[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/hMmnlhb.png[/img] [b]Tonight's Episode: "The Case of the Wrong Wiseguy"[/b][/center] [b]New Jersey Turnpike[/b] Billy Martin pulled his eighteen-wheeler off to the shoulder of the highway and looked back at the flashing lights warily. The black car with the blue lights didn’t look like a cop car to him. He was a long-haul truck driver from Tennessee, so naturally he’d been all over the country. He’d noticed over the last few years law enforcement had stepped their game up when it came to disguising unmarked cars. No longer were they just patrol cars without the silver paint job and lights mounted on the roof. But still… it was the middle of the night and he was a long way from Jacksonville. There’d been rumors among the truck drivers at the truckstops in this part of the country. Supposedly a hijacking crew was working this part of I-95 from the Delaware line all the way up to Connecticut. Nothing concrete, just secondhand information whispered from a friend of a friend. Billy got his license, registration, and shipping manifest ready as he saw the door to the car open up and someone step out into the dark. While he held papers in his left hand, his right hand searched behind his seat until it pulled a sawed-off baseball bat out. He kept the bat low and out of sight. If this was a legit cop, then no doubt the sight of the bat would scare the hell out of him. He saw a light click on in the cop’s hands as he approached the cab door. It was dim, but Billy noticed he was dressed in a suit and tie. He didn’t like the look of this at all. “Need you to step out the truck, sir,” the man announced from the ground. “Happy to,” said Billy. “Once I see some identification.” He heard the man laugh. It was soft and filled with humor. It at once put Billy’s mind at ease. He let loose with a breath he didn't realize he was holding. “Understandable,” the man said. “This time of night and a car like mine pulls you over? I get it. I am about to climb up to your door so you can see my ID. Is that okay?” “Go ahead,” said Billy. The man stepped up and placed a wallet against the glass. He flipped on the interior light to get a better look. The glare on the glass made it hard for Billy to read the details, but he could read the three big letters at the top of the wallet clear as day. “FBI?” asked Billy. “What the hell--” That was all Billy got out of his mouth. The man on the other side of the glass opened fire with a gun. Three bullets shattered the glass and hit Billy in the neck and face. He was dead a few seconds after he fell back into the cab. --- [b]Yonkers Two Days Later[/b] Misty Knight sat down low in the front seat of her car and watched the action. Corner boys stood ready at their post, serving fiends who always came to this side of town for their dope. The little slingers worked for a bigger fish ironically named Whale. Whale was another link in the chain that started with Scarfe, the man who had framed her for a crime she didn't commit. That led to her being kicked off the force. His motives for all that damage died with him, but that hadn’t stopped her for digging into Scarfe’s life and following where it led. It had taken Misty six months to even get this far. Nobody wanted to talk about Whale, even with a gun in their face. Misty took a deep breath and got out the car. --- [b]Heroes for Hire Offices Midtown Manhattan[/b] “You need someone who will defend your rights, someone to go to bat for you, someone who will act in your best interest. What you need… is a hero! Heroes 4 Hire, New York’s #1 affordable legal defense team. Call us today at 212-443-7637, that’s 212-4HEROES. Call today!” The commercial played on a loop on the small TV in Chase’s office. It was him in front of a green screen rendered to look like an ornate legal library. He’d paid for the commercial, and six airings of it on a local channel, with part of his severance for the DA’s office. The rest of the money went towards six months worth of rent on the office. That was six months ago. The next month’s rent was coming do. Which is why Chase even considered meeting with Angelo’s wife. “You gotta help us, Mr. Chase,” Teresa Campisi squealed. Teresa was every bit the sterotypical mob wife. She wore loud clothes, gaudy jewels that would make Mr. T jealous, enough makeup and botox to freeze and conceal a dozen ugly faces. The crying made her makeup run and had turned her into a Dali painting come to life. Chase started to go for the pocket square in his breast pocket, but instead opted for the disposable tissues on the desk. “It’s going to be hard, Teresa,” Chase said as she blew her nose. “Angelo has, to say the least, a checkered past.” “But he’s innocent of this!” “I’m sure he is,” said Chase. “But… it’s hijacking. Angelo and his crew are known for this. On top of that you got a murder charge." “Yes,” Teresa said with a sniffle. “But Angelo has never hurt anyone when he rips off these trucks. It’s just not good for business to rough up the truck drivers, Mr. Chase. And-and-and they’re accusing him of ripping off a truck carrying Samsung phones.” She slammed her fist down on the desk, her jewelry rattling. “It’s bullshit! Angelo has never touched a truck carrying those phones. He has [i[standards[/i], Mr. Chase. He only boost Apple products and you know this.” Chase cleared his throat before picking his iPhone off the desk and tucking it into his inside jacket pocket. “If he were guilty you know we’d be over with Jake Wexler and his people, but Wexler is too tied to Angelo's boss. They won't fight for him like you would. They're gonna plea bargain all the way.” “Again, with Angelo’s record and the charges he's facing--” Teresa reached into her giant, alligator skinned bag and dropped several banded rolls of cash on to the desk. To Chase, the bills all appeared to have Benjamin Franklin’s dowdy face on them. “With Angelo’s record,” Chase started again, reaching for the cash. “And the charges he's facing, it’s going to be hard, but I think we can work something out.” --- “Man, fuck you bi--” The little dealer didn’t get the words all the way out of his mouth before the heel of Misty’s boot struck him flush in the jaw. As he went down, spraying blood and teeth, two other dealers started to go for their guns. Misty leveled one with a dropkick to the chest. She fell to the ground and swept her leg to knock down the one dealer still remaining. He cried out as he fell to the ground, his cries being cut short by a kick to the throat by Misty. She stood and let out a breath she had been holding in from the start. She felt a buzzing in her hip pocket. The screen on her phone announced Chase was calling. “Yeah?” “We’ve got a case. Where are you?” “Uptown.” She looked down at the hurt drug dealers. “Maybe a little further north. Just running some errands.” “Can you meet me for lunch?” Misty stepped on one of the boy’s hands before he could get to the gun that had fallen on the ground. He cried out in pain and cursed as Misty dug her heel into the back of his hand. “I think I can be done by then,” said Misty. “Wanna meet up at Stavros’?” “Sounds great. See you then.” “We’re gonna have a nice little chat,” she said as she tucked her phone back into her jeans. She kicked one of the boys in the ribs as he tried to get up. “I want to talk about your boss. And let’s try to speed this up. I got somewhere I need to be.”