Free GATOR: Wolves MC (Riding With Wolves Book 2) by Faith Winslow Page B

in there talking to the suspect,” I went on, “I want you doing some research. See what you can dig up on the gang affiliations involved here, and see if there’ve been any similar cases over the past ten years or so, especially any involving mutilation and carving gang symbols into a vic’s chest.
    “Try to figure out as much as you can on your own, and don’t talk too much to the boys in local… But definitely listen and follow any leads you hear. After I’ve talked to Struthers for a while, I’ll check in with you to see what you’ve got, and we’ll take it from there.”
    Barnes nodded again. If I had to come up with a nickname for him , it’d be “Bobblehead.”
    “You got all that?” I asked.
    “Yes, ma’am,” Barnes answered.
    “And enough of that ‘ma’am’ shit,” I added. “I’m not that much older than you, and we don’t want L.A.P.D. here to think you’re beneath them. ‘Ma’am’ and ‘sir’ are reserved for chiefs and members of the community. You call me ‘Detective’ or ‘Knowles,’ and you refer to officers and detectives in there in the same manner.”
    “Yes, Knowles,” Barnes said, correcting himself and nodding his head more pointedly.
    I smiled at him, and he smiled back, obviously touched by my silent affirmation of his obedience. He was good at following instructions; he was willing to do whatever I said; and he was out for praise and recognition. Ah, yes. Good choice for a partner!
    “Alright then, partner,” I said, shutting the car down. “Let’s do this.”
    Barnes and I both stepped out of the car at the same time. But as I headed toward the station, he lingered at the car for a moment. He was getting his oversized trench coat and fedora out of the backseat and putting them on.
    I couldn’t stand the thought of him walking into L.A.P.D. in that getup, so I stopped him.
    “Leave all that in the car,” I said. “You’d just take it off as soon as you got in there anyway.”
    “I’m not leaving it in your car,” Barnes said back, sassing me. “ You don’t lock your car doors, and I don’t want anyone to steal it.”
    Poor kid! He actually thought someone would steal his trench coat and fedora?!? Not even the most downtrodden bum on the worst street in L.A.’s worst ghetto was that desperate.
    “Just leave your stuff in the car,” I moaned. “I’ll lock it.”
    Thankfully, Barnes took off his coat and hat and put them in the backseat. Then, I clicked the “lock” button on my keychain, securing his precious getup, and together, we walked into L.A.P.D. Central Station.

Chapter 13
     
    September 15, 2015–Los Angeles, California
     
    Eight bottles of beer on the wall, eight bottles of beer… You take one down, pass it around—seven bottles of beer on the wall. Seven bottles of beer on the wall, seven bottles of beer… You take one down, pass it—
    “Struthers,” the guard said, banging his nightstick against the tiny glass window that separated the pigs from the scum. “Get up, Struthers. That detective from San Francisco is here to question ya.”
    I kept my eyes closed, despite the guard’s instructions.
    Four bottles of beer on the wall, four bottles of beer… You take one down—
    “Struthers!” he shouted. I could tell by his voice that it was a different guard than earlier, but, still, I wasn’t gonna budge yet.
    Three bottles of beer on the wall, three bottles of beer…
    I heard the door click open and felt a hand on my shoulder. “You dead or somethin’, buddy?” the guard asked, shaking me.
    One bottle of beer… You take it down, pass it around—no bottles of beer on the wall!
    I opened my eyes and looked at the man. “Sorry,” I replied. “I zoned out.” When you start your countdown with five thousand bottles of beer on the wall, you can’t stop when you’ve reached SEVEN. You gotta see it through.
    “Well, zone back in,” he said, pulling on my shirt. “That detective’s here, and she’s called you for