This is really fucking typical of his shit luck life.
Now he's gone near thirty-two years without having a moment with a woman that could be justifiably classified as romantic in his book, and the day he finds his heart aflutter is the day he gets cockblocked and disarmed by this goddamn date rape goon squad. He's fucking furious beyond measure, the rage boiling under his skin like a pot simmering high enough to skim the edge, bound to spill over. He's so mad he can hardly even find the room to be afraid, because with rage like this he's got no doubt that he's gonna kill every single last one of these powertripping pigs. They ought to know whose wrath they're inciting right now, but so far Rodeo isn't sure they do. Then again, the fact that the patrolman behind him won't take his gun off the back of Rodeo's head makes him think twice about that.
With the guns trained on them, he doesn't dare make a move, but it takes all his self control to stay still when he sees the patrolman grab Lita by the back of her neck. His nostrils flare and his jaw flexes as every muscle in his body tenses, and when the Lieutenant calls Lita a cunt and the Private behind her slams her to the ground, he can't help himself. He jerks towards the man behind Lita, and the patrolman with the gun to his head uses his own ka-bar to slash at his arm, the darkened steel blade slicing deeply across his forearm.
"Don't. Move," the patrolman grinds out, pressing the barrel harder against the back of Rodeo's skull. "Try it again and I'll blow your brains out and we'll have your bitch all to ourselves."
"She ain't my bitch, fuckwad, but y'all are gonna be," Rodeo snarls, unconcerned with the blood running freely down his arm to drip off his elbow as he continues to hold his hands up. Lita asks them for their terms, but Rodeo doesn't need to hear what they want. He already knows. If they had their way, they'd haul them both in, reap the praise for taking down the Dog King and have Lita at their disposal in La Quinta. There's nothing they can offer them that would be sweeter than that, and sure enough the patrolman is happy to confirm.
"You're not goin' anywhere, bitch," the Lieutenant says to Lita, his tone full of mocking mirth. "Not alive if your boyfriend keeps looking at me like he wants to make me Puppy Chow." The Lieutenant looks to Rodeo, lifting his brows pointedly. "Heel. Dog King."
There it is.
Rodeo feels his stomach plummet, but he tries to play it all off. He has no cut on. How sure could they possibly be that they're right about him? He raises his chin, staring down at the Lieutenant. They may all have guns on him, but he's still the tallest man in the room and he looks like a tidal wave held at bay by a drain plug. A deadly force barely contained.
"You're mistaken, partner," he grinds out.
"No, I don't think I am," the patrolman says. With his free hand he reaches for the radio strapped to his chest, lifting it up and pressing the button to radio to the other squads in the city. He keeps his eyes locked on Rodeo's as he says, "McCarrick to HQ."
"Go ahead," a voice answers on the other end of the radio.
"I'm at 6235 North Lamar. Be advised we have detained the Dog King and a UMCB doctor moonlighting as a hound whore. 10-15. Over."
"10-4."
"Boss is gonna be real pissed when you don't deliver the Dog King, partner, 'cause I ain't him," Rodeo insists, on fire with the fury tempting him to act.
"Yes," the Lieutenant snaps, "You are." His hand drops from his radio and he drags on his shirt to untuck it from his pants, lifting it up to reveal a jagged, badly stitched scar running from his abdomen up to his ribs. "You might have forgotten trying to gut me like a fish, but I haven't."
Rodeo's brows lift in surprise as he looks over the scar. He's got no doubt that the same ka-bar that was taken from his belt left that scar. He barely remembers doing it. His eyes shift from the scar to the Lieutenant's face, rage trumping his shock. "Well damn. Real thoughtful of you to give me the chance to finish what I started."