"As you explained to me last week, the cheaper insulin and penicillin shipments were to begin at the end of December, is it possible to push a few crates sooner?" I ask, tapping the documents on the desk.
"For what reason do you believe this is needed?" He inquires, being thorough.
"I've been getting questions of why the stocks at the hospital don't match the orders. I've managed to divert the questions, saying that boxes go missing, but it is only a matter of time before they do an inventory and find out I've been pocketing the excess medicine. I need a under the table method of distributing to several mammals who require them before our scheduled deliveries."
"Oh of course, you should have brought this to me sooner, I can express several boxes, perhaps a months supply split between several mammals to Christmas Eve."
"Oh thank you sir, I was worried I'd have to forge prescriptions to be able to get them their medicine."
"No mammal should have to worry about if they have enough medicine Doctor, it's a shame you have to use alternative methods to obtain and distribute said medicine."
"My thoughts exactly, thank you for your understanding sir." I express, standing and respectfully bowing to the small boss.
"Tornakov, ensure that this order is sent immediately." He says as I am making my way for the door, as I exit, a polar bear follows me out, joining me for the elevator ride down.
"How long till others find out your scheme?" He asks as we decend.
"As soon as Mr. Big's deliveries start I can smooth the paperwork out, I burn any incriminating documents and they'll never know I ever stole meds. My roommate Robertson suspects something, having seen some boxes in my trunk once, but he's not to worry, hell, he'd probably help me."
"You are good mammal doctor." Tornakov states as the doors open and I step out.
I give a wave as I travel down the corridor, pulling out my phone again and texting several mammals that they'd get their medicine on time before calling Cameron. As I hold the phone to my ear I notice several patrons around the casino less interested in the slot machines and blackjack tables, and more in my movements. I keep walking as Cameron picks up with a muffled hello.
"Yo, I'm on my way back, you know what you want for dinner?" I ask, looking in a window to find a pair of the patrons following me at a distance, unable to get any description due to the distortion.
"Uhh, if you pick up some chicken and balsamic vinegar I can make curry." He replies, clearly on speaker as I hear him push some things around on a surface.
"What you need the vinegar for then?"
"You soak the chicken in it after you cook it and then throw it in the curry, trust me it tastes great."
"Allright, I'm trusting you on this." I conclude, ending the call and covering the rest of the parking lot as I plot a route home that passes a grocery store.
Just as I reach my car I hear the spash of someone walking up behind me. Getting ready to go for my gun, I look in the mirror of the Jeep to find Wolford and Fangmeyer.
"Let me guess? 'Hagler, why are you in a casino with known connections to the mob'?" I ask, turning to face the dynamic duo.
"Yeah pretty much." Aaron says, pulling his hat a bit down to shield his face from the steady drizzle.
"Because I had a meeting with Mr. Big."
"A... What?!" Laura shouts, quickly closing the distance between us and pushing me back against the car, a claw tipped paw around my throat.
"Now, before you accuse me of something, let's perhaps get out of the cold rain?" I suggest, slowly raising my hands and taking her paws off my neck.
"Yeah Laura, that sounds like a good idea." Aaron injects.
"Babe, get the car, meet me at Robertson's, we're all gonna have a nice chat." Laura orders, motioning for me to get in the Jeep as she walks around the hood.
-0-
"I can show you I can show you some of the people in my life, I can show you I can show you some of the people in my life..." The stereo system crackles, the vinyl disk on the turntable generating the resonant sound in the background.
The curry sauce I was making was a recipe I'd bullshit into creation when I was 17 and working at an Indian restaurant, somehow making their staple dish for the next ten years. It involved half a bottle of hot sauce, and the majorty of the spice drawer dumped into a saucepan with vodka and boiled.
I'm just pouring the vodka into the pan as I hear the front door open and shut, the sound of multiple mammals getting me worried.
"You get me the chicken?" I shout, turning the heat under the pan up and giving it a quick stir before walking over to the island and grabbing the shotgun I keep under it.
