TWO

.

Murtaugh carried the coffee through the door to the interview room. He pulled the chair out and sat across the table from a man in handcuffs.

"Hi," he said brightly. "Detective Murtaugh. You may remember me from the warehouse. When you - y'know - tried to shoot me."

The man scoffed. "Whatever."

"I'll take that as a yes."

Behind the one-way mirror, Riggs folded his arms. He watched Murtaugh and the hand-cuffed man for all of thirty seconds before he cast around for something to sit on. The door opened behind him and Wabash walked in.

"Detective," she said.

Riggs nodded. "Agent."

She stood next to him, her arms coming up to fold. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

"What?"

"Sleep, Detective." She turned to look at him. "Did you get any?"

His mouth opened. His head listed sharply in indecision as his face radiated the same bemused confusion as a Rottweiler confronted with the most untoyest toy it had ever seen.

"Your inability to put a sentence together suggests not." She turned back to the window.

He closed his mouth and made himself pay attention to Murtaugh and the man across from him.

"So tell me about the truck," Murtaugh was saying.

"What's it to you?" the man shot back.

Outside, Wabash frowned. "Don't be so combative."

"I'm sorry - why are you here again?" Riggs managed.

She didn't look at him. "To hear what he has to say."

"Uh-huh." He looked back at the window.

"You know," Murtaugh said, "I heard you got the truck from a bunch of people who aren't going to be very happy when they realise that you let the truck get impounded."

"Yeah? I'm happy for you," the man said.

Riggs glanced at Wabash. "You could read our reports and get everything from there. Hell, you could call Avery and get it all from him. Why are you here?"

"I need to see the suspect in person," Wabash said. "Now shush."

"Did you just shush me?"

"Yes, Detective, I shushed you. Be quiet."

His mouth pursed itself closed. Then he ran a hand through his hair and scrubbed at the back of his head. "I know why you're really here."

Behind the glass, Murtaugh leant forward in his chair. "So why don't we let everyone know you're in the police station. I mean, I'm sure someone needs to know that Danny Ortiguez is here in custody, right? With a truck, and everything? Talking to the cops right now?"

"Of course you know," Wabash said. "It's not a secret, I've told you about three times."

"You're here for the truck," Riggs went on, "but you think we can't get anything from Ortiguez so you're watching just in case."

"First-hand witnessing, impressions, are invaluable," she said. She looked at him. "Wouldn't you rather be present when someone was talking to a suspect you believed to be guilty in a case you were working on?"

He looked at her, but she was again staring through the window.

"No-one's going to believe you," Ortiguez protested. "Do whatever, man. No-one listens to cops anyhow."

"So if I tell a few of our informants to spread the word that you're in here and talking to me, you won't mind one bit, will you?" Murtaugh beamed. "Cool. I'll be right back." He got up and walked out, closing the door quietly behind him.

Riggs appraised the man in the room. Abruptly the observation room door opened. "Well he ain't talking," Riggs said.

"At least not yet," Murtaugh sighed. He stopped as he caught sight of Wabash. "Uh… hello? Can we help you?"

"You already are, Detective," she said. "Thank you for letting me observe."

"Oh, well…" Murtaugh drew himself up with a proud smile. "That's what we do, Agent Wabash - we like to share, and help our law enforcement sisters where we can."

"Rog - she's only saying that to make you like her," Riggs said.

Murtaugh's face fell. "Just give us time and we'll get Mr Danny Ortiguez to sing."

"Can it be soon?" she asked carefully. "Like… today?"

Riggs looked from her to Murtaugh and back again. "I'm sorry, are we on a time limit?"

"I cannot say," she said.

Riggs squeezed through them politely to get to the door. "Give me five." He opened it up and disappeared.

Murtaugh and Wabash looked at each other - just looked. Then Murtaugh hurried out and into the interview room with Wabash close behind him.

Riggs had already dropped into the single vacant chair. He propped his ankle and therefore huge boot on the corner of the table and then crossed it with his other ankle. He settled back in the chair, his hands laced in his lap. "So, Danny," he said with an ingratiating smile. "We stole your truck!"

"What?" Ortiguez managed. He pulled his hands back as far as they would go with the chain hooked to the table top.

