Chapter 4 - The Rat in the Precinct
By 0700 hours the following morning, the city was in absolute turmoil.
News anchors on every television station broadcasted live footage from outside the Wolfe Salvage Yard. Federal agents were seen wheeling out boxes of evidence, while paramedics loaded a bound Dominic and Hector Wolfe into police vans under federal custody.
Inside the Precinct 4 squad room, Detective Miller was frantically pacing near the coffee machine, his hands shaking so badly he could barely hold his mug.
His phone buzzed on his desk. The caller ID displayed: VICTOR WOLFE.
Miller darted into the men's restroom, locking the door behind him before pressing the phone to his ear.
"Victor!" Miller whispered frantically. "The feds raided the yard! Dominic and Hector are in federal custody! They found the ledger, Victor! The damn ledger!"
"I know!" Victor Wolfe screamed through the line, his voice thick with unbridled rage. "How did the FBI get that location?! Who leaked the safe code?!"
"I don't know!" Miller stammered. "Mason hasn't answered his phone all morning! And that soldier... he vanished from the hospital last night!"
"Find him!" Victor ordered, his breathing heavy and ragged. "I don't care if you have to frame him for treason! Put out an APB on Marcus Vance! Shoot him on sight if you have to! If he reaches the press with the rest of those files, we are all going to prison for life!"
"I... I can't just put out an execution order, Victor!" Miller pleaded. "The feds are watching the precinct—"
The restroom door lock suddenly cracked.
The heavy oak door swung open slowly.
I stepped inside, turning the deadbolt behind me, my eyes locked on Miller. I was wearing a clean city maintenance uniform, holding a heavy wrench in my right hand.
Miller dropped his phone. His face drained of all color, turning a sickly shade of gray. "You..."
"Hang up the phone, Detective," I said quietly.
On the floor, Victor’s voice continued to bark through the speaker of the dropped phone: "Miller?! Miller! Answer me!"
I stepped forward, my heavy boot crushing the cell phone into a dozen plastic fragments, silencing Victor’s screams.
"You're a cop, Miller," I said, stepping toward him as he backed away until his spine hit the sink. "You swore an oath to protect the innocent. You took a paycheck from the city, and then you sold my wife out to a gang of thugs."
"It wasn't my idea!" Miller wept, reaching frantically for his sidearm. "Victor had photos of my family! He threatened my daughter!"
Before his hand could clear his leather holster, I snapped the wrench forward.
The heavy iron tool struck Miller’s wrist with terrifying precision. A sharp crunch echoed through the tiled restroom as his gun clattered to the floor. Miller screamed in agony, clutching his broken hand to his chest.
I scooped up his service weapon, dropped the magazine, racked the slide to clear the chambered round, and tossed the empty firearm into the trash bin.
I grabbed Miller by his tie, slamming him back against the mirror, shattering the glass behind his head.
"The bleach you gave them," I growled, my face inches from his. "The traffic camera footage you deleted. You helped them try to destroy my wife."
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Miller sobbed, blood running down his neck from small glass scratches. "I'll testify! I'll tell the feds everything! Just don't kill me!"
"You're damn right you'll testify," I said, pulling out a set of his own steel handcuffs from his belt.
I cuffed his good arm to the heavy copper water pipe beneath the sink, double-locking the mechanism.
I pulled out his police badge from his coat pocket, looked at the polished gold shield for a long moment, and tossed it into the toilet bowl.
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"Agent Vance is waiting in the lobby downstairs, Detective," I said, stepping back toward the door. "Tell her I sent you. And if you leave out a single detail about Victor Wolfe, I'll come back to finish this lesson."
I opened the door, stepped out into the busy hallway of the precinct, and melted into the crowd of officers, completely unnoticed.