"Yeah, and I hear you racking that shotgun, don't blast me as we walk around the corner." He replies, the mammals approaching the corner as I hold the Ithaca 37 lazily in my hand.
Around the corner walks Shawn, Aaron, and Laura all looking miserably wet. Laura eyes the shotgun resting on my sholder, before remembering the conversation we'd had months ago about how I was always suspicious when mammals showed up unannounced.
I stow the shotgun as the trio lose their outer layers of clothing and I toss them some dish towels. Catching a bag tossed by Shawn and turning around to begin cooking the chicken.
"Now I'm not one to beat around the bush. What he do?" I ask, knowing Aaron and Laura are on duty.
"We clocked out on the way here, mind making some dinner for us as well. Anyways, tell him what you explained to me on the way here." Laura explains, looking at Shawn.
I eye Shawn across the island as I turn the burner under the saucepan off and cross the living room, waiving for them to follow me outside.
As I light the barbecue, the trio sit down across the bar from me, Shawn grabbing a beer and beginning. "I'm sourcing cheap insulin and penicillin through Mr. Big, distributing it under the table to people who can't afford the prescriptions."
"That it? I thought you'd capped someone again. Why is it I'm always cooking chicken curry when you do something illegal." I ask, putting the chicken on the grill.
"Yeah, that's about the same reaction I had." Aaron quips, grabbing a cider from under the bar.
"What's the most illegal thing he's doing?"
"I mean, he needs a pharmacists licence to distribute drugs."
"I'm guessing Big is actually legally getting you the drugs, you just pass them out."
I shake my head, realizing what had to happen. "Allright then. We're going to agree to not speak about this to anyone, especially Judy." I make clear, not looking away from the grill.
"Cameron you can't just sweep stuff like this under the rug." Laura says.
"I can and am. To entertain you, let's have a thought experiment. What would happen if you reported it to Bogo?"
"Well, Shawn would be arrested, Big would be taken down."
"And myself?"
"You'd be subject to investigation."
"Shawn, what would happen if you got arrested?"
"Well, the ER would lose their head doctor, the mammals I distribute to would go without drugs, the majority of them dying because of it." He informs.
"Mh, and Aaron, what would happen if Big went down?"
"Well, that's a bit complicated, but from what I know, His empire would if not collapse, atleast take a large hit. A power vacuum would envelop Tundra Town, and a dozen or so cops would be taken down with him." He says.
I simply let the information sink in as I take the chicken off the grill, turning to them before I go inside. "And finally, if Shawn was to go down, you'd have to go through me to get to him."
-0-
The cool wind coming off the ocean sends a chill down the spine of most mammals this time of night, the portlands of the city was a man made island between the industrial area and the ocean, expanded as needed, the whole island was about 50 square kilometres of pavement, it's capacity was one million crates a day and everything was timed to the minute, trains arrived, trucks moved, and ships were loaded to set timings, interuptions were rare, but when they happen, it often caused most if not all of the island to grind to a hault.
The only way on and off the island was by car or passenger train, and with the work not stopping even in the dead of night, it was impossible to go anywhere without anyone knowing.
"Allright, it's heist time." Says the ram at the head of the table, a whiteboard and map of the city behind him. "Everyone remember Panama City?" This is a repeat of that, we go in, hit the containers, and get out. This time there is one container with gold bars being shipped. Only issue is. We need a few minutes to get into and empty the containers. Gavin, Trevor, Alfredo. Your job is simple, there is a building here that serves as the port's records office, it's three stories tall, interior is unimportant, it's unguarded. Doors are standard metal on the exterior, interior are probably wood or cardboard shit, but be prepared for metal. Now, your job is simple. Torch the building, don't care how you do it, but make sure the fire will get out of hand. It'll cause the port to grind to a hault, emergency crews and shipping backing up will make it so that escaping with the goods is impossible, so we have sent three wooden crates labeled as electronics to the port, they are empty, and will be delivered to the warehouse tomorrow. The rest of us will get the gold, put it in the crates, and get the hell out, we'll be dressed as longshoremen so we won't stand out. The distraction team is going in as a maintenance team, your cover is standard maintenance in the records building, you will be with a port side engineer, deal with him, tie him up, gag him and thrown him in a dumpster or whack him and leave him for the fire to deal with, don't care. Questions?"
