Several hours later, Wolfe's patrol rune-car rolled to a stop in front of a grimy, nondescript building that served as the Honey Badgers' headquarters. He stepped out, the sounds of loud music and clacking pool balls spilling out from the open door.
Inside, several of the gang's cronies were hanging out, playing pool and drinking. One of the lieutenants, a burly man with a shaved head, stepped in front of Wolfe, blocking his path. "Can I help you, officer?"
"I'm here to see Damocle," Wolfe said flatly.
"He's not here," the lieutenant lied.
Wolfe's gaze drifted past him. In the back of the room, a large badger beastman with a scarred, blind left eye was lining up a shot. He sank the ball easily into a corner pocket, and his men cheered.
"And yet, I'm looking right at him," Wolfe said, walking straight past the lieutenant.
Damocle, the Badgers' leader, looked up from the table, a predatory grin on his face. "Ahh, officer. Wanna join a game? A little stake can make your day, that's what they say."
"Or break your bank so bad you decide to run and hide in your base," Wolfe retorted coolly.
Damocle's smile vanished. "What are you doing here, officer?"
"I'm here to offer my condolences," Wolfe said casually. "Your top lieutenant was found dead today."
"I heard," Damocle said, his attention already back on the pool table. He lined up another shot. "He was with me since day one, too. A real shame." He sank another ball. "Well, we'll do what we can for his family."
"Plot a little revenge, perhaps?" Wolfe pressed. "Against the one who did it?"
Damocle made another shot. "Look, officer, if you know the name, tell me. Otherwise, I'm in the middle of a game."
Wolfe reached out and picked up the white cue ball from the table, the action bringing the game to a dead stop. "Enough theatrics," he said, his voice a low growl. "You know the name."
Damocle finally straightened up, leaning on his pool stick. "Look, I don't want this getting out of hand any more than you do, right?" he said, his tone a perfect imitation of a reasonable man. "You think I'd plot to retaliate or do something stupid against Cason?"
A beat of silence. He'd said the name. The leader of the Crimson Vultures. Wolfe looked around, at the casual demeanor of Damocle, at the way his men were all here, playing pool, drinking... providing an alibi. It clicked. This wasn't a wake. It was a waiting room. The hit wasn't being planned. It was already in motion.
"You already sent them," Wolfe said, his voice flat with realization. He reached for his radio.
He saw it then. A slow, triumphant smile spreading across Damocle's scarred face as he leaned on his pool stick.
Wolfe keyed his crystal radio. "Celvise, Morhan, heads up," he said, his voice urgent. "When you get to the Vultures' HQ, there's a problem coming your way. Now!"
…
Celvise and Morhan's rune-car had just pulled up across the street from the Crimson Vultures' base, a converted auto-body shop. Celvise was about to respond to Wolfe's frantic call when she saw it.
A black, unmarked rune-car, its windows tinted, sped down the street. As it passed the front of the auto-body shop, the windows lowered, and a storm of runic gunfire erupted, tearing through the metal garage door and shattering the front windows in a hail of lead and magic.
"Get down!" Celvise yelled, both she and Morhan taking cover behind their car door.
The runic gunfire stopped as quickly as it had begun, and the black car sped off, disappearing around the corner. They didn't have time to get a license plate or a clear look at the occupants. Their only priority was the aftermath. They stood, drew their weapons, and ran towards the now-silent, smoking ruin of the Crimson Vultures' base to check for casualties, and to see if the gang leader, Cason, was still alive inside.
They burst through the bullet-riddled doors of the auto-body shop, shouting, "Watchers!" Their rune-guns were already up, sweeping the smoke-filled room.
The stench of cordite and blood hit them first. The main garage was a scene of carnage. Several of the Vultures' enforcers were laid out on the floor, their bodies riddled with holes.
"Clear!" Morhan yelled, after checking the back offices.
"Morhan, come here," Celvise's voice was tight, strained.
Morhan ran over to the main office. Celvise was kneeling on the floor. Lying in a protected position behind a flipped-over poker table, as if he'd been shielded by the others, was a young man, barely out of his teens. His eyes were open and vacant.
