Precinct 11 - 01 - The Brotherhood by Jerry B. Jenkins

Author:Jerry B. Jenkins [Jenkins, Jerry B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Christian Fiction, Chicago (Ill.), Gangs, Religious Fiction, Police - Illinois - Chicago, FICTION / Religious
ISBN: 9781414309071
Google: JFyccQAACAAJ
Goodreads: 9118117
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
Published: 2011-01-09T13:00:00+00:00

In December, closing in on midnight, Boone and Garrett received a call to a bar where a man was drunk and disorderly. As Boone sped toward the address, he said, “I don’t know what these tavern owners expect with the kind of clientele they serve.”

“Tell me about it,” Fox said. “I remember one time when I had to take on four Seabees from Great Lakes, on leave in the city for one night. They were all over six feet and about two-forty. Lucky for me, they were too drunk to counter all my moves. Single-handedly cuffed all four of ’em before backup arrived.”

“That so?”

“Dang straight.”

“You’re telling me the truth?”

“I don’t have to lie. I can show you the commendation I got from downtown.”

“You carry four sets of cuffs?”

“Well, no, I mean . . . You know what I mean.”

“You subdued ’em until backup helped you cuff ’em all.”

“Right, but believe me, it was me against four.”

When Boone double-parked in front of the bar, Fox leaped out and waited for him at the door. They would enter together. But as soon as Boone reached him, two other bar regulars spilled out. “Watch it, Officers. The guy’s armed!”

“What’s he carrying?” Boone said.

“Big blade.”

Fox laughed. “You don’t know Drake’s reputation. Got your move ready, partner?”

“Shut up, Fox.”

“Just sayin’ . . .”

Both cops unholstered their Berettas and pushed into the bar. The place reeked, of course, and most of the patrons had backed into a corner. One slept at the bar, and two others dozed at a back table. The drunk-and-disorderly—a thick and shabby alkie about sixty years old—leaned across the bar, wielding a bowie knife and slurring threats at the bartender, who was keeping his distance and still had a 911 dispatcher on the phone.

“They’re here!” the barkeep said. “Thanks.” He hung up the phone as the bad guy slowly turned to face Boone and Garrett.

“I can throw this thing faster’n either of you two can shoot,” he said.

“I’d love to see you try that, Freddy,” Fox said.

“Let’s go, Freddy,” Boone said. “We’ve got your cot ready and a chocolate on your pillow. Now drop the knife so we can check you in to the District 11 Hotel.”

“Very ffffunny,” Freddy said. He shifted the knife so he was holding it by the blade and reached up as if to throw it. He was so unsteady that it was slipping in his fingers.

“You’re going to cut yourself, Freddy,” Boone said, approaching and holstering his weapon. “Now give me that, and don’t you dare even try to throw it or you’ll be charged with assaulting a police officer. Believe me, you don’t want that.”

“Or the one I’d put between your eyes,” Fox said.

Freddy’s eyes grew wide as he tried to hang on to the knife and defend himself, but Boone was on him in a flash. The knife clattered to the floor, and Boone grabbed a wrist and wrenched it around behind him, nearly making the drunk topple. Freddy swore and began crying as Boone kicked the knife to Fox and finished cuffing him.

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