Tracy Larkin walked into Brent’s office at a fast clip. “Got a minute?”

“Yeah. What’s up?”

Tracy held up the half page of cryptic letters and numbers that they had been trying to decipher.

“What if they’re 10 codes?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Connor’s handwritten numbers. What if they’re 10 codes?

Brent sat up straight and reached to his shrinking pile of alphabet-soup-on-paper, grabbed one and looked at it. He hadn’t even considered the possibility.

“Okay…” But as Brent thought about the meanings of the codes, they didn’t seem to hold a lot of promise except, maybe the ‘-18’. “Well, 10-18 would seem to make a lot of sense.”

“‘Assignment Completed,’” interpreted Tracy. “It being at the bottom of what may be a list of things to get done.” He let his sentence hang.

“A 10-50 doesn’t make much sense, unless we’re missing something.”

“Brent, a 50 that means ‘Cancel Message’ to us, could mean something altogether different at Pittston P.D. It’s not like the codes are uniform across jurisdictions.”

“Very true!” said Brent as he pulled out his personal cell phone. He pulled up John Eldredge’s cell number and pressed ‘Send’. His call went straight to voice mail. “John, it’s Brent. Call me as soon as you get this. We may have gotten a break.”

He ended the call and looked at Larkin. “We could be wrong. That ‘18’ could mean ‘Chasing a Streaker’ over there in Pittston.”

“Oh, yeah. I’d forgotten about that code,” said the corporal with a smile. “We’ll know soon enough.”

“I think it’s time for lunch,” suggested Brent. “Can I buy you a slice of Angie’s pizza while we wait on John’s call?”

“You’re on.”

ELDREDGE’S CALL DIDN’T take place until 4:07 p.m. after they were both already off duty. Brent picked his cell phone off of the passenger seat of the police cruiser, answering on the first ring.

“Lawton.”

“Brent, it’s John. First, my apology. I always have my personal phone turned off during duty hours. Sorry I hadn’t given you my duty cell.”

Brent disregarded the apology. “The numbers on our sheet of clues; the ones written by Connor. Could they be 10 codes?”

There was a moment of silence while John considered the question. “A ‘50’ here is a ‘Vehicle Accident with Fatalities’. ‘18’ is ‘Assignment Complete.’”

“John, can you be at my place in an hour?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Bring a laptop.”

Brent ended the call, then dialed through his contacts and found Tracy Larkin’s cell.

“Larkin.”

“Tracy, it’s Brent. The ‘18’ is the same, but the ‘50’ means a vehicle accident with fatalities. Can you be at my place in an hour?”

“See you at five o’clock.”

Brent made a final call home to prep Tara on the impromptu gathering that was about to take place.

“Hon, we may have gotten the break we needed in this case. John Eldredge and Tracy Larkin will be coming over at five o’clock. We’re going to crack this thing tonight if it kills…” Brent stopped before finishing with something stupid. Don’t go there. “Anyway … will you order us some pizzas or something? Call Mom and Dad and ask them if they’d be willing to come pick up the kids. It’s your decision on whether Jenna stays or not. But, personally, I think her sharp mind would be a benefit to us. I’ve got to…”

“Brent! Take a breath!” responded Tara. He could hear in her voice that his spontaneous, high-speed checklist needed to be paused. “I’ll call Mom and Dad. I’ll ask Jenna to stay. What kind of pizza?”

Even with his adrenaline spiked he had to laugh. “Get a few pepperonis, one with banana peppers and whatever you and Jenna want.”

“Got it. So, what’s the break?”

“Hon, I’ll tell you once I’ve gotten there. First I’ve got to turn around and go back to the police station for something.”

“Okay. See you in a few.”

“Oh! Tara, call Karen. Find out if she can fit us into her evening schedule. If she has a webcam we can do a video conference with her and tie all of us in at the house.”

Brent pressed ‘End Call’ without hearing Tara hang up and without a goodbye. Forgive me, Hon.

Two minutes later Brent was back at the police station and walking through the front doors. On his way to one of the office’s supply rooms, he heard his name called out from his left.

“Sergeant Lawton.”

It was his captain.

Not now.

Brent stopped, momentarily squeezed his eyes shut, and stepped back to see that the captain was walking toward him from an adjoining hallway.

“Yes, sir?”

“Just wondering what brought you back to the office in such a rush.”

As the captain reached Brent, he considered lying about his reason for coming back, but he’d been crossing that line too many times as of late. “Heading to the supply room. Picking up a whiteboard.”

“For official business?”

“No. Personal. If that’s okay with the department,” he added.

“Not if it’s personal and unofficial police business. That would make it not okay.”

Good forehand swing, Captain, Brent conceded. Ball’s in my court now.

Brent stared into the man’s eyes for just a couple of seconds before he turned around to head back to his cruiser, tail tucked between his legs. But he didn’t make it two steps.

“Lawton. My office. Now.”

