[Nine-Nine — Briefing Room | 7:02 AM | Next Morning]
The precinct's briefing room smelled like burnt coffee, fast food wrappers, and exhaustion. Everyone was there. Rosa slouched in her chair with a day-old scowl, a half-empty energy drink in one hand and a manila folder in the other. Jake sat at the edge of the table, chewing on a cold bagel and tapping a pen against his knee. Amy looked like she had been up for thirty hours and was running solely on caffeine and pure determination. Boyle was hunched over his laptop, eyes twitching as he cross-checked files. Terry paced near the whiteboard, muttering quietly while scribbling arrows between names and addresses. Terry misses his daughters.
Raymond entered last, still in uniform. He dropped a file on the table and sat down without a word.
Holt stepped to the front and looked around the room. He waited for silence. It came quickly. No one had the energy to talk.
"Let's go over what we've found," he said in his usual calm voice.
Amy was the first to straighten up. "The arsons were intentional. All four locations had expired leases tied to fake shell companies. The last store, Sweet Wonders Toys, was listed as having a new owner last year. However, that paperwork was backdated. The actual owner was someone different."
Jake completed her thought. "Richard Mendez. Fifty-four years old. He was the original owner of the chain. Supposedly, he retired in 2004 and moved to Florida. But that was a lie. He has been here the whole time, using straw buyers and fake addresses to maintain control."
Boyle tapped his laptop. "We pulled bank records. His name is connected to six LLCs. All traced back to Brooklyn real estate. All unoccupied properties."
Terry looked up from the board. "So he faked his retirement, moved his operations underground, and started moving money and product through the toy stores. When the first location was compromised last month during a failed burglary, he ordered them all shut down."
Amy nodded. "That explains the arsons. They wanted to destroy the evidence before anyone could get close. He thought the fire would erase any traces. This was carefully planned, and they made it look like a perfect crime. They probably used some type of remote detonation from a distance."
Holt gestured toward Raymond. "And the incident yesterday?"
Raymond opened the file in front of him. "Two suspects on a bike. Gang tattoos, armed, approaching Mendez at a crosswalk. One of them drew a weapon. The other was acting as a lookout. It was going to be a hit."
Amy glanced at Rosa. "Maybe someone inside his own network wanted him silenced. Tie up loose ends."
Rosa looked down at her file and flipped a page. "Or Mendez cut them off. We found text records from one of the phones. He owed money. Big money. Someone called 'Ash' was threatening to expose the whole network if he didn't pay."
Holt crossed his arms. "Do we know who Ash is?"
"No name yet," Boyle said. "But we have two burner numbers. We're trying to triangulate them."
Terry stepped closer to the board. "So we have a toy store chain that's been operating as a front for smuggling. Mendez fakes retirement, uses ghost companies to launder money and move product. When the network starts to fracture, he burns the storefronts. And when the cleanup isn't enough, someone tries to clean him up."
Amy added, "Which means this operation is bigger than just one man."
Jake pointed at the center of the board. "And Ash might be the next link. Possibly the actual leader. Mendez could've been the front all along."
Holt adjusted his stance, then stepped toward the center of the room. His tone stayed composed, but there was a weight behind his words.
"Mendez knows more than he is telling us," he said, scanning the room. "He has refused a lawyer. He has requested to be placed in holding indefinitely. He believes he will be safer in one of our cells than anywhere else in the city. That kind of desperation does not come from guilt alone. It comes from fear."
Jake leaned forward. "So, what's the plan? We play good cop, bad cop? Or good cop, weird cop? I'm good either way."
Holt raised one hand to silence him. "No. Mendez is not afraid of us. He is afraid of whoever is behind him. He is panicking. That panic is leverage. He will not want to leave custody, which gives us an opportunity. We will tell him he is being released."
Amy raised an eyebrow. "Won't he know that's not real? He's been around the block."
"He will believe it," Holt replied, matter-of-fact. "Because it is what he fears most. We simply present it as a reality. We process the paperwork and pack his things. We make the hallway chatter loud enough for him to hear. Then, when the time is right, someone explains to him how alone he is about to be."