Celvise and Morhan looked at each other, the same grim realization dawning on them. "Fuck," they said in unison. It was Cason Rivera's son.
Celvise was already on her crystal radio, her voice a clipped, professional monotone that betrayed none of the horror she was witnessing.
"Dispatch, 11-David-20. Be advised, we've got a 187, male victim, confirmed DOA, possible gang-related. Location is 950 East Soto Street, inside the warehouse. Shots just fired, drive-by, suspects fled eastbound in a black rune-car. Request additional units Code 3, and notify Gang Enforcement Detail. Over."
The radio crackled back. "Copy, 11-David-20. 187, male DOA, gang-related, suspects last seen eastbound in black Suburban. Units rolling Code 3, GED en route. Over."
Morhan's mind was already three steps ahead, calculating the inevitable, bloody fallout. An eye for an eye. The whole district was about to erupt. "Dispatch," she added, keying her own radio. "Be advised - victim is the son of Caros Rivera, confirmed gang leader. Request authorization to detain Rivera, protective custody, until Homicide and Gang Enforcement can secure him. Over."
"Copy, 11-David-20. Victim identified as Rivera's son. Authorization granted - take Rivera into custody for his protection. Units will meet you at the Rivera residence. Over."
"11-David-20, 10-4," Celvise confirmed. "We'll move on Rivera, Code 2, until cover arrives. Over."
Without another word, they were out the door, running to their car. Celvise turned on the car and punched the gas, the rune-car tearing through the streets on its way to the Rivera mansion.
…
They arrived to find a scene of controlled chaos. Patrol officers had already secured Caros Rivera, who was struggling against their grip, his face a mask of confusion and rage.
"Hey! HEY! What the fuck is going on here?!" he roared. "I haven't done anything!"
Celvise got out of the car, her expression grim. "Cooperate, Caros. It's for your own good," she said, as the officers guided the powerful gang leader into the back of a Watcher car.
Morhan came around to the driver's side. "Alright," she said to her partner. "You're the one questioning him."
"Why not you?" Celvise shot back, exhausted.
"It's your day," Morhan said with a tired grin.
Celvise groaned, slumping against the car for a second. "Ughh, it's always my day."
Morhan just laughed. "Blame your luck."
…
The interrogation room was a sterile, cold box. All four walls were mirrored, one of them a one-way mirror looking out into a darkened observation room. Inside that observation room, Captain Céline Dubois stood with her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. Beside her, Morhan watched the scene unfold.
"Are you sure you don't wanna swap?" Celvise asked, her hand on the doorknob to the interrogation room.
Morhan just chuckled, a low, tired sound. "Just get the damn confession, Kaelen."
Celvise rolled her eyes, then pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside, the door closing behind her with a definitive, heavy thud.
Caros Rivera leaned back in the bolted-down metal chair, the picture of arrogant confidence despite being in police custody. His muscular arms, covered in the intricate tattoos of the Crimson Vultures, were crossed over his chest. He looked up as Celvise entered.
"You've moved up in the world, Caros," she said, her voice calm and even as she sat down across from him.
He was still agitated from his arrest, his eyes blazing. "Do I fucking know you?" he snarled.
"I hooked you up a couple of times when I was working patrol," she replied, her demeanor relaxed, unbothered by his aggression.
He leaned back, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "Oh, yeah. The elf boot." He smirked. "Didn't recognize you without the standard-issue getup on. Congrats on the promotion. You look good out of uniform, baby."
"Oh, I know," Celvise said, her tone flat, refusing to take the bait. She slid a thin file across the metal table. "We're here about the body that you hung from a hook at the Riverfront warehouse. Hook and display. Such an attention seeker."
Caros's arrogant expression faltered, replaced by one of genuine, raw confusion. He flinched. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about," he said, his voice dropping the bravado.
"Come on," Celvise pressed, leaning forward. "Everyone in the streets knows you and Damocle have been fighting over that territory for years. You hit his top man, Now, he hit your base. An eye for an eye."