"Your truck. Your stolen truck. We stole it," Riggs said, sounding extremely self-satisfied.

"I don't know what you're talking about, man," he tutted.

"You don't need it back? Ok," Riggs said.

"Riggs, we didn't steal his truck," Murtaugh put in from behind him. "He stole the truck."

"Yeah but see - he stole the truck first," Riggs said, his index finger going into the air, "and then we stole it off him," he added, his finger describing an arc.

"Officers don't steal," Wabash said.

Riggs' head tilted back to afford him a look at the ceiling. "Does that make me a good guy or bad guy? If good guys steal from bad guys are they good or bad?"

"Well stealing is still bad," Murtaugh said.

"But what if I'm stealing it back?" Riggs asked.

"Can you steal from someone who doesn't own it?"

"Well possession is nine tenths of the law."

Murtaugh frowned. "So what you're saying is—"

"Detectives, stop," Wabash said curtly. "Mr Ortiguez, please co-operate."

"I didn't steal no truck," he snapped.

Riggs pointed at him with a childish grin. "So you did steal a truck."

"I just said I didn't!" Ortiguez cried.

"No, you said you didn't steal no truck - so you must have stolen a truck," he shot back.

"Yes! Wait - what are you talking about?" Ortiguez gasped, lost.

"Thanks, man - we'll get paperwork drawn up for grand theft auto," Riggs said. "Rog - can we go now?"

"Hold up a minute," Murtaugh said, his hands out in a plea for the entire world to come to a stop. "What just happened?"

"That's just - just words, man! Like a figure of speech!" Ortiguez cried.

"No," Riggs said, suddenly all business. "You 'lifted a vehicle' - that's a figure of speech. 'I got a tonne of free pizza' - that's a figure of speech. 'I didn't steal no truck' - that's admission that you took one truck. At least that's how the judge will see it."

"You're lying, man!" Ortiguez hurled.

"That's thin, Riggs," Murtaugh sighed. "It's thin and you know it."

"Thin is a hoagie without the bread," Riggs said, sweeping his ankles off the table and getting to his feet. "Thanks Danny - we'll go get the papers."

"No!" Ortiguez urged. "You take the truck and - and - and she dies!"

All three enforcement officers froze.

Wabash moved first. She snaked around Riggs and put her hands flat to the table to peer into his face. "Who does, Mr Ortiguez? And be very careful with your words."

"She - she…" He wavered under her fierce gaze. He sat back abruptly. "I can't."

"Oh I think you can," Riggs snapped. He stalked around the desk and reached for him.

Wabash was quicker; she shoulder-rammed him just enough to knock him off his feet. He caught his balance by slapping a hand into the wall behind Ortiguez.

Murtaugh came round the other side of the table, a hand between Riggs and the suspect. "Let's go get coffee, huh?" he asked amiably. "Wabash here will get what we all want."

Riggs eyed him, and for a horrible second, Murtaugh wasn't sure he'd stand down. But suddenly he did. "Ok," he shrugged. He walked straight round everyone and the desk to the door. Murtaugh followed but then stopped as Riggs turned back to pin Ortiguez with a look that could have melted the wall behind him if he'd ducked. "You," he said pleasantly, but the quiet tone made Ortiguez's skin crawl, "will do exactly what the nice lady tells you."

Murtaugh put his hand out and pushed Riggs' shoulder round as he opened the door. Then he shoved and the two of them were in the corridor. Murtaugh closed the door behind them.

"What was all that about?" he hissed quietly.

Riggs didn't meet his eyes. He turned and walked away.

Murtaugh's head sagged back on his neck and he appraised the ceiling tiles. Then he sighed, straightened up, and went after his partner.

.

.

Murtaugh, leaning on the wall next to the coffee machine, felt a familiar shake in his pocket and fished out his phone. He put it to his ear. "Hey."

Riggs was appraising the door, glowering in a way that made Murtaugh lose concentration.

"Sorry - what?" he said quickly. "No I was listening - it's just that Riggs has that look on his face that means someone's leaving here in an ambulance." He paused. "Oh. Uh… ok." He pulled the phone back and tapped at the screen. "Hey," he said, nudging Riggs' arm. "Here. Say hi."

