You bypassed three other groups of people violating park ordinances to target us. And when I told you to back off, you assaulted my partner. I had probable cause, Jenkins squeaked, though his voice cracked humiliatingly. You had prejudice, Sam corrected, stepping up beside Jonathan. And because of your fragile racist ego, a primary target in a multi-agency RICO investigation just walked away with $3 million of Navarro cartel money.
Before Jenkins could formulate another pathetic defense, the wail of Atlanta Police Department sirens finally reached a crescendo. Two APD cruisers skidded to a halt on the grass, boxing in the FBI vehicles. Four uniformed officers jumped out, hands on their holsters, anticipating a shootout with armed suspects. Instead, they found a wall of heavily armed federal agents surrounding one of their own, Sergeant Thomas Griggs, a gray-haired APD veteran and Jenkins's shift supervisor, pushed his way to the front. He looked at the FBI tactical vests, the unmarked SUVs, and finally at Jenkins, who looked like he was about to vomit on his own boots.
What in the hell is going on here? Sergeant Griggs demanded, looking at Cole. Who's in charge? Why is my officer surrounded? I am, Cole said, flashing his credentials.
Supervisory Special Agent Cole, FBI Organized Crime Task Force. And your officer isn't surrounded, Sergeant. He's in federal custody. Griggs blinked, completely taken aback. Custody for what?
Now hold on, Agent Cole. Let's not get hotheaded. If my guy overstepped on a stop, we handle that internally. Professional courtesy. We'll write him up, send it to Internal Affairs.
You don't need to make a scene. Professional courtesy? Jonathan repeated, a harsh, bitter laugh escaping his lips. He walked right up to Sergeant Griggs, pointing a finger at Jenkins. Your guy didn't overstep.
He blew a two-year federal wiretap operation. He physically assaulted two on-duty federal agents. He deprived us of our civil rights under color of law. That's Title 18, United States Code, Section 242. And assaulting a federal officer.
That's Section 111. Both are federal felonies. So, no, Sergeant, internal affairs doesn't get this one. We do. Griggs looked at Jenkins, his expression shifting from defensive to disgusted.
Jesus Christ, Brian, what did you do? They looked like gangbangers, Sarge, Jenkins pleaded, a desperate whine in his voice. Look at how they're dressed. They were casing the park. I was being proactive.
Disarm him, Cole ordered smoothly. Two FBI tactical agents stepped forward. Wait, wait, Sarge, Jenkins panicked, looking to his supervisor for salvation. You can't let them do this. I'm a local cop.