Boyle blinked. "You mean, like… explain with words, or…?"
"I mean, Diaz," Holt said, turning toward her. "I want you to speak to Mendez. Make sure he understands what it will feel like to step outside this precinct with no one to protect him."
Rosa smirked. "Got it."
"Keep your tone measured. He must believe he has run out of time. If he thinks someone will be waiting for him on the other side of that door, his fear will do the rest."
Amy spoke up. "What if he still doesn't talk?"
Terry turned to her. "For a guy with six kids, he values his life more than anyone's. He'll tell us everything."
Jake nodded. "Psychological pressure. Old-school misdirection. Love it."
...
[Interrogation Room]
Richard Mendez sat with his hands clasped, fingers nervously twisting around each other. His blazer hung off his shoulders like it didn't fit anymore. He looked older than fifty-four. He looked like a man who hadn't slept in weeks.
Rosa sat across from him, arms folded. She just kept staring at him.
"So," Mendez said, voice raspy, "what now? You charge me? You throw me in a cell? That's how this works, right?"
Rosa let the question hang in the air until it got heavy. Then she tilted her head slightly, not unkind, but not soft either.
"No," she said.
Mendez squinted. "No?"
Rosa leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table.
"We're not charging you."
He blinked. "What are you talking about? I gave you everything. Names, routes, shell companies, ports. I told you about the cash drops and the warehouses. I laid it all out for you."
"Yeah," Rosa said. "You did. But the thing is, a confession without corroboration doesn't mean much. You gave us stories. That's not evidence. No ledgers, no surveillance, no direct transfers with your name on them, and you burned down your own stores. So, we don't have any evidence. Just you, sitting in a chair, saying you used to be a criminal."
Mendez's face twitched. "That's not fair. I came clean."
"You came scared," Rosa said. "There's a difference."
He sat back in his chair, breathing shallowly. "The shooters from yesterday. You've got them. They'll talk."
She shrugged. "We interrogated both. They lawyered up in under two minutes. Didn't even blink. One of them might be under seventeen. He said your name once, then shut up when his lawyer walked in. The other didn't even make it that far. He asked for water, then asked for a lawyer. That's all we got."
Mendez's hands were clenched now. His knuckles had gone white.
"So you're just gonna let me walk?"
Rosa nodded. "That's the law. You confessed, sure. But there's nothing to stick it to. We can't charge you based on bedtime stories and shaky fear."
He stared at her. The silence thickened.
She leaned in just enough for her voice to lower.
"That means, in about twenty minutes, you're getting processed out. Your name comes off the docket. Your protection ends. You'll walk out, just like any other free man."
Mendez's jaw clenched. "No. No, I told you everything. You can't just toss me out there."
"That's the law. Suck it!" Rosa said with a grumble.
He slammed a hand on the table. "You don't understand who's coming after me."
"I do," she said. "We call them leads."
Mendez looked up at her, panic starting to crack his voice. "Ash will find me and kill me. I scammed him out of twenty million dollars and burned down his operation. You gotta help me. He's gonna kill me."
Rosa didn't blink. "Then you should've thought of that before you made them your partners."
"I was trying to survive."
She started walking toward the door.
"So are they."
Mendez stood up, his chair skidding backward. "You can't do this. I've got six kids. They will kill them too to get the money. Please."
Rosa stood up and walked to the door. Her hand rested lightly on the handle.
"Ritz Meat Shop. 23 Avenue, third floor," Mendez finally broke and gave Ash's location.
She opened the door and stepped out with a satisfied smile. Finally, no more night shift and overwork.
...
[Ritz Meat Shop]
Jake and Rosa stood outside the third-floor apartment above the meat shop. The hallway smelled like sausage grease, sweat, and blood from the raw meat. The door was cheap wood, probably from a clearance rack at Home Depot. Jake had his ear pressed against it, his hand raised to signal Rosa.
