“He felt a wetness on his face and looked up into a very light rain, barely visible below the streetlights. Brighton Beach Avenue had quieted now, due to the hour and the weather; the throngs of shoppers had taken their purchases home, and the place seemed lonely. Neon signs along the storefronts shone brighter in the wet; their bright colors smeared across the windshields and hoods of passing cars. He took a couple of deep breaths. He shouldn’t have felt so stirred up—lord knows, in two decades... with the NYPD he had run into no shortage of blustering thugs, and more than a few threats. Thankfully, though, even the dimmest street punk knew that the dumbest thing was to attack a cop; within minutes you’d have thousands of outraged colleagues hunting you down. A cop’s little metal badge acted as a real shield—or at least he had always thought so. But there was a fragment of metal inside his chest, and he also carried memories of lying helpless and bleeding on a dank basement floor, all because one thug had failed to play it smart.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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