Joel just about sprayed beer out his nose at Jane’s proclamation. “You want to tell me how you really feel about that?” he asked her, his usually serious face broken by an entertained smirk. “Even better, accept Nina’s offer so you can tell him to his face.” He shouldn’t encourage Jane’s attitude, but he wasn’t on duty, wasn’t responsible for her right now, and he was a couple drinks in. It barely buzzed him, but it loosened him up enough that he wasn’t real concerned with the aftermath if his partner ran her mouth.
“I’m not sold that they’re really putting their way of life to bed, I won’t go to mat defending them, but the least we can do is look at the scene and gather up the facts.” And keep eyes on Coldiron and his men. “They step a foot out of line, I promise you can be the one to frog march their president into a cell.” Maybe it wouldn't be Coldiron, or any of his officers, but Joel knew the likelihood of Dogs gracing cells was still relatively high. He’d seen enough organizations like the Hellhounds to guess what might come from it.
He rocked his chair back onto two legs, took another long pull from his drink and scanned the bar absently. Cop habit.
“You could consider it my gift to you,” he quipped. “I’ll organize an office memo, even.”