[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/hMmnlhb.png[/img][/center] [b]NYPD 28th Precinct Harlem[/b] Captain Alex Stone wouldn’t make eye contact with Misty. Instead he looked straight ahead as he smoked his cigarette. Everyone at the Two-Eight knew the captain’s favorite hideout to smoke was a half block away from the precinct in a doorway of an alley. One of the holy commandments of the Two-Eight was “Thou Shall Not Interrupt The Cap During His Smoke Break,” and Misty had never even thought about doing that when she was here. But now she was a civilian out of Stone’s reach. But even still, she felt a little bad to have cornered him here while he enjoyed one of his few pleasures of the day. “It was short notice,” said Misty. “That’s the only reason I’m here now.” “Right,” Stone said, blowing smoke from his nostrils. “When I said ‘keep in touch’ I meant a phone call every so often, a text here or there, Facebook friends, maybe get a drink and catch up. I didn’t mean you coming to pump me about information, Misty.” Misty held a hand up and nodded. “Cap, I get that. I really do. You know me, right? I am not a heretic. I wouldn’t interrupt you while you were smoking unless it were a serious matter. Someone is dead and I think their death was related to this mob guy case Chase is working on.” Misty noticed Stone’s face grimace at just the mention of Chase. The two had mixed it up once or twice back when Chase had been investigating her for the DA’s office. The captain had put his entire career at risk to go to bat for her in that one. It was all for nothing, unfortunately. Misty was still on the outside looking in, and the political blowback from it meant there was a good chance Stone would never make inspector. “When did this murder happen?” Stone asked with a sigh. “This afternoon,” said Misty. “In Crown Heights. I think that’s Seven-Seven territory.” Stone tilted his head, making eye contact with Misty for the first time. The way his eyes bored into her made her remember very well, the captain’s storied history as a homicide detective. “Tell me again how you know this murder happened?” “I went to the apartment to interview the woman who lived there and saw cops and vans from the ME’s office there. I saw a body bag being wheeled out. I went back later and saw crime scene tape on the apartment listed as her home address.” Stone’s eyes refused to look away. Misty was sure he could smell the bullshit on her story. Instead, he finally looked away and tossed his cigarette butt to the ground, crushing it beneath his heel. “If I call and find out who was murdered in that apartment, and if I give you that information and it does turn out that this murder was related to whatever you and [i[Mr. Yale[/i] are working on, then you go right to the Seven-Seven with what you know and you let them do their job.” “Okay,” said Misty. “Because this won’t end how you think it will,” said Stone. “You won’t earn your badge back if you bring in a murderer on your own. That part of your life is over with. Pains me to say it, but it’s the truth. If this information leads somewhere, then you do the right thing and let NYPD take over.” “I promise,” Misty lied. “And thank you, cap.” “Don’t thank me,” Stone said as he started to walk away. “Thank Earl.” --- [b]Federal Plaza Lower Manhattan[/b] Adrian Chase stared at the US Attorney’s seal on the wall of the lobby. It appeared to Chase to be just off-center. A little crooked. He had been resisting the urge to correct it for almost an hour now. He’d come in two hours ago with his copy of the signed discovery request. The receptionist had politely but coldly asked him to take a seat and someone would be with him shortly. During that time he’d used the bathroom, asked three times how much longer it would be, was kindly but firmly rebuffed by the receptionist, managed his fantasy football lineup, received a cryptic text from Misty saying something had happened, she was now working the case, and she would be by the office later tonight when she found something. “Mr. Chase?” Adrian stood and followed the receptionist back through the corridors to an ornate corner office. A tall, thin man in an expensive three-piece suit was busy practicing putting a golf ball down a strip of fake turf. He looked up at the door opening, his steely gray hair perfectly combed and a set of perfect white teeth flashing as he smiled. “Welcome, welcome, welcome.” He took Adrian’s hand into his. While the skin was soft, his grip was firm. “I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Jack Thomas. US Attorney for the Southern District of New York.” “I know who you are,” Chase said softly. “You remember me?” Thomas smiled warmly and went back to his short game. “I mean, anyone who is plugged into the legal community in Manhattan knows who you are.” “Oh, shoot,” Thomas said as his putt went slightly right of the cup that served as the hole. “I thought maybe you remembered me from when I was at CPZ.” “You worked for CPZ?” Adrian asked with a raised eyebrow. “When?” “Oh, back when you were a boy,” said Thomas. “I was a senior associate back then. I got my start with the firm as a summer associate right out of law school, back when Little Al was running the show and it was just Chase & Prescott. No Zucker.” Alfred Chase Jr., Adrian’s grandfather, had been the man responsible for turning Chase & Prescott Attorneys At Law from a debt-ridden two-man firm that he'd inherited from his father into one of the largest and most prestigious law practices in the mid-atlantic and northeast. Despite overshadowing his father in almost every single