AN: Need more powerstones for stable updates.
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[Brooklyn – Industrial Strip]
The unmarked car moved through a warehouse district east of Crown Heights. Brick buildings lined the road, their faded signs covered in graffiti. A soft jazz station played in the background, but neither detective was listening.
Rosa drove with one hand on the wheel, sunglasses low on her nose. She hadn't spoken since they left the precinct. Amy sat in the passenger seat, flipping through the case file, but her eyes kept drifting sideways.
Rosa finally spoke, eyes still on the road.
"What?"
Amy blinked. "What?"
"You keep looking at me."
Amy shifted in her seat. "No, I don't."
Rosa rolled to a smooth stop at a red light. The brake squeaked faintly. She turned her head just slightly, brow raised.
"Ames."
Amy sighed. "Fine."
Rosa let the silence stretch another beat. "What?"
Amy closed the file folder on her lap and said carefully, "I was just wondering what's going on with you and Raymond."
Rosa didn't respond right away. The light turned green. She accelerated slowly, then pulled the car over near a row of shuttered storefronts and parked. The engine idled.
She turned toward Amy now. "What about me and Raymond?"
Amy shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal. "I don't know. You two have been… intense. Even for you. And I noticed how you look at him. Especially when he's not looking. Then, that weird smoothie standoff. You let him steal your smoothie. You don't let anyone touch your smoothies. Then you blushed and smiled when he praised your bike."
Rosa pulled off her sunglasses and placed them on the dashboard. "That wasn't blushing. That was heatstroke."
Amy gave her a look.
"Fine, I was happy when he complimented my bike. That's it. There's nothing going on between us."
Amy didn't let it go. She leaned back in her seat, crossed her arms, and gave Rosa the kind of casual side glance that was anything but casual. "So… if nothing's going on," she said carefully, "then you wouldn't have a problem if I asked him out?"
Rosa's jaw tightened, just slightly. Her eyes flicked to the windshield. She didn't answer right away.
Amy waited.
The hum of the engine filled the silence. A delivery truck passed in the opposite lane, trailing exhaust. Then Rosa finally spoke. "You're not serious."
Amy shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. He's smart, intense, and mysterious. Kinda terrifying in a cool way. He handled Sidorov like it was Tuesday. And honestly, he's hot. Like, ex-military movie poster hot. And we all know, he's a secret agent and he has a binder. A perfect binder."
Rosa's hands stayed on the wheel. Her fingers tapped once. Then stopped.
"You want to date a guy who interrogated someone with Borat and Kidz Bop?"
Amy smiled a little. "Weirdly? Yeah. That's resourceful. Shows creativity under pressure."
Another pause. Rosa turned to her, not hostile, not cold. Just steady.
"If you really want to ask him out," Rosa said, "go for it."
Amy narrowed her eyes. "That sounded like a test. You sure you're okay with it?"
"I said go for it."
"But you don't mean it."
Rosa sighed, then shifted the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. She didn't speak at first.
Amy waited.
Finally, Rosa said, "Of course not."
Amy looked over. "What?"
Rosa kept her eyes on the road. "I'm not okay with it. I don't want you to ask him out. I don't want anyone to ask him out."
Amy opened her mouth, but Rosa kept going.
"Every time I see him, I want to make out with him. And not like some dumb high school crush either. I mean... I want to pin him against a wall and ruin at least one item of clothing."
Amy blinked, her mouth halfway open in disbelief.
"But," Rosa continued, "I noticed how you look at him too. You think I don't see it, but I do. The little glances. How your voice changes when he walks into the room. The way you stared at him after the fight with Sidorov. You looked like someone gave you a free lifetime membership to a private library and told you the librarian was shirtless."
Amy tried to speak again, but Rosa pushed ahead.
"I know how this works. You and me, we don't usually go after the same kind of guy. But something about him? He messes with both of us. And I thought… maybe you'd be better for him. Smarter. More stable. Better at the soft parts of life. So I decided to take a step back."
Amy stared at her. "You backed off... because of me?"
Rosa gave a small nod, still driving. "I didn't want us getting weird. And I didn't want to fight over a guy. Especially not one who might disappear one day because some shadow agency activates a code or whatever the hell."
They rolled past another warehouse. Rosa's voice dropped a bit lower.
"But backing off doesn't mean I stopped wanting him. It just means I figured… maybe you'd do better with him than I would. Maybe he'd have a better chance at a real life with you."
Amy was quiet now. She didn't have a retort lined up. She didn't have a clever response. Her brain was still catching up.
"Rosa…"
"I'm not mad at you," Rosa said, before Amy could continue. "Just being honest. I don't want to ruin our friendship."
Amy gave a small, dry laugh at that.
They reached the end of the industrial strip. Rosa slowed the car, then made a right turn toward a small back alley listed on the toy store's delivery manifest.
After a moment, Amy spoke.
"Look… I think he likes you more."
Rosa raised an eyebrow.
Amy added, "He's polite with me. Friendly. But with you? His expression changes. He pays attention. And I've never seen him smirk at anyone else the way he smirks at you. And trust me, it's not professional."
Rosa didn't answer, but the corners of her mouth moved just slightly. Not a smile. Not quite.
Amy continued, "I was teasing earlier. I wasn't actually going to ask him out. I just wanted to see how you'd react."