"How are the rest of us getting in?" Michael asks.
"Garbage truck, four of us. Rest in a delivery van that's scheduled to go refill the onsite cafeteria. Let's go!"
-0-
"Careful with his body Trev." Alfredo says, accidentaly banging the unconscious beaver's head on a doorframe.
"Just chuck him in the dumpster." Trevor replies, the pair swinging the body a few times before chucking it in. "He'll come around in about an hour or so."
"Gavin, how we doing?"
"Grab the last can and dump it in that room over there Trevy, Alfredo there's cardboard boxes of paper in here, make a pile where he dumps the gas."
The trio go about their dutiee, rigging the building to go up like a bonfire. After twenty more minutes of preparation, they strike the match and ignite it, barely getting out of the building as the gasoline fumes send shockwaves.
The three pile into their van, beginning to put as much distance between them and the building as possible. As they pass through the checkpoint and out of the portlands, put the rear window they can see the building completely engulfed in flames.
"Trash men, this is repair drones, the torch is lit, you better get in there before they lock it down." Gavin says into the microphone, seeing a garbage truck and snack delivery van pass them in the opposite direction.
Their van suddenly sputters and dies, pulling tot he side of the road an argument erupts. "WHO FILLED UP THE VAN!"
"Alfredo was supposed to do it while I loaded the gasoline."
"Well Gavin should have checked!"
"WHY WOULD I NEED TO CHECK IF THE TWO OF YOU COULD CONFIRM IT!!!"
Their argument goes on and on as they get out, grabbing a spare jerry can and beginning to fill the empty tank.
"Christ it's a pain in the ass to bleed the lines." Trevor complains as he pops the hood and hunches over the engine, looking for the right line.
The trio are oblivious to the emergency vehicles streaming past them as they are all occupied with trying to start the van.
"Try it!"
The key turning in the ignition only lets the engine crank, not wanting to turn over, soon it doesn't even want to crank.
"Battery's dead."
Another round of argument starts up, none of them seeing the police cruiser that flipped around and pulled up behind them.
-0-
"Allright, I'll check on them, run the plate or something." I grumble, getting out of the cruiser.
"You bet your ass I will, cold as hell out there..." Logan grumbles as the door closes.
Waking up the side of the van, I begin to hear the argument that caught my attention.
"If you had filled the tank, we wouldn't have killed the battery trying to bleed the lines!"
"If YOU hadn't killed the battery cranking the engine, it wouldn't be dead!"
"Guys! It doesn't matter why we're here, how are we going to fix it?"
"Evening fellas, having car trouble?" I announce, allerting the deer and two wolves to my presence.
"Oh hey officer, nothing much, just these two idiots forgot to fill the tank." The deer informs, giving the pair of wolves a glance.
"And then you killed the battery cranking the engine!" The wolves exclaim at the same time.
"Fellas I can give you a jump, also you don't need to crank it to bleed the lines, just key it on and listen for the fuel pump to turn off, so it five or six times and then turn it
over. As long as it doesn't have a carb you should be fine." I inform, hearing Logan walking up behind me.
"Oh that'd be a great help officer."
I feel a tap on my sholder to find Logan, who motions form me to lean in.
"Vans stolen." He whispers.
"Well that solves that issue."
"You have a battery?" The deer asks.
"Nah, you're all under arrest, face the fence." I inform, Logan and I drawing our sidearms.
The trio all put their hands up, now yelling at each other as they turn to face the fence.
-0-
"The hell is the dumb trio?" Ryan asks into his microphone.