Caros let out a long, weary sigh. He leaned back, the anger in his eyes replaced by a chilling pragmatism. "Trust me," he said, his voice low and serious. "If I were to make a move on Damocle's people, I wouldn't make a public display out of it. I would dispose of them so none of you could ever find the body."
In the darkened observation room, Morhan and Céline looked at each other. There was no lie in his voice, no deception in his eyes. It was the cold, hard truth of a professional killer explaining his methods.
"He's telling the truth," Morhan said quietly.
Céline's gaze was fixed on Caros, her mind already calculating the new, terrifying variable.
"Which means," the Captain said, her voice a low, dangerous whisper, "someone else is playing on our board."
…
The next morning, in Captain Dubois's office, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Celvise and Morhan stood at attention as their new Watch Commander paced before the large window.
"We're short-handed, we have a power vacuum in the underworld, and now there's blood in the streets," Céline said, summarizing their bleak situation.
"Caros Rivera has been around for a long time," Celvise offered. "He climbed the ladder of the Crimson Vultures by being smart. He has legitimate business fronts. He's measured and calculating... until you push him into a corner."
"And Damocle is the young, wild successor to his late father," Morhan added. "He's not the type to wait for Caros to die of old age like his own father did. He's impatient."
"Did the night shift report any retaliation from Caros's side?" Céline asked, turning from the window.
"No, ma'am. None," Morhan replied. "Which, somehow, makes me more nervous."
"At least there are no new bodies," Celvise said with a sigh.
"Or none that we've found yet," Morhan countered grimly.
A sharp knock came at the door. "Come in," Céline called out.
It was Wolfe. He looked like he hadn't slept. "Ma'am," he said, his voice urgent. "My C.I. within the Crimson Vultures just gave me a tip. Damocle's Badgers are getting a gigantic shipment of spice later tonight. All of it is being hidden at one of their smaller, secondary bases."
Celvise's head snapped up. "Wait, wait... you said your C.I. is from the Crimson Vultures?"
"Yes, exactly," Wolfe said, a worried look on his face. "That's what's bothering me. My C.I. is a street-level kid. There is no way he should know about a shipment this big, especially one belonging to a rival gang."
"It must have been Caros," Morhan said, the pieces clicking into place. "He fed the information to the kid, knowing he'd run straight to you."
Monet, who had been standing silently by the wall like a shadow, raised her hand tentatively. "Excuse me, ma'am... why is this bad?"
Céline turned to her, a cold, calculating look in her eyes. "Because, Officer Montallet," she explained, "Caros Rivera wants us, the Watchers, to do his dirty work for him."
"I'm not following, ma'am," Monet admitted.
"Caros tipped us off so we can take Damocle's biggest asset off the board for him," Celvise explained patiently. "He wants to fight a war without losing any more of his own men."
Monet's face fell. "So... we're not going to act on the tip?"
A slow, dangerous smile spread across Céline's face. "Oh, no," she said, standing up straight. "We most definitely are."
She walked to the center of the room, her presence commanding the attention of everyone present. "It doesn't matter if Caros Rivera is trying to play us. Any chance we have to get that much spice off the streets and put a man like Damocle behind bars, we are going to take it."
Monet's face lit up, her professional enthusiasm momentarily overriding her sense of decorum. "Sweet! To the field!"
She realized her outburst a second too late. Wolfe, Celvise, Morhan, and Céline were all staring at her in dead silence. She immediately straightened up, her face flushing a deep red as she sheepishly clasped her hands behind her back.
Breakdown of Terms Used:
187 = Penal Code for homicide.
DOA = Dead on arrival.
Code 3 = Lights and sirens, emergency response.
GED (Gang Enforcement Detail) = specialized unit for gang cases.
Protective custody phrasing = how detectives justify temporarily detaining the gang leader. It avoids saying "arrest" until formal charges exist.
Code 2 = urgent response, no lights/sirens.
*A/N*
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*A/N*