Some people become gang bosses for good reason. Ruthlessness and cunning go without saying, but being able to read the room and act accordingly is just as critical.
Bishop might have initially planned to form a separate faction with the other three prisoners, possibly even challenge the command structure inside the precinct. But after Jack made his stance clear—repeatedly affirming Sheriff Ronick's authority—Bishop smartly chose to back off and observe.
It was inevitable. Like the infamous gangsters who once ruled certain islands only to vanish after '97, fleeing overseas or landing in prison, Bishop understood: no matter how fierce a dragon, if it's just a lizard in disguise, it won't last long in another's turf.
Some people spray bullets from an AR-15 upstairs and achieve nothing. Others, like Jack, fire just three shots and take out a sniper.
As someone who had once ripped open an enemy's throat with his bare hands during a gang war, Bishop had a sharper sense of bloodlust than anyone else in the room.
He hadn't intended to bother with the junkie—who was clearly in the irritable crash phase after a high. The guy would be a useless mess before dawn and certainly wouldn't help with any escape plan.
But Jack's look earlier had reminded Bishop of the promise he'd made—not long ago, in front of everyone—to take responsibility for the other three inmates.
In Bishop's mind, he and Jack now shared an unspoken understanding. So naturally, it fell on him to clean up the mess. By stepping in, and reaffirming Ronick's leadership in the process, he aligned himself with the current power structure.
Jack appreciated Bishop's tact. He didn't actually want to kill the junkie—doing so would likely fracture the fragile alliance they had formed under external pressure.
As for the "understanding" Bishop thought they shared, Jack let him believe it. This wasn't a solo game. If he wanted everyone—including John—to survive the night, they needed cooperation.
"You stay with him," Bishop told Smalley, tilting his head toward the junkie—now subdued—to indicate he was Smalley's responsibility.
Ronick gave a subtle nod of relief and sniffed Capra's coat. "He definitely drank a lot. It's not just spilled liquor on his clothes."
Jack smiled faintly. He wasn't particularly concerned. After handing the junkie's AR-15 to Iris, he gave the pistol she'd been holding to Capra.
"I really can't imagine what kind of leverage Marcus Duval would have to convince a carefree bachelor to risk something like this."
Capra blinked, looking from Jack to Iris, then to Ronick. "Why does that name—Marcus Duval—sound so familiar?"
Ronick sighed. "Iris, bring Capra up to speed. Check his injuries too—see if it's just the scrape on his forehead or if there's more. Everyone else, back to your positions. There are less than three hours left until dawn. The more of us there are, the better our chances—if we stay united."
Honestly, the junkie wasn't entirely wrong—Capra's appearance was suspiciously well-timed, arriving right after the failed assault when the black cops had pulled back to regroup.
But Jack didn't believe that whole scene was some sort of elaborate ruse. Capra had survived initially by sheer luck, and then only because Ronick had reached him in time and dragged him out of the car.
Otherwise, that sniper round wouldn't have just grazed his forehead—it would've taken half his skull off.
As a marksman himself, Jack knew exactly how hard it would be to fake a shot like that. From what he'd seen of the sniper's performance before Jack took him out, the guy wasn't capable of pulling that off.
The crowd dispersed. After assigning Smalley to watch the junkie, Bishop made eye contact with Ronick and Jack. "I've got an idea. Can we talk somewhere private?"
"Upstairs. I need to check the view anyway," Jack agreed.
Bishop followed him and spoke as they climbed, "I was thinking—if your colleague could drive in here, maybe one of us can get out and find help."
"That's going to be tough," Ronick replied, frowning. "Jack said there are at least three snipers watching us. Someone would have to draw their fire."
They reached the second floor. Ronick leaned near the shattered window and peeked outside—then stared, surprised, at the body lying on the snow mound.
"You did this while covering me?" He hadn't realized Jack had also scored a kill while providing cover.
Jack nodded and turned to Bishop. "Doesn't it strike you as odd? It's been fifteen minutes since I shot him, and his body is still there."
"Maybe they're afraid you're still watching that spot—or maybe they don't have the manpower to go get him," Bishop offered, trying to make the case for his escape plan, though doubt flickered across his face.
"Or," Jack said, "maybe they're baiting us—trying to make us think just that. The snow's already covered most of the side paths. The only real exit is the main road.
And all they have to do is toss some spike strips onto it when someone tries to flee."
Sure, they'd let one vehicle slip through, but Jack didn't believe they'd make the same mistake twice.
"Alright, fine. You've got a point. They're trying to demoralize us," Bishop admitted with clear frustration.
"I think sticking it out is still our best option. They can't have many more people than we do now," Jack said.
But just as he finished speaking, a thunderous explosion echoed from below. Moments later, Officer Jasper came clomping up the stairs.
"Hey! Two of those bastards ran off—I told you they'd do this!"
The explosion had come from the Subaru SUV Jack and John had driven earlier—now engulfed in flames, its gas tank hit with several Molotovs and turned into scrap metal.
Jack and Iris had parked it along the west side earlier instead of pulling into the rear lot after returning from the grocery store.
"This way! East side! They slipped out through the window in the holding area!" the Black woman shouted, rushing to meet them.
The wooden planks Bishop had nailed over the busted window were gone, ripped free. Cold wind howled through the opening, whistling like a ghost.
"Watch the back door!" Bishop handed his assault rifle to the Black woman and sprinted into the hallway office—the one with the best line of sight.
"They torched the car to draw attention," Officer Jasper said, pointing outside.
The two figures running clumsily through the snow were, of course, the junkie and Smalley. Their goal was clearly Capra's Ford van.
They must've noticed the sniper's corpse, thinking this was a rare chance. Ronick, in the rush to save Capra, hadn't thought to remove the keys from the ignition.
______
(≧◡≦) ♡ Support me and read 20 chapters ahead – patreon.com/Mutter
Every 100 Power Stones = 1 extra chapter on Saturday.
Every 5 reviews = 1 extra chapter on Saturday.