The detective slammed a slew of freshly printed crime scene photos on the seventh precinct captain’s desk. “This is the sixth body found in the last two weeks, another drug dealer.” Captain Jasper clasped his thick hands together and pivoted in his worn, brown leather seat. He chewed his thin bottom lip nervously, knowing full well that the jig was up. The pressure gavel was coming down even harder now, pushing his back against the wall and crushing his resolve. “The FBI contacted me again. We’re screwed, Max. They’re taking over the case but say they still need our cops around.” He rubbed his wrinkled forehead, his headache trying to burst through his skull and render him as dead on his feet as he felt. “That’s bullshit. They don’t care what we do; they just want to nab him off the streets, and we end up looking like incompetent jerks. They think our entire department is useless. I just buried two of my men over this crap!”