"Well according to police scanners, they were arrested thirty minutes ago after their van ran out of gas and a passing cop car stopped for help and ran the plates." Matt replies over the radio, the sound of him hammering away at a keyboard auable in the background.
"Son of a bitch... why are they so stupid?"
"Don't ask me. The gold is out and we're set, now all we need to do is go spring them, as long as they aren't IDed they'll be slapped with auto theft and put out on bail."
"But they're going to ID them."
"Oh most definitely."
"What are the odds that they cough up a plea deal?"
"Trevor and Alfredo will do anything to protect us as long as it doesn't put the other in jeopardy, Gavin will hold for a while before he makes a deal."
Ryan just hangs his head on the steering wheel of his car repeatedly, ignoring the stares the shoppers in the parking lot are giving him.
-0-
"Hey Logan." I say, catching the tired mammals attention, having been away for about 30 hours now.
"Mhhh?" He hums, face down on the couch of the break room.
"Know that trio we got for GTA last night?"
"Mhmmm."
"Positively IDed as three members of the AH crew, and they hit the port last night, container of gold emptied."
"So we caught them in the act?" He asks, rolling so he can speak clearly.
"We don't have any evidence on them, but it'll come out soon, they did something at the port, my money is whatever caused the Records building to go up like a Christmas tree."
"How you so sure?"
"They smelled heavily of gas. And consitering they ran out, it wasn't for the van."
"What you two wondering about?" Jessica asks, strolling in, her eyes showing the same amount of energy as Logan's.
"How long until we tie the three in holding cell five to the heist in the portlands last night." Logan replies.
"Oh, we just got positive ID from a maintenance guy that they knocked out outside the records building. We tied them alright!" She explains before falling face first onto the couch next to Logan.
I shake my head, looking out the window at the midday traffic.
"How are you so awake?" Sydney asks, appearing at my side with a thermos half her size.
"I made my coffee with that five hour energy stuff. Also I did a line of cocaine."
"What!" She explains, staring at me.
"Nah, no cocaine. Though it'd be cheaper then the energy drinks."
She just shakes her head, taking a long drink of the thermos.
"Is that safe for you to drink?" She asks.
"Heart hasn't stopped yet, and Shawn's done it like fifteen times before, I'll be fiiiiiine." I say. After a few seconds, I look around the room, suddenly finding the light outside gone, Logan and Sydney no longer sleeping on the couch.
Confused, I look at my wrist to find that it was ten at night, a full nine hours since I had sat down in the break room. I rise to my feet, walking to the door and exiting, finding a pair of paramedics seated, playing cards.
"Oh hey Robertson... ROBERTSON!" One of them says, the pair suddenly very aware.
Around the corner of the hall Clawhouser and Bogo suddenly appear as well, the pair rushing over to me.
I am slightly confused as the paramedics shine a light in my eyes, and Bogo is showing emotions other then 'grumpy'.
"Robertson, how are you feeling?" He asks, consern in his eyes.
"Fiiine, why?" I reply.
"Because you've been sitting motionless in a chair staring out a window for nine hours. Sydney said you suddenly went quiet and didn't blink for the twenty minutes she tried to get your attention."
"Yeah, wasn't even aware of anything. Remind me to not brew my coffee with energy drinks again."
-0-
The climate system for Sahara Square had broken down further during routine maintenance, causing the night in the desert to plummet. Low for the night was forecast at five degrees, to most, including me found it unpleasant at best, so I was sitting in my car with the heater on.
The door to the passenger seat swings open, an Iberian lynx jumping in and instantly hugging the heater vents. "Porra, inferno, é homem frio. E aí?" He comments.
"Yeah, cold as hell, how you been Manuel?" I ask, passing him a coffee.
"Could be worse. This cold, not nice. Reminds me of... caramba, qual é a palavra ... Reminds me of skiing."
"Yeah, Anyways what's the news?"
"Your shipments will arrive on time, everything considered. That AH Gang has also approached me."