Brent stopped and closed his eyes again. Opening them, he turned and followed his superior.

Once inside his boss’s office with the door closed, the captain began. “Are you going to tell me, or are you going to be difficult?”

“Sir, the gloves have come off. That Picti group attacked my family and me Friday night.” He saw his captain’s mouth begin to open in response. Brent intercepted the dialogue. “And before you ask, I didn’t report it because there is no physical proof that it was them. But you and I both know that these people know who I am, they know what I do, and they know my wife.”

“Your broken rib. It didn’t come from falling off a chair. Did it?”

One of those lies he’d told was now coming back to bite him in the butt.

“No, sir.”

The captain just stood looking at Brent for several seconds before relaxing his posture a little bit. “Brent, I want you to lodge, and personally log, a formal criminal complaint with the department. Whatever happened at your home… whether it can be attributed to these cult members and that Pittston police chief doesn’t matter. You know that someone attacked and injured you. Someone hurt your family. Let this department launch a formal investigation. I’ll have Detective Lewis drop whatever he’s doing and make your family a priority.”

Brent didn’t expect this… this benevolence from his captain. Maybe he was finally getting to the place where he believed his Pittston acquaintance was riding off the reservation. It made no difference, of course, since they still could not legally cross into that jurisdiction without proof of criminal malfeasance. Even then, they would need a warrant and the backing of the county sheriff and state police before they could cross city lines.

“Thank you, Captain. I appreciate it. But I can’t. There is no physical proof. On top of that, without any proof, my lie about falling off a chair and breaking a rib is going to look to be just as valid a reason for my injury as this new claim. Lewis won’t have any viable leads that he can follow.” Brent probably shouldn’t have pushed forward, but he said. “Not legally.”

“That’s right. Lewis is restricted to Millsville. We do have a mutual-aid agreement with Pittston, but I seriously doubt that Chief Connor, over there, is going to invite you in or provide a jurisdiction grantor.

“Now, look me in the eyes, Brent, and tell me that you’re not going to cross any jurisdictional lines. Tell me, and I’ll believe you. I’ll even pretend that I didn’t see you walk back into this station.”

Captain Anthony Morelli had just offered Brent his out. He searched the eyes of his superior and saw within them a plea to just say the magic words ‘I won’t cross.’ But in those few moments of silence, Brent found himself. If nothing else, he was going to be a man of integrity.

“Sir, I can’t tell you that.”

Disappointment crossed his captain’s eyes as he reached out his right hand, palm up.

“I’m going to need your badge, Brent. And your firearm if it’s not your personal weapon.”

Brent felt like he’d just been stabbed. He opened his mouth to object, but his now-former boss interjected.

“Don’t, Brent,” he said softly. “It won’t make a difference. I can’t take the chance of having the Millsville Police Department’s name come under fire because of a disobeyed order. It’s better for all of us, you included in my opinion, that we cut ties before that happens.”

Brent had only seconds to resign himself to his fate. He reached up with both hands to his badge to unclasp the pin that held it in place. He pulled it out of his shirt, re-clasped the pin, and placed it into Morelli’s hand.

“I’m sorry I disappointed you, Captain,” intoned Brent with an underpinning of true grief.

“I’m not disappointed in you, Brent. I’m disappointed in the situation. You can turn in your uniform tomorrow morning. I’ll have your discharge paperwork ready when you arrive.”

Captain Morelli did something, then, that would stay with Brent for years to come. He transferred Brent’s sergeant badge into his left hand, then extended his right to him again; this time offering Brent to take it into his own.

Brent did.

“You’re a good man, Brent. I’m sorry things worked out like this. Now, go do what needs to be done to protect your family.”

Brent, in that moment, was a man without words. He could but nod and turn around.

On his way out of the office, he walked up to the dispatch window and knocked. Ron Goodlow turned around, saw Brent and gave him his customary big smile. Brent waved him over.

Sliding a glass partition, Ron asked, “Hello, Sergeant. What can…” That’s when he noticed the missing badge. His question became another. “What happened?”

“I’m going to miss your friendly smile, Ron.” Brent reached into his right pocket and grabbed his key chain. Taking the keys to his cruiser, the back entrance to the station, and the storage lockers off of it, he handed them to Ron. “Not going to need these any longer.”

“Brent, I’m really stuck for words here. What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to go stop some bad guys. God bless you, my friend.”

Brent extended his hand and Ron shook it.

BRENT OPENED THE front passenger door of the Dodge Charger and grabbed his cell phone and Millsville Police Department duffel. He quickly scanned the car for any other personal belongings and then closed the door.

He looked at his cell phone. The mental debate as to whether or not he should make this next call was short-lived.

“This is Larkin.”

“Tracy, would you mind stopping by the police station on the way to my place and picking up a large dry-erase whiteboard and an easel? Oh, and you may want to make sure the captain is gone before you do.”

“Will do. See you shortly.”

Larkin disconnected the call.

Brent walked home.