Badge of Evil by Bill Stanton

back along the wall.
    After their time at the range, they were talking about guns and ammo. Specifically, they were engaged in the endless debate over the relative merits of a nine-millimeter versus a .45. Which inflicts more damage, the smaller, faster nine-millimeter round or the much larger, slower forty-five-millimeter bullet? It was the shooter’s version of a couple of sports fans arguing over who’s a better quarterback, Tom Brady or Peyton Manning.
    They both ordered the lobster special, and when their drinks came, Fitzgerald changed the subject. “So when’re you planning on tellin’ me about your new case?” he asked. “You know, the one where you’re trying to help get a terrorist off. The one where you’re working for someone who wants to kill the same men, women, and children you once took an oath to protect and serve.”
    Bishop thought for a moment before responding. Though he had obviously known the subject would come up, he didn’t expect the chief to come on so strong right out of the gate. It caught him off guard. “Oh, you heard about that, did you?” Bishop said, trying to be cute. The effort was pointless. The chief didn’t crack even a hint of a smile, and Bishop suddenly couldn’t think of anything clever to say.
    â€œShit,” he mumbled finally, “what was I supposed to do, turn down the biggest fuckin’ case I’ve ever been offered? Business is good, Chief, but it’s not that good. I mean, think about the publicity and what this could do for my career. This could—”
    â€œFrom where I sit, this looks like it could kill your career,” the chief said, interrupting him. “But let’s assume you’re right, and maybe you are. Lawyers get rich and famous representing subhuman cocksuckers all the time. Is that all that matters? The money? The notoriety? You have no allegiances, no belief in right and wrong? You just sell yourself to the highest bidder?”
    â€œChief, with all due respect, I’m not a cop anymore. I’m a private fuckin’ detective. And in case you hadn’t noticed, it’s usually not the good guys who hire me. This is not a calling, it’s a job. And often it’s a pretty shitty one. I spend half my time hiding in the bushes trying to get pictures of some selfish shithead cheating on his wife. Or I gotta chase some lonely, pissed-off wife who’s tryin’ to get even by sucking some other guy’s dick. So if I’m not doing this for the money, Chief, what the hell’m I doin’ it for? Maybe a little fame, I guess, which never hurts with the ladies. And, shit, I mean the adrenaline rush is great sometimes, but if I didn’t need the money, I’d give this up in a fuckin’ heartbeat.”
    â€œI understand all that, but I thought your reputation, at least within the department, meant something to you. First you leave the job under a cloud, and now this. You know, a lot of people have you in their sights right now.”
    â€œIs that coming from you, Chief? Or are you trying to give me a heads-up about what I can expect? ’Cause if it’s a warning, I appreciate the thought, but I’m a big boy and I can handle whatever shit comes my way.”
    â€œIt’s nice to be confident, Frank, but when the commissioner gets wind of this he’s gonna have a major hard-on for you.”
    â€œTo tell you the truth, I never thought he was all that fond of me to begin with.”
    â€œHe thinks you’re completely full of shit. All style and no substance.”
    â€œI didn’t realize he knew me that well,” Bishop said with a smile. “Maybe the makin’-it-up-as-you-go-along thing cuts a little too close to home for him.”
    â€œFunny. But this is no laughing matter. We’ve been friends a long time, Frank, and I want you to listen to me. You fuck with the bull, you’ll get the horns. Help