Shawn's intrest is piqued at that, motioning for him to elaborate.
"Yeah, two nights ago, the one called Geoff came by. Wanted to ship three crates to Houston via Panama with this old Cocaine runner. Random vessel, said they were car parts. When I pointed out that shipping by truck was easier he waived it off saying that this was cheaper. It's not."
"Loot?"
"Couldn't tell you, all we need to know is if it's fragile or dangerous, both of which are a no."
-0-
The Greying leopard relaxed in his chair, overlooking the Pacific from his balcony, swirling his drink before he takes a sip.
"Holt, you know why we're here." Fangmeyer says, standing somewhat behind him.
"Detective, I have been hearing that phrase since the eighties. Now I don't believe that you have informed me of your reasoning, please do so." He replies, pushing the Panama hat back on his head.
"You have been hired to ship goods to Houston via Panama, we both know that the car parts you're shipping aren't car parts."
He sighs, indicating to a deck chair next to him and waiting for her to take a seat.
"Detective, I will be completely honest, they have told me I'm shipping car parts, I don't give a damn if it's a crate full of uranium, I will ship it as long as there is no risk to my life or limb, I've created a fortune off of my moto."
"You ran Cocaine for Pablo Escobar."
"Yeah and copped a plea when he got shot, taking down every distributor from Key West to San Diego. I only ran the stuff via the Cayman Islands in a float plane."
"Did the AH crew hire you to ship what can be reasonably presumed as stolen goods? Doing which, as you know, is a crime."
"Detective, the manifest says car parts, if you can prove it's stolen goods, I'll testify in court, but until then, I'm shipping car parts."
-0-
"Allright give me more on this Holt guy." Cameron asks, seated at a confidence table.
"Born The Eighteenth of January, nineteen sixty-two in Salsbury, Southern Rhodesia, Holt grew up in the unrecognized nation, son of a military officer and an accountant,he learned how to fly and travel through the terrain of Rhodesia in his youth. Stayed in Rhodesia as it transformed into Zimbabwe, father killed in a terrorist attack on a civilian flight, mother still living in Zimbabwe today. He appears to have traveled the world in the years between 1981 and 1985, sighted everywhere bar North Korea, he fathered a daughter, Jessica, in Cuba before moving her to Zootopia with her mother who has since passed, he appears to have began to run Cocaine for the Medellin cartel in 1985, and did so until the cartel's collapse in 1993 with the death of Pablo Escobar, he surrendered to the DEA, gave a long list of who he supplied to, and has rode the fortune he made along the way here to this day, running a freight and shipping company that specializes in transport to Latin America."
"So is he a fence?"
"Worse, he's a middleman, all he does is get it from point A to point B, doesn't care what it is, if he's caught he'll cooperate, but until then he's quieter then a monk under an oath of silence."
"And I know him personally." Bogo pipes up, walking in with a folder that looked older then several of the mammals in the room.
Tossing the folder towards Cameron and Logan, Bogo begins to reminisce. "It was a week after Escobar was killed, the DEA tipped ZPD of a person of interest who had flown into the city the day before, Cocaine runner for Escobar, wanted us to keep an eye on him. I was a detective at this point, so I got to sit in the van outside his house. Watched him go about his business. One day, after he sends his daughter and wife out, he looks right at me and my partner in the van and waves us over. We follow him into the building, sit down at a desk, he lays out the entirety of the drug empire that he supplied in the southern United States in a notebook no thicker then a piece of bread. Quite simply turns himself in, plead guilty in exchange for the fact that nobody finds out that it was him who sang."
"So what happened between then and now?" Judy asks.
Bogo takes a seat, a solemn look crossing his face. "He refused protective custody, continued a somewhat inconspicuous life for a year. And then... they found out who sang. He comes home from work one day, wife and daughter missing, note saying he comes and hands himself over or they die. Remember what Robertson said about his youth?"
"Born and Raised in Rhodesia by a military officer. Trained in the tactics of the Bush war." Cameron fills in.
