Bright Page #3

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That's a fact.

- But you only care about yourself, Ward.

- Right.

Did I... Did I ask you for advice?

'Cause I'll probably wait till I'm on my,

like, ninth divorce,

then your advice

will come in really handy.

That's good. That's f***ing good. Noted.

Meanwhile, that Orc f***

is still out there

because Jakoby chose clan blood

over the badge.

Or the motherf***er just got away.

He got away 'cause Jakoby let him.

What happens next?

What happens the next time

this pig motherf***er

makes a cop suck-start

his f***ing 12-gauge?

Only this time, it's Brown,

or it's Hicks, or it's f***ing me.

How you gonna feel, Ward?

'Cause that sh*t is on you.

Well, if you in the box,

I'll probably be like...

Ward, you son of a b*tch.

Hey, look, I got a dude in my car,

the whole world is watching, all right?

I didn't ask for it, I don't want it,

but I don't get a vote.

And what happens if they hire more?

You know what they say.

Once with the Dark Lord,

always with the Dark Lord.

They chose evil.

Here's the thing I can't understand.

How do a bunch of dudes who can barely

remember their baby mama's birthday

have beef with a whole race

over some sh*t that happened

2,000 years ago?

Here's the f***ing deal, man.

You keep Jakoby

the f*** away from me. Okay?

I'll drop an Orc. I don't give a f***.

My ancestors killed them

by the f***ing thousands in Russia.

- Attaboy, Ward!

- About time, Ward.

All right, settle down,

settle down. The captain's coming.

Ward, I saved you a seat.

Take it away, boss.

Ward, nice to see you back.

Cap.

- Tonight's the trifecta.

- Hey, is that your cousin?

Full moon, Friday night...

- No.

- ...summer heat wave.

Clear your calls fast,

help your colleagues clear theirs,

get me out of this deployment period

without another murder,

I'll buy you all coffee.

Sergeant Ching, all yours.

All right, after I call your name,

get your shotguns and radios and deploy.

I don't want to see you here

unless there's bad guys under the desks.

Three-Mary-25, Pollard.

Three-Mary-55, Kim.

Three-Mary-60, Thomas.

Three-A-21, Pippen and Gosser.

Three-A-54, Hancock and Wheeler.

Three-A-80, Crawford and Duncan.

Three-A-9, Jakoby and Ward.

- Three-A-34, Jones and Morengo.

- Hey, uh, hit the kit room.

- Three-A-82, Ortiz and Mencia...

- I'll meet you at the gas pumps.

- I'll be right down. I just need to...

- Okay.

Three-A-99...

- No.

- Yes. Put him in another car.

What the f*** about my demeanor

gives you the impression

that I want to be a target

on the department's Orc-diversity radar?

These decisions are made

nine miles above me.

No. They're made right on your paper,

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