Riggs didn't take the phone but he did look at the screen. A high-definition picture of Trish wearing one of her trademark sunny smiles greeted him. Then he realised he was on speakerphone. "Uh… hey Trish."

"Martin, hi," came her sunny voice. "So you and Roger will be home early for dinner tonight, right?"

"Uh - what?"

"Dinner," she said clearly. "That thing where you arrive at our house, eat everything we give you without even checking what it is, and then tell our daughter funny stories?"

"Oh that," he said, only half listening. His gaze was still on the far door. "Yeah, ok."

"Tonight, Martin."

"Yes ma'am."

"And wear your nice shirt."

"My nice shirt?" Riggs asked. "Well I would, if Roger hadn't—"

"Ho now, wait a minute," Murtaugh interrupted. Riggs looked up at him, his eyes narrowed, his mouth bending into a wide, crafty grin.

"If Roger hadn't what?" was Trish's response.

"If Roger, being a good friend and all-around cool guy, hadn't bought him another new one," Murtaugh said slowly.

"You got him a new shirt? When?" Trish asked.

"Uh - this morning," Murtaugh said quickly.

"Yeah, Trish - you know how he gets when he feels someone beat him to something," Riggs said maliciously.

Murtaugh pointed a finger at him in warning. Riggs just grinned.

"Ok then," Trish said, oblivious. "Dinner - in your new-new shirt."

"Alrighty then," Riggs grinned.

"Take care of him for me, Martin. And I'll see you later, Rog."

"I'll see you later, baby. Gotta go," Murtaugh said. He tapped the screen quickly, then looked daggers at his partner. "A new-new shirt. You go out and get your own damn shirt - and tell her I got it."

"I could not lie to a good lady like Trish," Riggs blustered. "You know she scares me."

"Talking of women who scare you," Murtaugh said, his grin wide, "here we go."

Riggs turned to see Wabash exiting the corridor from the interview room, her face actually less than threatening. He turned back to Murtaugh with a decidedly annoyed expression but Wabash was already behind him.

"Are you two busy this afternoon?" she asked.

Riggs wheeled, his hands on his hips, as if surprised she were there. "Oh - uh - yeah. Roger's taking me shirt shopping." He turned to him, smoothing a hand down his current shirt. "I'm thinking something in dark blue, with maybe a collar and like buttons down the front - you know what I like," he winked.

Murtaugh heaved a fist into his shoulder. "Just stop your mouth flapping for a second." He looked at Wabash. "You need some help? We can help."

"Thank you," she said, before checking a piece of paper in her hand, then walking off.

Murtaugh gave a smug smile. "Hmm."

"You just volunteered us to help that woman," Riggs said.

"Yeah. I did," he said as he moved to walk off.

Riggs followed him. "Why?"

"Because she hasn't looked at me once today. This is all for you, man."

Riggs stopped short and let Murtaugh follow the DEA agent. His eyes went around the room to check for people watching. Finding himself the centre of attention, he pasted on a smile and made himself catch up to them.

.

.

Avery looked up as Wabash knocked on his door. "Ah, Agent," he said, waving her in. "Twice in one day. I hope we're not moving too slowly for you."

"No," she said tonelessly.

"Well that works for me. What is it?" he asked. Murtaugh and Riggs appeared in the doorway behind her. "And what does it have to do with those two?"

"I'd like to borrow them, with your permission," she said. "I don't have jurisdiction here and these two do, and they have a documented history of getting things that others cannot."

Avery leant back in his chair. "Borrow them for what?"

She placed a piece of paper in front of him. "This. After extensive and rather repetitive questioning, Danny Ortiguez has given us the identity of the 'she' that he said would die if we took his truck."

"And that person is?" Avery asked.

"He has a seven-year-old daughter, and another gang have her."

"What?" Murtaugh asked. "Danny the truck thief has a daughter being held by another gang?"

"That sounds like the plot of a bad TV show," Riggs grumped, walking behind them and parking the side of his arse on the backrest of a chair.

"You mean a good TV show," Murtaugh said. "A couple of handsome leads, lots of explosions and action, and yet with its own kind of family theme. I saw a movie franchise like that once."

