The morgue sat squat and gray at the edge of the industrial district like someone had built a sad bunker and forgotten to delete it from Google Maps. The sign out front was crooked. One letter had fallen off, so it now read: VAN NUYS MEM RIAL STORAGE.
Jake and Raymond crouched behind a rusty dumpster across the street. A suspicious number of raccoons had been living inside it. One of them waved. Probably.
Jake peered through binoculars that looked like they were stolen from a pirate-themed gift shop.
"Alright, this is it," he whispered, like they were in a spy movie. "Creepy building? Check. Broken signage? Check. Vibes of death and shady organ harvesting? Triple check."
Raymond checked his Glock and chambered a round. "Any guards?"
"None that I can see, but I've watched enough horror movies to know this is exactly when the creepy caretaker with weird teeth shows up and offers us soup made of tourists."
Raymond blinked slowly. "That's oddly specific."
Jake turned to him. "You wanna take the lead on this one? You're, y'know... Ghosty McGhostface. I'll back you up."
Raymond shook his head. "You're the detective. My superior in rank. You go first."
Jake blinked. "Wait. Are you actually following protocol right now?"
Raymond nodded once. "You lead. I'll cover."
Jake paused like that information short-circuited his brain. "Wow. Nobody's ever said that to me without sarcasm. It feels weird. I don't like it. But also I kind of love it. Alright. Let's do this."
They crept across the street, sticking close to shadows like they'd seen in movies. Jake rolled once unnecessarily and whispered, "Tactical roll!" to no one.
They both pulled out their weapons, rose to a crouch, and hustled toward the back wall. Jake jumped first, grabbed the ledge, and hauled himself over with a heroic grunt that landed more like a squeak. He rolled into the tall grass on the other side with a tiny "ow" and looked up just in time to see Raymond vault over the wall like a cat burglar who did yoga on weekends.
Jake muttered, "Show-off," and dusted himself off.
Inside the perimeter, the building loomed even creepier. Broken security lights. Boarded-up windows. One of the side doors hung loose on its hinges like it had seen things and never recovered.
Jake held up a fist like he was in a movie and whispered, "I saw movement."
Raymond pointed. "Two shadows. Front hall. Could be armed."
Jake nodded. "Okay. Cool. Cool cool cool. So we sneak in, neutralize, confirm bad guy activity, and maybe don't get shot."
Raymond added, "And make sure no one sets off any bombs, releases nerve gas, or hides in a freezer pretending to be a corpse."
Jake stared. "That happened to you before, didn't it?"
Raymond didn't answer.
They crept toward the side entrance, stepping carefully around broken glass and the remains of what might've been a raccoon or a very unlucky mop. Inside, faint voices echoed through the hallway. They froze.
Jake mouthed, "Three o'clock?"
Raymond held up two fingers and pointed forward.
Jake whispered, "I love this. It's like we're in a buddy cop movie."
Raymond whispered back, "If we are, I get final kill and theme song rights."
Jake nodded. "Fair."
They reached the doorway and pressed their backs to the wall.
Inside, there were footsteps and a flashlight beam. Muffled conversations in a language Jake didn't understand filled the air.
"You know what they are talking about?" Jake asked.
"They are talking about underground tunnels, shifting something, a freezer, and organs. I think this is it," Ray whispered.
"Let's go," Jake whispered.
They sneaked inside and crept down the dim hallway like two rats in a haunted Ikea. The air smelled like bleach, dust, and cheese. Every flickering light bulb above them sounded like it was trying to whisper, "You're going to die."
Jake whispered, "Okay. Time to do the thing. Quiet takedown mode."
Raymond nodded, already slipping into the shadows.
They rounded the first corner. Guard number one stood with his back turned, distracted by a tablet and the world's loudest bag of chips. Rookie mistake. Raymond reached him first, grabbed him in a sleeper hold, and whispered, "Nacho cheese is the wrong choice" as the guy slumped quietly to the floor.
Jake gave him a thumbs-up. "Nice. Classic ninja line. Strong delivery."
