Jerry B. Jenkins - The Brotherhood (Precinct 11)

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The Brotherhood

Copyright 2011 by Jerry B. Jenkins. All rights reserved.

Cover photograph of policeman copyright Halfdark/Getty. All rights reserved.

Cover photograph of policeman running copyright PhotoAlto/Getty. All rights reserved.

Cover photograph of skyline copyright Adam Korsekwa/iStockphoto. All rights reserved.

Cover photograph of street copyright Dan Eckert/iStockphoto. All rights reserved.

Author photo copyright 2010 by Jim Whitmer Photography. All rights reserved.

Designed by Erik M. Peterson

Scripture taken from the New King James Version. Copyright 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Jenkins, Jerry B.

The brotherhood / Jerry B. Jenkins.

p. cm.

ISBN 978-1-4143-0907-1 (hc) ISBN 978-1-4143-0922-4 (sc)

1. PoliceIllinoisChicagoFiction. 2. GangsFiction. 3. Chicago (Ill.)Fiction. I. Title.

PS3560.E485B76 2011

813'.54dc22 2010036322

Table of Contents

To the police officers in my family:

Harry Jenkins

Jim Jenkins

Jeoff Jenkins

Tim Jenkins

Bruce Thompson

Klaude Thompson

Harold Sprague

Rollie Tuttle

Burt Tuttle

With thanks to John Perrodin for research assistance

Prologue

It was enough to make anyone want to be a cop. But for the young collegian idly watching the CBS local evening newscast in Chicago one fall evening in 2008, something deep within was stirred anew.

The anchorwoman dispassionately reported horrifying murder statistics the news team had gathered, but the wannabe police officer was taking it personally. Why? He had his ideas.

Maybe it was the similarity between the street gangs doing most of the shootings and the bullies who had terrorized his friends when he was a kidand who had tried to terrorize him.

More than 120 people had been shot and killed in Chicago that summer. That was almost double the number of American soldiers killed in Iraq during the same time. Beyond that, nearly 250 others had been shot and wounded in Chicago.

If there was anythingeven one thinghe could do to thwart these thugs once he earned his badge, he would do it with all that was in him.

Justice Freak

1:58 a.m., Friday, December 16, 2011

Wanna take this one yourself, Rook?

Boone Drake shot his partner a double take. The 911 dispatcher had broadcast a domestic disturbance in progress at a seedy apartment building on West Jackson Boulevard in Chicagos most dangerous precinct, Harrison, District 11.

Myself?

I mean take the lead, Jack Keller said, eyes fixed on the pavement as he maneuvered the blue and white Crown Vic squad through icy streets. Ill have your back.

Boone didnt want to sound too eager, but there was no way hed turn this down. He had excelled in twenty-three weeks of training at the academy and was just weeks into his eighteen-month period as a probationary police officer. Boone hoped someday he would look as comfortable in his gear as Keller did. The press described his partner as rugged or chiseled, not bad for a man in his late fifties with a short crop of gray hair.

Boone took pride in being in shape and athletic, but there was no hiding his youth. He couldnt let that get in the way if he took the lead on this call. He tightened the Velcro on his bulletproof vest and ran his fingers across his Sam Browne utility belt, including his 9mm Beretta.

Its put up or shut up time, Boones, Keller said as they neared the address.

Sure, Im in.

Head full of all that training? Planning your approach?

Boone couldnt stifle a laugh. All I can think of is the POLICE acronym.

Professionalism, Obligation, Leadership, Integrity, Courage, Excellence.

Keller shook his head. Big help if this guy comes at you. Remember your moves if hes armed?

Hope so.

You hope so. Well, so do I. I dont want to have to put one in a guy because you cant subdue him.

Long as I know youre there, Ill be okay. You bringin in the M4?

Thats way too much firepower for inside. My 9 will be plenty.

Once Keller skidded to the curb out front, blue lights dark to avoid attention, Boone grabbed his nightstick and his uniform cap and slid out. As he slipped the stick into the ring on his belt, some druggies on the corner, their breath illuminated by the streetlight, called out, Five-oh!

Keller turned on them. Shut up or youre next!

The gangbangers cursed the cops and flashed signals but quickly disappeared. As Boone rushed the front door, it occurred to him that those types were the real reason he was a cop. It was about the gangs. It had always been about the gangs.

Keller grabbed his sleeve and slowed him. Dont get ahead of yourself.

When Boone got inside and mashed the elevator button, Keller passed him on his way to the stairs. On the other hand, we dont want to be waiting when someones in danger.

They trotted up the stairs, gear jangling and leather squeaking, Boone aware of Keller panting as they reached the fourth floor. An apartment door was open a couple of inches and an elderly woman in a bathrobe peeked out, hands clasped as if in prayer. She nodded toward the next apartment.

Keller whispered to her to close and lock her door and back away from it. He unholstered his weapon and fell in behind Boone, who stepped before the next apartment. A man inside shouted; a woman whimpered.

Boone spread his feet, rapped hard, and called out, Police department! Open the door!

The couple fell silent.

Now! Boone said, laboring to sound authoritative.

The man whispered; the woman whined.

Open the door, sir!

Hes got a knife to my throat!

And Ill cut her if you try comin in!

You dont want to do that, bro! Now open up and lets talk about it.

The man swore.

Dont do anything youll regret, man. Come on now.

The door swept open and there the man stood, reeking of alcohol, the woman locked in the crook of his arm, a six-inch steak knife at her Adams apple. Boone ran through all his training in an instant. He knew where to grab, where to twist, how to use his weight, the angles, everything.

But when the man threw the woman aside and lunged at him, everything left Boone. He threw an uppercut so vicious that when it caught the bad guy under the chin, Boone feared he might have killed him.

The knife, which dragged a jagged tear under Boones shirt pocket but had not damaged his vest, went flying. The mans head snapped back, his feet left the floor, and when he landed, he tumbled back and smacked his head against the far wall as he dropped in a heap.

The woman squealed and ran to him, falling to her knees. Boone held her back as Keller radioed for an ambulance.

Two hours later, as Boone banged out his report, the woman had been pronounced healthy and returned home, her boyfriend was in the drunk tank with a concussion, and Keller was still chuckling. You gonna teach that move at the academy, Boones?