Rosa looked at her for a beat. "That's evil."
'Haaa. So, she also likes him. Gina too. And there is me. Arggg! God help us all.' Amy smirked. "A little."
Rosa laughed once under her breath.
They turned into the alley. Ahead, the charred remains of the latest toy store smoldered in the morning sun. Yellow tape flapped in the breeze.
Rosa shifted the car into park.
"You want him?" Amy asked quietly, hands resting on the case file in her lap.
Rosa opened her door without hesitation. "Hell yes."
She stepped out into the sunlight and grabbed her badge. Amy followed.
Rosa didn't look back, but her voice was calm, even.
"I just needed to say it out loud."
...
[South Brooklyn – Patrol Route, Sector Echo-Four] [11:21 AM]
Raymond's patrol car rolled slowly down a cracked stretch of pavement that ran between rusted chain-link fences and forgotten loading docks. The old warehouse sector looked like a neighborhood stuck in time. Graffiti coated the brick walls. Half the streetlights were bent or broken. Weeds grew from the cracks in the sidewalk like nature trying to reclaim its place.
He had already swept three blocks. Nothing out of the ordinary. A few homeless camps tucked into overhangs, a couple of busted pallets, and a stray dog picking through an overturned trash bin. It was quiet and boring.
Too boring.
Raymond pulled the cruiser into the next alley, cutting the engine and listening. Nothing but wind and the distant echo of car horns from the expressway. He stepped out of the car and walked the perimeter on foot, his boots crunching against old gravel and broken glass.
The old brick buildings loomed on either side. Most had their windows sealed with metal sheets or plywood. A few had fading signs like "Drytech Textiles" and "Benson Freight." None of them had been active for years. He scanned the doors, checked for recent tampering, boot prints, or disturbed gravel. Nothing. Just dust and rot and the feeling of being watched by ghosts.
He made it back to the cruiser and pulled out his tablet. No flagged heat signatures. No alert pings from the new motion sensors FDNY had installed in the neighboring blocks.
Raymond slid back into the car. He tapped in a quick report.
SECTOR ECHO-FOUR: CLEAR. NO UNUSUAL MOVEMENT. RECOMMEND ADDING PASSIVE CAMERAS TO 14TH AND MERCY ST. NOISE REPORT NEAR SANDLOT – PROBABLY RATS. MOVING TO NEXT SECTOR.
He hit send and leaned back in his seat. His stomach growled. He checked the clock. 11:41 AM. That was enough patrolling for now. Holt had said to cover the old zones by noon. His report was logged. Sector was clear.
He turned onto the main road and headed north, back toward the city. The streets got busier the closer he got to the river. Delivery trucks and morning commuters swarmed the intersections, honking impatiently as traffic lights changed too slowly for their taste.
A corner cart near Bay Parkway caught his eye. He pulled over.
The vendor was an older man with a Yankees cap, humming to himself while tending the grill. Steam rose from the metal tray where hot dogs sizzled in their little water bath. The smell hit like a wave of nostalgia and survival instincts.
Raymond walked up and held up two fingers. "Two dogs. Spicy mustard. No ketchup. One Coke."
The vendor nodded and got to work.
Raymond leaned against the post beside the cart and took in the street. The sun was higher now, glinting off windshields and fire escapes. City noise filled the air: traffic, chatter, the soft screech of subway brakes two blocks away.
The vendor handed him his food in a paper tray. Raymond paid, then cracked open the Coke, the hiss of carbonation sounding sharper than it needed to be.
He took a bite of the first hot dog.
'Not bad. Been a while...'
He stood there for a few minutes, eating in silence. A woman passed by with a stroller. A kid on a bike yelled something about Pokémon cards. Down the block, two men on a bike came rolling up the sidewalk. Too fast for casual traffic.
'Gang tattoos. Well, it was just getting boring,' Ray thought as he noticed the biker's hands.
The one in front had the posture of someone used to running from things. He kept glancing side to side, scanning. The guy behind had one hand inside his oversized hoodie. His eyes weren't on the road. They were locked on a man standing at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change.
That man wore a business suit, a briefcase clutched tightly. He looked like a mark. Unaware.
Raymond didn't move. He recognized that guy. He's the new owner of one of the burned-down toy stores. "What a nice coincidence," he thought to himself.
Taking another sip of his Coke, he crumpled the paper tray and turned toward the nearby trash can. To an outsider, it looked like just a regular guy tossing out garbage. In reality, he was just positioning himself.
But his eyes were locked onto the biker's left hand. The hand that emerged from the hoodie, gripping a gun. He raised the weapon, arm extended, eyes locked on the target.
Raymond moved without a word.
He drew his sidearm in one clean motion and fired three shots.
The first hit the guy on the back in the shoulder. The weapon flew from his grip and skittered across the pavement.
The second round slammed into the front rider's foot. He screamed, and the bike wobbled.
The third shot punched into the front tire. The bike's balance shattered. It flipped sideways in a sharp lurch.
The two men hit the asphalt hard.
"NYPD. DON'T MOVE," Raymond ran toward them.
---[Quick Note: I did some quick search and found out that the cops can shoot without warning if the situation requires it.]---
[POWERSTONES AND REVIEWS PLS]
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[26 advance chs] [No double billing.]
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