Chapter 21: Bar Relic Theft and Game Night
[Day – 99th Precinct – March 13, 2014]
The precinct buzzed with the low hum of stressed detectives and humming coffee makers. But the usual chaos felt different today, tinged with an almost sacred seriousness that only a theft from MacLaren's could inspire. Jake Peralta stood at his desk, his usually disheveled hair neatly combed, a testament to the gravity of the situation. He had a glossy black-and-white photo of the stolen MacLaren's bar relic—an ancient, intricately engraved mug—pinned to his bulletin board. The photo was a blurry, grainy thing, but in Jake's mind, it was a high-resolution blueprint for justice.
"This theft," Jake began, gesturing dramatically with his hands, "is a Die Hard case. The perp, a cold, calculating mastermind, has infiltrated our hallowed ground. They're Hans Gruber, and I'm John McClane. Yippee-ki-yay, you know the rest."
Adam Stiels leaned over his shoulder, a half-smile playing on his lips as he sipped his own coffee. "Die Hard? Jake, it's just a bar relic. A mug. The real mastermind is probably some drunk guy who thought it would look cool on his shelf."
"Adam, you wound me," Jake said, pressing a hand to his heart. "This isn't just a mug. This is a part of our history! Of our legacy! It's the mug that has held… so many… sodas."
Amy Santiago, ever the stickler for procedure, walked up with a folder full of protocols. "Jake, we need evidence, not movies. We have a solid lead on a pawn shop that deals in stolen bar memorabilia. Adam, what did your analysis of the photo show?"
Adam set his coffee down. "The photo resolution is terrible, but the camera flash revealed something. There's a faint, almost invisible, residue on the handle. It's a very specific kind of cleaning wax, one used by high-end antique dealers. It's not sold to the public, and it's a pain to get a hold of. That tells me the thief wasn't some random drunk; they knew what they were doing and they knew the relic had value beyond sentimental."
Rosa Diaz sauntered by, pulling a single earbud out of her ear. "Clue's tight, kid. Let's roll." She gave a rare, almost imperceptible nod to Adam, acknowledging his contribution.
Charles Boyle, in true Boyle fashion, approached with a tray of snacks. "I made relic-themed snacks! These pretzel sticks are like the ancient wood of the bar, and these little cheese puffs are the… uh… the spirit of the mug!"
Gina Linetti, typing furiously on her phone, looked up without an ounce of emotion. "Jake, your obsession's sad. And Charles, those snacks look like they've been in a war. A snack war you lost."
The detail about the cleaning wax… it's a detail so obscure it almost feels like a cheat code. But it's true. My past life's obsession with documentaries about fake antiques is finally paying off. I wonder what other useless knowledge I have stored away that could save the day. Maybe my in-depth knowledge of 90s cartoons will help me figure out how to stop a bank robbery. I'd love to see Holt's reaction to a Scooby-Doo-esque trap.
Jake, in a fit of excitement, took a relic-themed pretzel stick from Charles. "Adam, you're the best. This is just the kind of thing that makes a case legendary." He snapped the pretzel stick in half. "Wait, this tastes like regret and bad decisions."
[SYSTEM: Sub-mission: Forensic Aid for Case. Reward: +10% Deduction Skill.]
The moment Gina mocked Jake's Die Hard obsession, Charles's hand slipped, and the entire tray of relic-themed snacks cascaded down onto Gina's pristine, expensive-looking jacket. She stared at the sticky mess of cheese puffs and pretzel dust clinging to her sleeve, her expression one of pure, unadulterated shock.
"Charles," she said, her voice dangerously low. "You have just entered a level of my contempt that I previously believed to be uninhabitable."
The seriousness of the case was immediately forgotten as Gina unleashed a torrent of withering insults, meticulously detailing Charles's lack of style, his uninspired snack choices, and his general incompetence. Amid the rising tension, Captain Holt emerged from his office. He didn't say a word, simply looked from the snack-covered Gina to the terrified Charles, then to Adam's computer screen, where the analysis of the cleaning wax was displayed. A faint, almost imperceptible nod was all Adam received, but it was enough. The "serious moment" was for Adam, a quiet acknowledgment of his competence that cut through the noise.
Jake felt a surge of professional pride. Adam's clues are fire. The relic's ours! No way this Hans Gruber wannabe is getting away with this.
[Afternoon – MacLaren's Pub – March 13, 2014]
The air in MacLaren's, usually thick with the scent of beer and desperation, was today infused with the hopeful aroma of a freshly planned game night. Marshall Eriksen stood at the center of the pub, his hands on his hips, a look of pure, unadulterated joy on his face. He held a giant, weathered wooden sign that read "Game Night: The Most Epic Night of Your Life."
"Adam, this game night's going to be Minnesota epic!" Marshall declared, his voice echoing in the empty bar. "It's got everything: Jenga, Connect Four, and the crown jewel, a Dungeons and Dragons tournament of champions!"
Adam, meanwhile, was doing his own kind of work. A patron was fumbling with a broken dartboard, frustration etched on his face. Adam walked over. "Try tightening the brass fitting on the coil," he said quietly, barely looking at the board. "The magnet's not getting a clean circuit." The patron's face lit up as the dartboard hummed back to life.
[SYSTEM: Attraction: Helpful Tip. Success. Patron's disposition toward Host improves by 20%.]