"Mhm, he grabs his Father's FAL, takes the tarp off the float plane he used to run drugs, went to the meeting point. By the time the DEA and FBI found out what was going on it was too late for them to change what was going to happen. He rescued his daughter from a first year cartel member who he let live with two broken legs. However, he didn't save his wife... There are some things that I wish I could forget, but the second I saw what he did to the two thugs who executed his wife, I knew it would stay with me for the rest of my life. After that, he went on a rampage, singlehandedly went on a campaign of assassination, car bombing, and bridge burning that brought down every major cartel involved with his wife's death from Bogotá to Guadalajara. Mexican Military found him with two bullets in his chest, holding his empty rifle in the compound of the head of the last cartel on his list. Even today we don't know how many mammals he killed during his rampage. Mexicans handed him over to the DEA, DEA gave him to the FBI, FBI took one look at what happened, sent him home and told the ZPD to leave him and his daughter be. Ever since, the monthly inspection of his house has been the same thing. Immaculately clean, Most Modern Security Imaginable, and his Fathers FAL loaded and within reach of him at all times."
"He has a daughter, what do we have on her?" Logan inquires.
"Let's see..." Sydney mumbles, flipping a few pages. "Jessica Holt, Born July 16th, 1983... District Attorney for the State, married and then divorced in 2001, has a daughter born in that timeframe when she was married."
"Wait... Jessica Holt, she's that nice jaguar-lynx hybrid that brings Clawhouser those doughnuts from Pete's. Hell she's here every day." Cameron comments, pulling his phone out and calling someone. "Clawhouser, have you got those doughnuts from Pete's yet?.. Just got dropped off? Great!"
Jessica and Sydney quickly stand, heading for the stairs, as they reach the lobby, they spy Jessica talking to Clawhouser and approach the pair.
"Mrs. Holt, how are you doing today?" Sydney asks.
"Oh I'm doing well, can I help you two officers?" She replies, taking a sip of her coffee.
"It's about someone you know..."
Her mood seems to somewhat drop, signing as she waived the two officers over to a side room.
"Yes, I know my father can get beligerent sometimes, how many people pressed charges this time?"
"Excuse me?"
"Wait he didn't start another Bar fight while high?"
"No, it's about his business." Cameron says, making a mental note about that.
"Oh, I see." She says, letting out a sigh and sitting in the nearest chair. "Right, what is it this time?"
"Stolen Art, AH Crew."
"What did they say it was?"
"Car parts."
"I'll get back to you." She says, standing and heading for the door.
-0-
"Dad! You home?" Jessica yells out, setting her coat on a hook as she enters. Hearing no response, she absentmindedly enters the kitchen, taking a look at the living room.
Her eyes dart around the room, noticing details like missing pieces of a puzzle. The balcony door left open, TV still on, glass of tequila with ice still in it, but most of all, the FAL propped against the couch.
She moves quickly, picking the FAL from where it lay, ensuring that a round was chambered and following slight scuffs and scratches on the floor, a benefit of knowing her father exclusively wore hiking boots, they didn't scuff.
Coming to a door near that lead to the garage, she peeks through the door, finding her father hanging upside down from the garage door rail, a plastic drum slowly filling with water threatening to drown him as two suited mammals watched, she waits, trying to extract information.
"Just tell us who sold you you're shipping that crate for and we can stop filling the bucket Chrissy." One of them asks.
"Let me reiterate these points. First, don't call me that, second, you are horrible at hearing things, third, keep the shorter one alive." He says from inside the bucket.
Waisting no time, Jessica throws the door open, putting two rounds in the taller mammal's chest before turning the gun on the other one. "Cut him down, before I put two in your chest and do it myself."
The younger stag works quickly, clearly having being the junior member of the pair, with a thump, Christopher was free, with the stag replacing him hanging upside down over the filling bucket.
"Thank you honey, these two seem to have replaced my weekly checkup detail. What did you do to those two?" Chris asks, relaxing in a folding chair, cleaning the FAL as Jessica pours some cleaner on the still wet blood.
