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until the situation was
resolved. Allow Puwolsky to spill his story without even knowing what McCutcheon was about to hear, and all sort of cans of worms might be opened.
    Cans of worms that might never be closed.
    How many times have I told him,
You gotta slay that dragon
, thought Stanzer. And how many times had McCutcheon replied that it was already dead.
Yet at the first mention of this
girl’s name he pops his top like a schoolgirl?
Stanzer could only shake his head.
    “Make it tight,” Stanzer said. “And spare us the fluffy bullshit, would you?”
    “Just remember one thing, Colonel,” Puwolsky said to Stanzer. “I’m doing you a favor here, too.”
    “Yeah? How’s that?”
    “What, you think this whole thing is still a secret right now? Look around; you had fourteen people in this room tonight.” Puwolsky gave a wide sweep of his arm. “You got NSA,
FBI, New Jersey Department of Special Investigations. You think this many folks can keep an operation this significant on the down low? Lid’s been blown on your whole little teenage soldier
program since your third high-profile snatch—that wanna-be mall bomber in Portland. Shit, a guy as smart as you thinking Bam Bam Daniels is still under the radar? How delusional are
you?”
    Stanzer didn’t respond because he knew it could be true. He’d done all that he could to keep the Murk off the grid, but the more impressive M.D.’s work became the harder it was
to keep the cat in the bag. Stanzer, like all officers, had bosses, too. Bosses who liked to boast, bosses who liked to drink, and bosses who liked to secure more funds to finance their most
successful programs by drinking and boasting in the private clubs of Washington, D.C., where they lobbied for extra funding. More teams with more teens had been floated down Stanzer’s
pipeline by the brass above a few times already. If there was one kid from the ghetto who could pull off these sort of missions, perhaps there were more.
    “Not so lippy, are you now?” Puwolsky said to Stanzer. “That’s because you know if this shit spins the wrong way, you’ll get slammed so hard it’ll feel like
you’ve been gangbanged by federal gorillas.”
    Stanzer’s eyes narrowed, but McCutcheon quickly intervened, determined to hear the news. “What’s the situation, sir?”
    Puwolsky, knowing he had his audience right where he wanted them, began.“Ask yourself, on the streets of Detroit, who has the most soldiers? Who has the most guns? Who has the largest war
chest?” he said. “That’s right, the Priests. And in jail, they have the largest army, too. But one-on-one, they’re getting their asses kicked.”
    “What does this have to do with Kaitlyn?”
    “Or his father?” Stanzer asked.
    “Fuck my father,” M.D. snapped. “Tell me about Kaitlyn.”
    “They’re tied together,” Puwolsky explained. “Your dad got pinched and sent for a bid to the same jail where D’Marcus Rose is also serving time. You know the name
D’Marcus Rose, don’t you?”
    “I do,” M.D. replied. “He’s the High Priest who put out the hit out on my family.”
    “Correct,” Puwolsky said. “And they’re both in Jentles State Prison right now, a.k.a. the D.T. Nickname stands for the Devil’s Toilet. Place is downright inhumane,
but since nobody has two hundred and fifty million dollars to build a new penitentiary, and no one in society really gives a fuck about what happens to these street animals once they get locked up,
it’s a world where anything goes.”
    “So?” McCutcheon asked.
    “So they got this sick guard staging gladiator wars between all the rival gangs, and some cat from Brooklyn is fighting for the Princes of Mayhem, the Priests’ biggest rivals in the
state of Michigan. Can’t nobody touch him. They call him—”
    “The Brooklyn Beast,” M.D. said, filling in the blanks.
    “You’ve heard of him, I see,” Puwolsky said.
    “You could say that,” McCutcheon replied. Back when