Inside, there was muffled movement. Then a sudden crash of glass. Rosa didn't wait for Jake's go-ahead.
She kicked the door open.
It splintered around the hinges as both detectives charged inside, weapons raised.
They found an empty living room and a shattered window. There were six bags of drugs and cash. They quickly turned to the window. Curtains flapped wildly. A trail of muddy shoeprints ran across the couch and over a pile of takeout containers. Jake ran to the window.
He looked down. "We got a runner."
Outside, a man in a black hoodie was leaping between window ledges and fire escapes like a low-budget ninja. He moved fast. His shoes barely touched the steel before he flung himself to the next ledge. He was nearly to the ground.
"That's Ash!" Jake shouted. "He's doing parkour. Real parkour. Not YouTube fail compilation parkour."
Rosa was already vaulting over the windowsill. She was good and flexible, and within a few seconds, she was already on the ground.
Jake followed with a much less graceful climb. "Why do I always feel like my bones weren't built for this?"
"Stay with the drugs, I've got this," Rosa yelled back at Jake before running toward the perp.
But Jake was already hanging onto the metal pipe. He couldn't go up or down and was dangling like a fool. "Uumm... Ok. Cool, cool, cool, cool... No cool. HELP! I'm slipping."
Yep! He fell hard over a dumpster, but somehow managed to roll out and follow Rosa.
Down on the street, Ash sprinted past a fruit stand, shoved over a garbage bin, and darted around a parked ice cream truck.
Then he hit the corner.
And fate.
More specifically, he hit Hitchcock and Scully.
The two detectives were standing beside a hotdog stand, deep in bliss. Both held massive foot-long dogs smothered in mustard, onions, and a questionable amount of kraut. Scully was seconds away from taking a bite when Ash collided with them.
The crash was biblical.
Hotdogs flew.
Buns exploded mid-air.
Mustard hit a baby stroller three feet away.
Scully's hotdog tumbled from his grip like it was falling in slow motion. It landed on the pavement with a wet splat, perfectly intact. Then, as if to pour salt on a wound not yet healed, Ash stumbled, stepped on the hotdog, and slid.
Scully saw it all.
He saw the foot.
He saw the squish.
He saw the hotdog die in front of him.
His face twisted into something ancient and wrathful.
"You son of a—"
With the force of a thousand missed lunches, Scully lunged.
He grabbed Ash by the neck and slammed him onto the sidewalk like a bouncer clearing out a bar fight. The sound of skull meeting concrete echoed off the buildings. Ash let out a dazed grunt. His leg twitched.
Hitchcock, mouth still half-full, looked down. "Did he step on your dog?"
Scully nodded, breathing like an angry walrus.
"He stepped on it, Mike."
"This bastard."
Rosa rounded the corner just in time to see Scully sitting on Ash's back, both hands locked in a textbook rear chokehold. Jake followed soon.
Jake raised his hands like a referee. "Whoa, whoa, Scully, we need him alive!"
Scully didn't move. "I'm not choking him. I'm just making sure his lungs remember who's boss."
Rosa leaned down and cuffed Ash while he groaned into the pavement.
Jake looked around at the chaos. "Honestly, not how I pictured this going. But I'm not mad."
Ash mumbled something that sounded like "Why is he so heavy…"
Rosa patted Scully's shoulder. "You can let him breathe now."
Scully stood up with a grunt, brushing crumbs off his shirt.
Jake gave him a thumbs up. "You just tackled a top-tier criminal with one hand and lost lunch with the other. That's real heroism."
"What criminal?" Hitchcock asked in confusion.
"Ah! They don't know anything. Cool, cool, cool," Jake mumbled very quickly with an awkward grin.
Scully looked down at the flattened hotdog. His eyes glistened.
"I'll never forget you, buddy." [He later picked it up, dusted and ate it. 😅😅]
---
[POWERSTONES AND REVIEWS PLS]
Support link: www.patr eon.com/UnknownMaster
[27 advance chs] [No double billing.]
---