Raymond nodded like he'd just read a Yelp review on it.
Two steps later, they saw another guard leaning by a door, scrolling through Instagram and laughing at memes. Jake crept up behind him, pulled out his cuffs, and quietly muttered, "That meme's from 2001" before smashing the guy's head into the wall and catching him before he dropped.
Raymond raised an eyebrow. "A bit aggressive for an outdated meme."
"Outdated memes deserve pain."
They moved deeper into the building. Two more guards passed by, chatting about freezer temperatures and coolant pressure. Raymond tossed a rock down the hall, and both guards went to investigate like cartoon henchmen. Jake and Raymond stepped out, grabbed them in perfect sync, and bonked their heads together with a sound that was both tragic and satisfying.
Jake whispered, "I swear that was the most synchronized thing I've done since the third-grade talent show. We wore matching hats. It was glorious."
Raymond ignored him and pointed toward a staircase. It creaked like a haunted accordion as they descended.
Jake whispered, "Why do all bad guy lairs have creepy basements? It's like there's a Pinterest board for this stuff. Cobwebs, weird pipes, and vague murder energy."
Raymond shrugged. "Easier to store evil things next to the HVAC system."
They reached the bottom. Dim emergency lights glowed red across the narrow corridor. The air was colder now. There was a hum in the walls, a steady thrum like generators were somewhere nearby.
At the end of the hallway was a thick door with a glass panel near the top. Jake tiptoed up, peeked in, and immediately ducked back like he'd seen a ghost with a gun.
"Oh yeah. We're in it now."
Raymond took a peek. Inside was a full setup. Ten masked guards with assault rifles stood around the room like an overly dramatic rock band. The center was dominated by a massive silver door built into a wall of machinery. Flashing lights, thick cables, security panels. It was the fridge of doom. A sci-fi-grade freezer so big it probably had its own Wi-Fi.
A diesel generator in the corner purred like an evil cat. Tables held black duffel bags. One of them had opened to reveal bricks of what looked suspiciously like... Drugs.
Jake peeked once more and whispered, "Okay. Ten guys. Big fridge. Lots of wires. And I think I just saw a spleen in a cooler."
Raymond nodded. "That's a spleen. Human. Probably fresh. They labeled it 'Greg.'"
Jake's face twisted. "Why does that make it worse?"
"I don't know. Personalizes it."
They both crouched behind a stack of old biohazard bins that definitely had not been emptied since the Obama administration. Jake wiped his palms on his pants.
"Okay. Let's workshop this. Ten armed goons. Giant evil fridge. Drug duffels. We can't just bust in. That's a one-way ticket to Bulletville, population: our internal organs."
Raymond looked at the ceiling, then the walls, then the exposed piping overhead.
Jake followed his gaze. "Oh no. That's a thinking face. What are you thinking? Don't do the face and not say the thing."
Raymond pointed upward. "There's a ventilation shaft. I'll crawl through it and take out the generator. Then wait for them to use their flashlights or whatever light they are carrying. That'll make them easier to target. Then you toss a flashbang and wait 3 seconds. Then we go loud."
Jake blinked. "Wait. Wait. Hold up. You're saying I get to be the flashbang guy?"
Raymond shrugged. "Unless you want to be the one crawling through rat-infested AC ducts."
Jake pulled the flashbang from his belt like it was made of dreams. "I have waited my entire adult life for this."
Raymond climbed a stack of rusty shelves, popped the grate off the duct, and slipped inside like it wasn't deeply disgusting.
Jake looked up. "Hey. If you see any rats named Greg, don't touch them. They're probably important to someone."
Raymond's voice came faintly from inside the duct. "Just count to forty and wait for the lights to die."
Jake stood there, cradling the flashbang like it was his firstborn.
"Forty seconds. Got it. Totally reasonable."
He waited.
One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississi...
Somewhere above, metal creaked like the building was trying to hold in a burp. Then it went quiet.
Jake counted.
Thirty-seven Mississippi...
