Sidorov sat shackled at the table, blood dried at the edge of his mouth, wrists cuffed and linked to the floor bolts. His eyes, though swollen, still burned with arrogance. A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his busted lip. Like he knew this was all temporary. That someone powerful would be here soon to extract him.
Outside the two-way glass, Holt stood with Rosa, Jake, Amy, and Boyle.
Jake was practically bouncing. "This is it. This is the one. The Big Kahuna Interrogation. I'm getting chills. Actual goosebumps."
Amy rolled her eyes. "You said that five times this week. Once for a jaywalker."
Jake nodded. "Yeah, but this guy's, like, actual villain-tier. This is Bond villain meets Die Hard meets Taken 4: It's Still Personal."
Boyle grinned. "I brought popcorn. It's wasabi-flavored. Cleans the sinuses."
Rosa was silent. Her arms were crossed. Eyes locked on the glass. Watching.
Captain Holt, hands behind his back, spoke quietly. "We don't have long. Internal Affairs and the Feds are circling like buzzards. If we want answers before they sweep him away and bury the truth, this is the moment."
Jake tapped the glass. "Then let the shadow man do his thing."
Raymond walked into the hallway of the interrogation room. He was carrying a black bag. He gave Holt a slight nod before going in.
Inside the room, the heavy door clicked shut behind him. The air grew a little tenser. Sidorov didn't flinch. He just looked up through the mess of bruises, blinked one swollen eye, and smiled like a man who knew ten ways to kill someone with a paperclip.
Raymond didn't speak and placed the black bag on the table, and unzipped it. Sidorov's smile widened like a man expecting torture tools, scalpels, jumper cables, and something worthy of a villain's expectations.
What came out instead… was a silver laptop.
Sidorov blinked. His smile faltered by half a percent.
Raymond set the laptop down, opened it, and then pulled out a pair of massive noise-canceling headphones. Bright neon orange, with a glittery sticker on the side that said "Property of Gina." (Ray and Gina had a little chat. What did they talk about? No one knows.)
He placed them gently over Sidorov's ears, adjusted them until they were snug, then tapped a few keys. Vol: Max.
The laptop screen lit up. 20th Century Fox fanfare.
Then…
Borat.
The man, the myth, the lime-green mankini.
The opening scene hit full volume in Sidorov's ears.
He flinched.
Raymond leaned back in the chair like a man enjoying room service and crossed one leg over the other.
Sidorov furrowed his brows in confusion. He tried to shake his head, but the tight headphones prevented him from doing so. On-screen, Borat began singing the Kazakhstan national anthem at a rodeo, but he was butchering the lyrics. Sidorov grimaced as he went through various stages of grief: confusion, disgust, pain, and ultimately, real rage.
He looked at Raymond, eyes narrowing like he was witnessing a war crime in progress.
Raymond simply sipped from a juice box he'd pulled from the same bag and gave Sidorov a pleasant thumbs up.
Outside, Jake was losing it. "Oh my GOD. Is that...? Is that Borat?! That's Borat!"
Amy squinted. "Is that even legal?"
Rosa deadpanned, "It is if it works."
Boyle leaned in like a proud fanboy. "The headphone trick with max volume... classic Russian disorientation tactic. But with Borat? This is genius."
[30 Minutes Later]
Sidorov's face was now a psychological war zone.
His left eye twitched.
His right eye twitched.
A thin line of sweat traced down his temple, carving a path through dirt and dried blood. The headphones were still clamped to his skull like a glittery vice of cultural humiliation. His body jolted with each scream of "MY WIIIIFE!" and every time Borat tried to kiss his cousin.
Across from him, Raymond sat like a man on a beach. Now barefoot on the table. Shirt slightly unbuttoned. He'd pulled out a nail file and was quietly shaping his pinky.
Then Borat shouted:
"Jagshemash! I go to America and meet many women with STDs!"
Sidorov let out a strangled sound: half scream, half deep ancestral shame.
Raymond looked up casually.
"You okay, champ? You're looking a little... Kazakhstunned."
Sidorov tried to snarl something, but the headphones caught most of it and auto-muted it with a high-pitched Borat yodel. The subtitles on the laptop screen had completely broken down. They now just read:
[Unholy Shriek – possibly goat-based]
"Well, that's enough of Broat. Time to amp it up a little."
