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you're paid for every fuckin' minute you put in down here, didn't I?"

    Before the men could reply, he continued, and his voice rose higher. "Now, you can't beat such a boss, can you? I put my fat ass out on the limb for you guys. And now they're trying to cut the fuckin' limb off while I'm out on it. But I promise you guys one thing, if they cut it off on me, I'll make damn sure I fall on somebody's head before I hit the ground. Do I make myself clear?"
    Both of the officers shook their heads in agreement, thankful that the interview was over and not really bothered by the threat. Before Davidson got rid of them, a hell of a lot of other officers would feel his heavy hand. They were the closest ones to the case. No other team of detectives was anywhere nearer to solving the murder spree than they were.
    "Oh, Benson, Ryan," Davidson called out as the two men neared the door in their rush to get clear of the captain's office, "the next time I send you guys two young detectives to take along, please take them. How the hell else are these guys going to get any experience if they don't go with some of you vets?"
    "That was my fault, Captain," Benson said quickly. "I....,,
    The captain waved the excuse away. "I didn't ask about whose fault it was; just take them along next time. I don't see how they can get in the way by just riding in the backseat of a fuckin' police car."
    "Okay, Captain, we'll take care of it," Benson replied as he opened the door.
    Ryan almost ran through the open door in his haste to get away from the captain. As they made their way through the office, Benson noticed the two young detectives sitting at the desk. Both men were grinnin

    The captain waved the excuse away. "I didn't ask atain had said. As Benson caught their eyes, the men glanced away, but not before he could see the look of triumph.
    "Up your fuckin' ass," Benson said under his breath. He promised himself that it would be a cold day in hell before he'd allow those bastards to follow him along on any case.
    "Hey, Ryan," a slim, red-faced detective called out as they passed, "you and Ben had better check and see if you've still got anything back there to sit on."
    The other officers sitting nearby broke out laughing. It tickled them to see another man on the carpet, just as long as it wasn't their own asses catching the hell. To get called into the captain's office wasn't anything to be proud of. He very seldom wanted to see an officer unless it was about something important on a new case, or about someone's mistake.
    Benson glared around defiantly at the white officers. It didn't take much for him to realize that they enjoyed what they thought was his being put into place. But a hell of a lot of people had been killed lately, and not only hadn't Ryan and Benson had any luck, but neither had any of the other detectives in the room.
    "Let's take a quick ride," Ryan said briskly, not even waiting for his partner's answer. He kept walking until they got in the elevator, then pushed the button for the garage.

    Both men remained silent, trying to make some kind of sense out of the latest murders. Ryan drove, taking the freeway until he reached the Clay Street exit. He took the ramp that led to the right and made a turn over to Oakland Avenue. He parked behind a moving van, then removed a small slip of paper from his pocket.
    "Kenyatta," he said out loud. "I don't know if he's got anything to do with this shit, but everything we've got leads in his direction."
    Benson nodded toward the storefront a few cars away. "Well, that's the bastard's funky-ass club. It took a hell of a lot of trouble just to get somebody to have the nerve to tell us where it was located," Benson stated, then continued. "That in itself speaks of the enormous ghetto power. Whenever people fear somebody, as it seems these people fear him, it's time we looked into it."
    Ryan nodded his head in agreement. "I can't understand how this guy exploded in our midst without us ever gettin'