Lily Aldrin and Gina Linetti were huddled together, arranging the Jenga tower. "Gina, let's make game night fun! We can set up some secret sabotage rules. Nothing in the rulebook says we can't," Lily whispered, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Gina nodded, her usual stoicism replaced with a devious grin.
Barney Stinson, naturally, was already bragging. He was in front of the dartboard Adam had just fixed, holding three darts aloft. "My game skills are legendary! I once beat a chess grandmaster with my eyes closed, using only the power of my mind."
Gina looked at him, unimpressed. "Barney, your ego's the real game. And you're losing."
Ted Mosby sat at a booth, nervously organizing the Connect Four pieces. "You know, game night's like dating. You think you've got it all figured out, but then a single move can ruin everything. It's all about the pieces."
Adam walked over to Marshall, who was struggling to set up a rickety old chair. The chair leg had snapped clean off. "Give me a second," Adam said, taking the chair. He quickly located a small, metal bracket he had on hand—a piece he used for his own apartment repairs—and affixed it, using a small, multi-tool. It wasn't perfect, but it was sturdy.
"Guys, look," Adam said, holding up a pawn from the chessboard. "The thief dropped this. It has a tiny, almost microscopic, bit of glue on it. The same kind of glue that holds the game board together in that box over there." Adam pointed to a dusty, old board game on a high shelf. "The games tie to the relic. A game night regular must have been practicing a heist and using a distraction to get the mug. The relic thief probably used the distraction of the game board to get the mug. It's a classic misdirection."
Wait, a game board? That's… a little on the nose, isn't it? Almost too convenient. Is this world's universe trying to tell me something? Or is it just really bad writing? No, can't be. The clues are too specific. The universe is just… being a little extra today.
Barney, trying to do a dramatic pose with a dart, was distracted by Gina's comment and promptly tripped. He landed in a heap, his three darts scattering across the floor. Gina simply walked over him, a triumphant smirk on her face. It was a funny moment for everyone else, a brief flash of chaos that summed up the weird, wonderful, and chaotic dynamic of their group.
The serious moment came when Marshall, looking at the repaired chair, realized how much Adam was willing to do for the group, even for a simple game night. Marshall's face was a mixture of gratitude and pure, childlike excitement.
Lily, looking at Adam, felt a sense of calm. Adam's our anchor. He just fixed Marshall's chair and a patron's dartboard, all while solving a crime. Game night is definitely on!
[Evening – Brooklyn Market – March 13, 2014]
The evening air in Brooklyn was chilly, carrying the faint scent of stale beer and street vendor food. Adam and Jake navigated the crowded market, the mug's clue a solid anchor in the sea of noise and people. The lead Adam had pulled from the mug photo—the cleaning wax—had pointed them here, to a sprawling antique market known for its black-market trade.
"Adam, we're totally cracking this!" Jake said, a wide grin on his face. He held a small photo of the stolen relic, his eyes scanning every booth. "This is just like a buddy-cop movie. You're the nerdy, science-y one, and I'm the cool, loose cannon. It's perfect."
"Cracking? Jake, don't jinx it," Adam replied, his gaze more focused. "If we call it a win, the universe will throw something at us. Probably a rogue bagel vendor or a sentient pigeon."
Rosa and Robin were a surprising, but effective, team. They moved through the crowd with a silent, synchronized purpose. "Adam, solid clue. Let's move," Rosa said, her eyes narrowed. She had spotted a vendor with a small, engraved-looking mug on his table.
Robin, her journalistic instincts kicking in, pointed to a subtle detail. "Rosa, we're crushing it! That engraving on the mug is a family crest. It's the same crest on the beer steins in the photos from MacLaren's website."
Charles, unfortunately, was doing less crushing and more… crunching. He had brought along a bag of particularly noisy snacks. Each bite was a symphony of crackles and pops that echoed through the otherwise quiet antique stall. "My snacks are stealthy!" he insisted, but a nearby vendor looked up, startled, as Charles devoured a handful of chips.
Hitchcock and Scully, who had somehow followed them, waddled up to a stand. "Hey, Scully, remember that theft case back in '89?" Hitchcock said, chewing on a piece of taffy. "A guy stole a whole food truck."
"Yeah, wild. He was wearing a hat," Scully added, lost in the memory.
Adam's attention, however, was on a subtle detail. The vendor with the engraved mug was wearing a work-issued jacket. The company logo was a small, ornate design Adam recognized from the MacLaren's game night flyers. "The glue on the game piece was from a local print shop," Adam murmured to himself. "And that mug's from the same place. It's not a family crest, Robin. It's the logo for MacLaren's old print-shop vendor. The thief works there, and they're a game night regular. The theft was an inside job."
An inside job. Of course. It's always an inside job. It's like the universe is a bad B-movie plot writ large. I just have to find the holes in the script. The question isn't 'who did it?' it's 'why?' And what happens next?
[SYSTEM: Sub-mission: Forensic Aid for Case. Success. +15% Deduction Skill.]
Charles's incredibly loud crunching was the funny moment that saved the day. The sudden noise spooked a vendor, who dropped a box of fragile porcelain figurines, creating a small, diverting commotion that allowed Rosa and Robin to slip past unnoticed. The vendor, startled, was too busy cleaning up the mess to even notice them.
The serious moment was the brief, silent look that passed between Rosa and Robin. They were an odd pair, the stoic detective and the independent journalist, but in that moment, their teamwork shone. They had each other's backs, a bond forged in the chaos of a late-night investigation.
Rosa felt a surge of professional satisfaction. Adam's clues are gold. The relic's close!
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