"We need to rescue this girl, never mind who she belongs to," she said.

"I agree," Avery said. "You two - give her whatever she needs."

Murtaugh turned and made very large, very cow eyes at Riggs. He simply levelled his best, hollowest stare at him in retaliation. Murtaugh turned back to Avery. "So where do we start?"

"Simple," Wabash said. "Ortiguez told us everything we need to make a fake drop to get her back."

"A fake drop?" Murtaugh asked. "Whoa back up - what exactly did he tell you?"

Wabash turned to appraise all three men. "He was supposed to hijack a shipment and get it to a rival gang. At the drop they'd hand him back his own daughter."

"And this drop is cocaine?" Avery hazarded.

She shook her head. "iPhones."

"You're yanking my chain," Riggs said. "All this for cellphones?"

"These are iPhone 11s," she said.

Murtaugh whistled. "Seriously?"

"One thousand of them - stolen, but with clean IMEIs, the whole deal," she said.

"So… cellphones," Riggs stated, distinctly unimpressed.

"Not cellphones," Wabash said.

"Does it make calls and send messages?" Riggs said pointedly.

"Yeah," Avery shrugged.

"Then it's a cellphone." He pushed himself up to stand. "Where is this drop?"

.

.

Wabash adjusted the binoculars to see the target van more clearly. The grey paint job did not reflect the street light so much as absorb it until it was dull and unremarkable. "You were agitated when Ortiguez mentioned a female in danger. Why?" she asked, pre-occupied.

Riggs, his head back on the passenger seat of her car, his arms folded, and his entire demeanour one of a person who has clearly given up on pretence, opened his eyes. "What?"

"Ortiguez said there was a 'she' in danger and you were going to shake information out of him." She let the binoculars drop to look at him. "Why?"

"Oh you know," he said amiably, still studying the roof lining of the car, "just hate the paperwork that comes with dead bodies."

"I do not believe you," she said.

"What about you?" he asked. Now he looked at her. "Aren't you supposed to be doing some DEA agentin' to entrap some drug lord or something? Why are you making this girl your business?"

"She's part of my 'DEA agenting'," she said. "We get her back safely, and we have something on Ortiguez. He talks, we get evidence, and then people get arrested."

"Uh-huh." He squinted out of the window, trying to scrutinise the van under the street lights. "Why do these people always pick like midnight to do their drops?"

"The cover of darkness and the fact that the majority of people are asleep. Do they not teach this in the police academy?"

"Well, yeah, but—." He huffed. "I was being facetious."

"Ah. I see." She watched for bit longer. "Would you rather be asleep?"

"I don't sleep."

"That's a physical impossibility," she said flatly.

"No, what I meant was—." He looked at her, then glanced at the dashboard before turning to her. "You're really hard to talk to."

"You are not. You are a good communicator; you express yourself reasonably well and your listening skills are excellent - probably something to do with your police background. However, you rely on colloquialisms that confuse people."

His mouth worked for a whole ten seconds. "You mean they confuse you."

"I am also a person, so yes."

"Well yeah, obviously you are."

"When's the last time you ate?"

"What?"

She let the binoculars drop to her lap to look at him. "What time did you last eat something?"

"Oh, uh…"

"I brought food."

"Uh… right."

She reached between the front seats to grab a plastic bag. She hauled it round and offered it to him. "Pick something. Eat it."

He blinked and took the bag dumbly. She sat round and picked up her binoculars again.

Riggs opened the bag and fished around. "Sandwiches? You brought a sandwich?"

"They are sealed and will keep for the entire watch, if we need them to. Did you not bring food?" she asked, concerned. "That is not very good planning, Detective."

"I was winging it," he managed. He reached into the bag, read the ingredients on the packaged 6-inch sub, and dropped it back into the bag. "Anyway, we won't be here all night."

The binoculars dropped a shade as she considered this. "True."

Something buzzed and he stuck his hand in his jeans pocket, squirming around until he pulled out his phone. He read the screen. "Cruz says there's a van coming through the crossroad lights back there - they'll be here in under a minute if this is their destination."

"It could be them - they said midnight, and it's a few minutes after."

