Gotham Detective Bullock Novels & Stories

"We need a bigger yacht. Does Uncle Ian have one? We need to separate the girls from the boys." Karmina giggled and agreed. <><><><> Connor knew well that Bull was making an impulsive decision by killing the people who hurt his girl. He couldn't blame him. He knew Bull’s background, starting from when he wiped out a gang member who had violated his sister. Instead of being sent to jail, he was rescued and trained in the army until he was taken in. However, seeing him in a bloodbath worried Connor. Bull was a professional assassin who could surpass Harvey, but Harvey was simply too smart.

The lead officer — Detective Harlan — scanned the room: blood on the floor, shattered glass from the table, the lingering smell of gunpowder and whiskey. “Blackwood mansion.” He scoffed. “Two cases at the start of a new year. Do you people ever have a rest?” No one answered. “What happened here?” he asked firmly. Eleanor pointed at Salima. “This woman.” She snapped. “She is the mother of the bastard who shot my son.” Salima stiffened. The detective turned to her. “Ma’am?” Salima opened her mouth but nothing came out. The detective glanced around again. “Why does the place look like this? Was there a party or something?”

The employee punched a code on the door and gave us access to the room. “Officer Chartwell, swab the package for explosives,” Detective Robinson informed. “Yes, detective,” Chartwell responded. Officer Chartwell put on his gloves, did a swab, and tested it. Negative. He then took his knife and cut open the tape on the box. A blood-splattered heart-shaped locket was in the box with a note. Past mistakes a made anew. I will claim all of you. Over my dead body, will I ever let you have me. You fucking psycho.

George responded. He took his time, and I could hear him giving orders in the background. "I want you all out! Out!" he screamed, his voice piercing my ears. Then, he returned his attention to our call. "What is it that you have? And what is your name?" he demanded. "I am Ethan Blackwood, a detective in Texas. I'm sure you know Mark, your stepson," I replied, providing a brief explanation and introduction. This caught his attention. "Oh, you're a friend of that spoiled brat," he grumbled, his tone disdainful.

Just as I made to speak to Sergei, a voice came from behind. “Mr Ivanov. I’d say it's a pleasure but we both know I’d be lying.” I sighed. “Fucking fantastic.” We all turned to see a man approaching. Tall, lean, cropped hair and sharp hazel eyes that had a look of warning in them. Decked out in police uniform, his badge flashing as he approached. Officer Matthew Brooks. One of Manhattan's most corrupt cops. He never missed out on an opportunity to tuck a little extra cash into his coffers. In exchange for “burying evidence.”

When I was about to enter my classroom, these two idiots stopped me and push me at the corner, "Hey cutie, didn't I told you to give me your number ? Common don't be shy I Know you wanna have some fun with us too" So ... this is Jack and Jimmy , both are known as a bully and they always annoy poor or scolership students like me. They are one of those low thinker people who believe education in this popular University is only for wealthy brats like them so they annoy and bully who isn't as rich as them..... I really hate basterds like them. I feel so disgusted when they were eying me from head to toe and 'baby' that sounded like a dirty swear word to me ____ it's kinda strange how I never fel

“That angry facial expression he always has. He has this sort of… confidence, I guess.” “Oh my God,” Jamie gasped. “Are you completely obsessed with him or what?” “What?” Alice cried. She could feel her cheeks turning a painful shade of red, giving her away. “Don’t be silly. I’ve just noticed him about.” “Noticed him about? What? Through your binoculars?” Jamie cried. “This is a guy who used to make my life hell.” “That was Ste,” Alice argued weakly. “Really, Alice, really? You can’t do better than my school’s drug-dealing bully?” Jamie snarked.

He bowed slightly and left. The inspector general heaved a sigh. He hated to see his officers so clueless. But something was strange; Bob had seemed unbothered. All his years in the bureau, Inspector Akhere has seen many smart and creative detectives but he has seen none like Bob Andrews. Smart, creative, fast, and alert, Bob had built a name for himself as the Detective of Detectives. He used the brains of other detectives and he gets positive results. At first, the inspector felt he was just another control freak, but after a close study of the man he finally understood him.

Detective Small, I learned while in Dallas, is nothing short of a psychopath. His partner Detective Ryan was a good person who put trust in him as her partner, and it got her killed. His talent for pinning murders on members of society he deems to be unworthy was horrifying. I approached Detective Ryan with some information and hoped that she would take it seriously.

The boy's eyes looked to the ground but inside he wanted to grin as wide as the River Thames Smith inhaled every part of oxygen that circulated around his body, Jesus bloody Christ that does it, half an hour listening to a bloody crank! “I hope for your sake Mr. Nostidame or whatever your bloody name is, that you are not wasting my fucking time” “I can assure you detective.... the pack reside in London..... and very much near your murder locations” the boy replied confidently