way, Alfred was always known as Little Al until the day he died. “So how is Trip?” Thomas asked. “I haven’t seen him in nearly five years.” “He’s good,” Chase said as he looked out at the impressive view of the city. “He’s on his second heart, third face lift, and fourth wife. So all is well.” Thomas lined his putter up for another attempt. “I have to say I admire your gumption. It would have been the easiest thing in the world for you to get a job at CPZ and just coast on the family name. But you’re out here hustling.” The US attorney made a little fist pump as the ball went into the cup. He laughed and turned his attention back to Adrian. “That’s what I’m talking about. But take for example Angelo Campisi. My office has crossed swords with all the mob lawyer firms in town so often it’s downright boring. So it is a breath of fresh air to see you in here, hungry and eager to take the case. I respect that.” “Well, thank you,” Adrian said with a smile. “It means a lot coming from someone like you.” Thomas gestured towards Adrian with his putter. “That is why I want to work out a deal with you, since we’re both part of the CPZ Family, as it were. Our FBI brethren are looking hard at Angelo’s bosses, but so far these guys have actually showed good discipline. It’s rare for mobsters. They want a win, so Campisi gets Queen for a Day and he tells us every dirty little secret that the Regetti Crime Family has and the he and his family go into WitPro and with your help we dismantle one of the last big major Mafia operations.” “Wow,” said Adrian. “You start with Queen for a Day?” “I start and end there,” Thomas said with a humorless laugh. “Get with your client, Adrian. This deal is only good for forty-eight hours. After that, we go to trial. And while you got heart, kid, you can’t win at trial. My AUSA’s would tear you apart. So, tick-tock, counselor.” Thomas’ warmth had seem to evaporate. He turned back to his putting and spoke without looking back at Adrian. “You can pick your discovery up on the way out. Make sure you shut the door behind you as you leave.” --- [b]Heroes for Hire Offices Midtown[/b] Misty came up to the fourth floor landing of the walk-up office building. The door with “Heroes for Hire” stenciled on it in gold still had lights shining through the door’s opaque window. She used her key to open the door and stopped at the threshold when she saw the boxes. Groups of file boxes were scattered around the reception area Gladys usually sat at. Boxes on her desk, on the chair’s for clients, on the floor wherever there was room. Misty furrowed her brow and called out for Chase. “Back here,” came his reply. She stepped over boxes and made her way to Chase’s office. Like the reception area, it was cluttered with stacks and stacks of files. Misty noticed for the first time that every box had the same government seal on it. “This is what they do,” Chase said from behind a wall of boxes. “The federal government. They try try to drown you in paperwork. I had to rent a U-haul to get them to the office.” “But you don’t drive.” “I had to hire an Uber driver, pay him to drive the Uhaul and help me unload, and then pay for him to take an Uber back to his car.” Misty opened up one of the tops of the boxes and looked in. “How much of this is legit?” “All of it is,” said Chase. “But there’s so much here. Everything from Angelo’s FBI file, to FBI agents runsheets. I used to do the same when I was an ADA and wanted to overburden a one-man defense firm.” “Sounds like a punk move.” “It is,” said Chase. “But when I do it it’s a brilliant example of gamesmanship. So what happened with the goomar?” Misty managed to carve out a place to sit and tell Chase on what happened in Brooklyn, her meeting with Stone, and Stone’s warning. “Damn,” said Chase. “Today seems to be warning day. I got a personal audience with the US Attorney and a very generous offer to settle the case. That offer comes with a time-limit, though. Forty-eight hours to decide or the offer is gone for good. Something’s up. I think they know they have a loser and don’t want to take it to trial.” “Wouldn’t be the first time a prosecutor tried to offer up a deal to save face.” Chase nodded and tapped his fingers on the desk. “I’m going to speak to Angelo tomorrow, but I’m sure he’ll turn it down.” “Good. He shouldn’t take it.” “Wait,” Chase said with a scowl. “I thought you wanted to dump this as quick as possible.” “That was before a woman was murdered,” said Misty. “And your boy Angelo is a scumbag, at least this time he has an airtight alibi for the murder.” “I still would have liked to have had Rosa as a witness,” Chase said with a sigh. “Alright, fuck it, I’ll deal with all of this tomorrow. Let’s get out of here. I’ll buy you a drink.” “Only if it’s top shelf,” said Misty. “I know you rich people keep your money by being cheap.” Chase chuckled as the two of them started to wade through file boxes towards the door. After locking up, they headed down to the street. Less than a half block away from their offices, Chase pushed Misty back behind him as burgundy Lincoln jumped the curb and skidded to a stop on the sidewalk in front of them. “Get out of my way,” Misty said as she pushed Chase aside and started started to go for her gun. “Easy does it, sweetheart,” a man said as he came out of the car, a gun in his chubby hand. He had been behind the wheel of the car and his tracksuit matched the paint of the car. The passenger side door opened and another man in a tracksuit got out. He, too, had a gun. He motioned towards the car with it. “The two of you need to get in the backseat. We’re going for a ride.”