Raymond moved over and clicked the trackpad. Then went back to his old position.
The next video began.
Kidz Bop – WAP (clean version)
The moment the overly chipper children's choir chirped, "There are some chores in this house!" Sidorov physically convulsed like he'd been tased.
Raymond spoke calmly, still filing his nails.
"Do you know what it's like to watch a group of twelve-year-olds scream about buckets and mops? Because I do. I've seen things."
Sidorov banged his cuffed fists on the table. "ENOUGH! I will tell you..."
Raymond raised one hand, silencing him like a kindergarten teacher catching a child mid-fart.
He pointed at the screen. "No spoilers. Let's get through the dance break first."
The kids on screen started twerking in modest cargo pants. Somewhere in the building, a rat died of secondhand embarrassment.
[Observation Room – 32 Minutes In]
Jake was on the floor. Literally. On. The. Floor. He was laughing so hard he had to cling to Boyle's leg like it was a flotation device. "Oh my god, this is it. This is real. This is the best day of my life. I'm going to write a musical about this."
Amy looked horrified but fascinated. "Is... is this what psychological warfare looks like now? Bright colors and unethical saxophone solos?"
Terry entered the room carrying paperwork, took one look at the screen, paused, turned slowly to Holt, and said, "Sir. This is either brilliance or outright stupid."
Holt, completely composed, replied, "It will work."
[Back in the Interrogation Room – 42 Minutes In]
The headphones were off.
Sidorov was breathing like a man who'd sprinted across Siberia wearing flip-flops and emotional trauma. His eyes were red. He was muttering in Russian, which was most likely a mixture of prayers, curses, and legal threats.
Raymond leaned forward slowly, "Now that we've gotten to know each other… let's talk. Unless you want another mashup of Borat with fake dubs. First question. How many moles are there inside the Nine-Nine precinct?"
Sidorov quickly spilled, "Orlando, a cop. The other... last name Chuvas, works in tech or data. I only saw him once. The third was a runner, never used a real name. Just a tattoo, snake curled around a dagger, left wrist. The last one's name is Nelson. Works for the fire department."
Raymond gave a slow nod. He didn't look impressed. Just processing.
"Next. Who supplied the weapons, bombs, and RDX for Westcourt?"
Sidorov swallowed hard.
"A man called Garin. Ex-military. Works out of the docks. Red Hook. Pays off customs. Moves gear in medical crates. One contact inside the warehouse district... name's Viktor Spirov. He's the one who prepped the RDX."
"And the plan?"
Sidorov's voice dropped even lower.
"There are multiple targets. Yesterday was just one part; it served as a trial run. Others are waiting. The goal is to disrupt, distract, and drain resources. Target the police, government nodes, and emergency services to make the system buckle. Complete chaos."
Raymond nodded again, just once.
"Where's Ivan Preston?"
Sidorov's lip quivered. He hesitated.
Raymond's hand moved toward the headphones again.
"No... wait!" Sidorov blurted. "I swear, I don't know his exact location. He moves every week. But his last known safehouse was under a dry cleaning business in East Flatbush. Real name of the place is M&T Cleaners. They run signals through the laundry machines. You'll need spectrum taps to catch them. That's where the messages come in."
Raymond stared at him for a moment longer.
"Now the final question," He cracked his knuckles. "I doubt that fuckhead is planning to create all this mess just to mess with the system. So, out with it."
"He'll kill me," Sidorov whispered in fear.
"Then die. But I promise you this, for the next 48 hours starting now, I'm gonna make you watch Borat again and again and again. I'll tape your eyelids and won't let you sleep," Ray said with an evil smile.
Sidorov shouted, "THEY PLANNED TO SMUGGLE 90 BILLION DOLLARS WORTH OF GOLD, ORGANS, AND DRUGS. BROOKLYN IS JUST A MIDSTOP. HE PLANS TO USE THE CHAOS TO SHIFT IT TO ANOTHER LOCATION."
He huffed after saying that in a single breath as tears rolled down his cheeks.
"Please, no more videos and loud noise."
"See, that wasn't so hard," Ray said with a little smile as he closed the laptop.
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[28 advance chs] [No double billing.]
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