Thirty-eight...
Suddenly, the lights flickered and went out with a sound that can only be described as a horror movie unplugging itself.
Jake grinned. "Oh, baby."
He peeked through the glass and waited for the goons to light their flashlight. Then he elbowed the glass, shattering it. He quickly yanked the pin on the flashbang and hurled it in.
BOOM.
Screams. Shouts. One guy yelled something in a language Jake didn't understand, but he was pretty sure it translated to "My retinas!"
Jake's fingers flexed around the grip of his pistol like he was channeling every action hero he'd ever impersonated in the mirror. The flashbang echo still rang in the walls. The screaming had peaked. Lights gone. Flashlights flailing.
Jake took one deep breath.
"1... 2... 3..."
Then shouted, "Knock knock, organ traffickers!" and kicked the door open so hard it clanged off the inside wall like a gong of justice.
He dove in sideways, guns blazing, and chaos bloomed.
"Left elbow!" he called out as he shot someone's arm holding a flashlight. The guy spun like a malfunctioning weather vane.
One guard turned toward the noise. Bad move. Jake shot him clean in the kneecap.
"Boom! Orthopedic devastation, baby!"
Another guy sprinted toward the generator corner with what looked like a grenade.
Jake aimed. "Not on my watch, spleen thief." Bam. Shoulder shot. The grenade guy dropped screaming in pain before he could even pull the pin. The grenade rolled from his hand.
From above, Raymond's shots rained down with terrifying precision.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Raymond aimed carefully and hit target areas: elbows, knees, and hands. One man tried to hide behind a table, but Raymond shot the red canister that looked like a fire extinguisher on that guy's right side, thanks to his flashlight. The content fizzled out. The guy rolled out with a scream, and Ray took the shot, hitting his kneecap.
Jake spun, aimed low, and dropped another guard with a knee shot. "Kneecap Express! One-way ticket to Regret Town!"
Another flashlight bobbed toward him. Jake double-tapped the wall beside it. The shooter freaked out and flung himself onto the floor, disarming himself by sheer panic. Jake booted the guy's rifle across the room and cuffed him mid-shout.
One guy tried to tackle Jake from the left.
Raymond shot the guy in the foot from above.
Jake pointed at the vent. "Tag team, baby!"
The last standing guard made a break for the freezer. Raymond jumped down from the vent like a vigilante gymnast and shoulder-checked the man into a gurney full of mystery meat.
Thunk. Goon down.
Silence returned like it had been hiding in the corner, waiting for its moment.
Jake stood in the center of the wreckage, breathing like a guy who just ran a marathon through a funhouse of illegal body parts.
He looked around. Bodies everywhere. All groaning and alive.
Jake holstered his weapon and shouted to the ceiling, "And that's why you don't smuggle kidneys through Brooklyn, kids!"
Raymond calmly reloaded his Glock and walked past him. "You said 'knock knock, organ traffickers?' Really?" He began to fix the generator.
Jake pointed at the door. "Hey, I had like three seconds to come up with a line and no coffee in my system. Pretty solid under pressure."
Within a few minutes of fixing, the power was up again.
Raymond stepped over a guy holding his busted knee and gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. "You'll walk again. Just maybe in small, sad circles."
Jake checked the nearest bag on the table. "Confirmed: drugs. Gold bars in the crate. Ew, that cooler has toes. Why is it always toes?"
Raymond looked at the massive freezer. "Want to open it?"
Jake tilted his head. "Part of me says no. The part of me that's watched Resident Evil: Extinction five times. But the rest of me says yes because we're on a roll."
Raymond opened the vault.
Inside were racks of surgical containers, shrink-wrapped duffel bags, gold bricks stacked like illegal Jenga, and, yep... Organ in mini freezers.
Jake stared. "This is officially the weirdest bust of my career."
Raymond nodded. "Tuesday."
Jake pulled out his phone. "Gotta call the Captain. Then we're calling in everyone. And maybe therapy."
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[28 advance chs] [No double billing.]
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