The Protectors

A policeman opened the door to Sloan’s office for John Sacks, and they walked in. The policeman gestured to Sacks. “This is Wellstone’s lawyer.”

Sloan told the policeman to leave. “Have a seat,” Sloan said. “I have some questions about your client.” “First, I’d like to know what he’s charged with.”

“Suspicion of murder.”

“Based on what evidence?”

“There is evidence that a wolf has killed people. Four of my officers saw him change from a wolf into a human being.”

“If my client is a wolf—and I doubt it because he’s been a friend for years—but if he is, how do you know it was he who killed those people?”

“That’s why we need to question him.” “You’ll have to charge him first. And we both know that suspicion of murder won’t hold up. Nothing ties him to those killings.” “All right. We don’t know for sure that he killed those people.”

“Criminals. It killed criminals.”

“I know. And I have mixed emotions. He leaned forward toward Sacks and almost whispered. “I never said this, okay? But if he is the wolf that killed those bastards, I think we should pin a medal on the son-of-a-bitch. But that’s not how the Commissioner sees it. He doesn’t like people—or wolves, or who-knows-what—taking the law into their own hands”.

“I understand, and I sympathize with your dilemma. But you don’t know if my  client killed anyone.”

“That’s true. But I want him examined and put under observation.”

“Only if he consents. And I guarantee that he won’t.”

“We’ve got to find out what’s going on with him. He could be a danger to people, a danger to himself. We’ve got to examine him and keep an eye on him.”

“Only if he consents. Now, where do I post his bail?”

An hour later, Sloan’s phone rings. It’s Thatcher, and he’s mad.

“I hope what I heard is wrong, because if it’s not, your ass is in a sling. You had a wolfman, or whatever the hell it is, in custody and released it?”

“I had no choice. His lawyer bailed him out, and we had nothing to hold him on.”

Bullshit! You can always find something to charge someone with. Any rookie knows that. You’re on suspension. Without pay.”

“Wait! Wait just a fucking minute. You’re suspending me because I followed the law, because I didn’t cook up some phony charge?”

“You got it.”

“You can’t do that. I’ll take it to the police board.”

“Take it where you like. You’re on suspension, as of now.”

Thatcher hangs up. Sloan slams down the phone.