He had no options left but to give in. He has to come peacefully, right?

Before she could begin reciting his crimes for arrest, a thought occurred to her. “You got rid of Samuel on purpose. You son of a bitch, you knew exactly what to say,” Khlid hissed under her breath. At last, Chapman vacated the booth. She took a step back to stay well out of his reach.

She could tell his mind was racing. Chapman kept his hands up, but his eyes darted about the room. They came to a sudden stop, looking her directly in the eyes. “He didn't exactly make it difficult.”

It took actual effort for Khlid not to shoot him right there. It wasn’t only the rage she felt at his betrayal; Chapman was deadly. He was easily twice her size, and was one of the few officers who actually worked out more than her. In a pinch, police could usually count on help from armed bystanders—but she had no idea how the bar patrons hovering with their knives would interpret a brawl between two uniformed—Oh, shit. All at once, Khlid realized she was in a civilian jacket. She had to keep cool and get Chapman back to the precinct.

His eyes refused to leave hers. Their gray calm clashed with her own brown-eyed fury. Fuck you, Chapman, for being so calm.

He was standing now, looking down on her. His raised arms seemed more a threat than a sign of compliance. While Chapman was doing exactly as a citizen under arrest should, the aura about him warned Khlid of a move yet to come. She knew Chapman too well to believe his posture was submissive.

“Khlid.” His voice shocked her after a few seconds of silence. “Take me somewhere I can explain.” He was firm and calm. Khlid had heard him use that tone countless times in interrogations.

Khlid looked to one of the three men with knives drawn. If they misinterpreted the scene, she’d be done for. “My name is Insp—”

That was all the opening Chapman needed. He lunged and struck her gun hand down to her side. His right fist smashed into her gut, knocking the wind from her. It was the hardest blow Khlid had ever felt.

She began to drop, but Chapman seized her by the throat, spinning her around and pinning her back against his chest. The cold metal of his pistol pressed into her jaw.

Khlid could feel his tattooed hand shaking as it held her aloft by her neck.

“This woman is a fugitive of the law and has been trying to escape Imperial justice for weeks. She promised me she would come peacefully. Obviously that was a lie. Don’t worry, all is under control.”

One patron actually let out a single clap before looking around and lowering his hands.

Fuck today to tomorrow and back, Khlid thought, still trying to get air into her lungs. Why had she put on a civilian coat? Why hadn’t she changed into a fresh uniform? Glancing down, she saw Chapman had swiped her badge as well, likely before they even entered the pub.