Blind Justice. Don Pendleton
“You going to steal our money, too?” Brenner said.
“Why would I need to do that when I can clear your bank accounts? Believe me, I have friends who can do that without even breaking into a sweat.”
“He’s just trying to rile you,” Fitch said.
Bolan instructed Brenner to collect the keys for the cars outside and also those for the sets of handcuffs, then he dropped them into one of his pockets.
“Get your pal on his feet,” Bolan said. “Move to that steel pillar and cuff yourselves together. Wrists to wrists. You know the drill.”
“This won’t be forgotten, son of a bitch,” Fitch said. “I’ll have the whole of Seattle PD on your fuckin’ tail.”
Bolan waited until the three were secured, then unloaded the weapons laid out on the cabinet. He stripped the pistols into their component parts, scattering them across the building.
“Nice backup guns,” he commented. “All unregistered? Of course they are. I’ll take the cell phones. Might be able to pull something interesting off the call registers. Unless you guys cleared everything?”
The looks on their faces told him they most likely hadn’t.
“I’m sure most of the cops in your precinct will be interested to find out what you fine officers have been up to. If there are any more on Kendal’s payroll I think we’ll be finding out soon enough.”
“Let us out of here,” Fitch yelled. His anger spilled over into almost incoherent rage as he began to scream and rant at Bolan. “You can’t do this. We’re cops, damn it. Cops.”
“I already corrected you on that,” Bolan said. “Dirty cops. The worst kind. If you were anything else you’d be dead by now. I’ve never fired on a cop, ever, clean or dirty. I won’t start now. But you’re not getting away from this. A call from a high up Fed to IA will start the ball rolling. After that…”
Bolan walked out of the building, collar up against the downpour and returned to where he had concealed his SUV. Once inside, door closed against the weather, he checked out the three cell phones he had acquired. He ran through the call lists on each one, checking them against each other until he isolated a single number they all had in common.
Bolan stared out through the windshield as he called the number on one of the phones. It rang out for a long time before someone picked up.
“Yeah?”
“Fitch, Dunn and Brenner—they’ve been talking to me. A lot. All about Kendal. Spilling their guts about how you people want to shut Ray Logan up. I was surprised how much they were willing to give away just to save themselves.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Let’s say I have a vested interest in you people. All the way up to Senator Kendal’s greasy neck. Word you can pass along to him is his day is coming. Soon. You’re all on my wish list. And if you want to discuss matters with Fitch and Dunn and Brenner, you’ll find them waiting for you.”
Bolan gave details of the location where he had left the trio of cops, then hung up. He fired up the SUV, turned it around and drove away from the derelict site. He had completed what he needed to do here. Whatever happened to the three cops was out of his hands. The severity of any punishment would depend on who came looking for them. As he hadn’t spoken to anyone from Seattle PD, and had only informed Kendal’s people, the options were thin on the ground.
It was time to move on to the next phase of his operation.
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