"We just stole their car, they're probably on their way here, you should cut me down." The terror in the stag's voice clear.
"Nah, honey you getting the 'not going to talk' vibe from him? I feel like we should just cut to the chase."
"I'd say yes, but we need to figure out what they want."
"Oh I know what they want, they were asking, issue is I can't give them an answer."
"Right, I'm going to call the ZPD now dad." Jessica says, exiting the garage.
"You do that, I'm going to go find that car battery, where are the jumper cables?"
"I threw them out for this reason!" She yells from down the hall.
-0-
Walking into the home, I couldn't help but be somewhat impressed by the place, outside the building looked no different from the other modern homes, inside, there was a clear following of a modern Victorian style, warm colouring gave the home a welcoming image, though this was offset by the deer we found hanging by his feet in the garage, along with his friend's dead body laying in a pool of warm blood. Nobody was too surprised that they found the situation, what was more surprising was the fact that it wasn't the elder Holt that had pulled the trigger.
"Jessica, when you said you'd talk to your father, can't say this is what I had in mind." I say, finding the father and daughter relaxing on the balcony.
"Ah, Detective Robertson, I must say, it's an honour." The aging leopard says, swirling a glass.
"Just an officer sir, though with the workload I may as well be a detective."
He chuckles at my statement, before taking a sip and setting the glass down. "Let me take a shot in the dark, you would like to know exactly why I was being tortured in my garage."
"Can't fathom why you got that right."
"Well this is a long story so have a seat down there." He says, motioning to an empty chair, which I happily sit in, flipping open a notebook. "So, as I'm sure you know, my business occasionally caters to some, let's say... lawfully challenged individuals, as such, I have privacy policies that only I know exactly what the cargo is. Well, one of my clients is this nice chap named Mr. Big, from your expression I see we both know him, anyways, I've been shipping some 'pharmaceutical supplies' for him, and it appears one of his rivals would like to dissuade me from partaking in these shipments any longer."
I nod, turning to Jessica, who begins without prompting. "So I came to ask dad, like you asked me to, and I found him tied up in the garage, put three rounds in one of em, let the other decide if they wanted to take a bullet."
"Short and to the point, lovely." I say, flipping the notebook closed. "Off the record now." I begin, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Would these shipments for Mr. Big happen to be insulin?"
"Need some?" He asks.
"Nah, I know the guy who's distributing it to the people who need it."
"Lovely to see I'm still doing some good in this world... Jessica, what time is it?"
"It's... 6:45, oh damn I need to pick Isabella up from Dave's." She realizes, rubbing her face.
"Don't worry, I'll have Tornakov pick her up." Christopher says, pulling his phone out.
"Tornakov... You know the medical examiner?" I ask.
"Yep, we met in Cuba around the time I met Jessica's mother."
I take a moment to think, before Chris continues, having put his phone away. "I see that look, answer is he was working for the KGB, apparently they had a file on me because of my father, thought I might become a spy for them."
"Did you?"
"Course not, I was born and raised in a country constantly besieged by communist insurgents, now they were the rightful owners of the county, but to fully explain the Bush War would take all night and another bottle of liquor. Back to Tornakov, while I disliked the ideology, I respected him as a man, well educated, knew fluent English, and as I found out after the Cold War ended, he was a double agent for the British." He laughs, finishing his glass.
"What? He turncoat at the end if the cold war?" I ask.
Holt shakes his head, setting the glass down on the table next to him. "Oh no, he still works for both the Russians and British, though due to his age he's really only tending a safehouse nowadays."
I go to speak again when my radio emits a long tone that makes every officer in the room go pale.
"All Units, Shots fired at Precinct One, All available officers respond."
For a second nobody moves, all glancing st eachother.
"Go you fucking idiots! I can handle myself!" Holt yells, prompting everyone not actively doing something, including me, to bolt for the door.