"Yup." He put the phone on the dashboard and tossed the bag into the back seat. He retrieved his rifle from where it was standing up in the footwell and checked it was loaded and ready. "Better than a sandwich."

"That depends on the sandwich," she commented.

He grabbed his phone again and pushed at the most recently called number. It rang and he put it on speaker. The line clicked. "You ready, Rog?" he asked.

"Why am I in this van and not you?" was the angry reply. "You're supposed to be the sniper - why ain't you in here ready to blow some gang fool's head off?"

"How am I supposed to get a good bead on him from close up?" Riggs countered. "Now get ready - it could be less than a minute. How's Danny doing?"

"Oh Danny is fine, thanks for asking," he snapped.

"Stay frosty, Rog." He tapped at the phone, successfully cutting off the tirade that was threatening to hit. He sat back.

Wabash raised her eyebrows but said nothing. She lifted the binoculars and checked again, then noticed a flash of light across the bonnet of the van. "Someone's pulling in," she said urgently.

Riggs's head went toward the window next to him to watch as a second van, this one a longer wheelbase and completely black, trundled to a stop, facing the grey one. The passenger door opened slowly and a single man got out.

Ortiguez emerged from the other van, his hands out in surrender.

"Ok, he's out," Riggs said. His right hand grasped the door handle to open it.

"Wait," Wabash said quickly. "They have to tell whoever they have watching the girl to let her go first."

"Yeah, well, something tells me they're going to check these cellphones are legit before they do that. And guess what happens when they open that truck and find it's nothing but empty boxes and a police detective back there?"

"Wait."

He huffed. He kept a good hold on the door handle. But he didn't move.

Ortiguez had his arms wide now. The man from the black van walked up to him, a handgun dangling by his side. He checked Ortiguez for weapons with his free hand, then stepped back.

Riggs heard a noise and turned his head to see Wabash tapping her thumb to her phone repeatedly. "What are you doing?"

"Photographic evidence," she said. "We need to ID this man as fast as possible."

"Well he looks like…" He squinted. "Nah, can't see the tatts. When we arrest him and get him back to the station, maybe Cruz will recognise his ink."

She put the phone back in her inside jacket pocket. She checked her gun was loaded.

Riggs watched as the man and Ortiguez walked around the back of the truck to the rear doors. "Here we go," he said, presumably to himself. He inched the door open silently and put a boot out. Wabash did the same on her side.

Ortiguez opened the rear door. It obscured everything as the man stepped closer to look.

A pause.

Another one.

"C'mon, Rog," Riggs hissed.

The man's feet disappeared into the back of the truck. The door closed.

Ortiguez walked around the back again, his arms out. He called to the black van still waiting.

The driver's door opened this time and another figure got out. Dressed mostly in black with a large hood up, it waved an automatic weapon by its shoulder as it strode toward Ortiguez.

"Well well well, a lady gangster," Riggs marvelled.

"How can you tell in that hoodie?" Wabash asked.

"Not a lot of men I know walk like that."

"You should get out more."

"Oh I'm getting out alright. This has gone as far as it's going to go peacefully."

"Riggs - wait."

He slipped out of the car and stole to his right, against a stack of empty wooden pallets. He edged behind them, set his elbows on it comfortably, and fixed Ortiguez and then the mystery woman in the sights of his rifle.

Wabash went to her left to another stack. She was on one knee behind them, her gun resting out on top, her phone in the other hand. She looked through the car to Riggs.

He looked over.

She nodded.

He pulled the bolt slide back to ready the rifle as slowly as he could. His cheek leant into the metal and he exhaled slowly.

Wabash pulled in a deep breath.

A flash of lights and a squeal of tyres made her pause. She ducked instinctively as another van careened into the corner of the parking lot. It screeched to halt barely a foot from the black van. The side door slid open. People began to pour out.

"What the—?" Riggs managed. His head popped up to look over the top of the rifle sight.

"Is this back-up? For who?" Wabash asked.

Riggs put his eye back to the sightline. He spotted a black hooded figure turning to look over at their car - and then directly at Wabash. They raised a small automatic weapon.

"Contact fore!" he called.

She ducked.

He fired.

.