Next morning.

Serious Crime Division (S.C.D.) was dealt a heavy hand to play with. The major players were a wide assortment of officers in uniforms and detectives in plain clothing, each with their own rank, talents, and expertise. They were all divided into several large teams, handling extreme cases back to back.

Team A officers and investigators buzzed about in their spaces and cubicles. They transferred data through their emails and passed their police tablets back and forth to add details. Several officers in uniform approached a giant standing monitor the size of a school blackboard. One tap and it came to life, animated the home screen with a splash of apps, buttons, and layers of live messages on their private police Discord channels.

Images of the crime scene at the hospital, digital notes and labels pinned to the screen, were all logged and displayed on the screen board for everyone to see and refer to.

Captain Ford wiped a hand over his face. The morning coffee in his hand wasn’t helping, he flexed and shrugged his shoulder to stir his brain alive. An MMA fighter psyching himself up for a match. He stared at the screen board as several photos were showing up in front of them. One was a cluster of images capped from hospital security cameras. Another was a group of criminal mugshots from police records.

Three men, one teen. Ford could recognize that rainbow toque on the teen’s head even if it was turned into ashes. “...Benjamin Jones.”

Sergeant King stepped up, to hop and sit onto the desk next to his captain. “Streets call him Beanie Brain. Repeated hacker. Beat patrols responded to a bar fight on Fifth Avenue. Arguing over a girl. The officers checked his bag and found a large sum of money he hijacked from an ATM machine. Slapped the cuffs on him.”

“Hmmm.” Captain Ford pursed his lips. After he sipped his drink, he turned to the side. “Constable Turbo, J.J. Snow, what you got?”

Three constables in plain clothing shuffled up to their leader. The first was tall and tugged on his vest, looking as if ready to run after someone in a moment’s notice. The second was a short and spry woman with notable biceps and held her small weight with pride. The third yawned, trying to fight off the morning as he tugged on his belt to hike his pants up his large belly.

“Sir.” Snow, the belly man, spoke up as he shuffled to the screen board. He tapped a hand around three mug shots of older men next to Beanie’s first picture. Suspect 2: bald with a scorpion tattoo on his head. Suspect 3: had an eye patch. Suspect 4: silver bead piercings dotted over where his brows should be. “These are Scorpion, One-Eye, and Piercings. They are Beanie’s brothers, by blood. They all come from the Jones Gang, a family operated mob that used to rule a good portion of downtown. That was until their leader and biological father was arrested and sentenced to eight years some time ago.”

Turbo came over with a smirk, tapping his knuckle to the photos. “My buddies in the Criminal Intelligence Bureau (C.I.B.) gave me a hot tip. The brothers all fell off the grid, vanished, barely had any activity in the last year. Then about two months ago, they were seen robbing a couple of mom and pop stores. Ballistics match, same pistols.”

J.J. held up a quick salute as she provided her report. “I checked dispatch and communications and confirmed no officer made a call before, or after arriving at the hospital. Dispatch recordings had no coded messages whatsoever.”

King nodded as he listened to everyone. Then he leaned towards his captain. “You think we got hacked?”

Ford pointed a hand to Beanie Brain’s picture. “Hacker was already in jail. The cell keeper would have removed his stuff. And, the cell has zero wifi.”

“Worth a shot.” King shrugged and he hopped to his feet. “Grenades. An awful lot of firepower to rescue a kid. Constable Turbo, did your C.I.B. buddies tell you anything about grenades before?”

“Nada.” Turbo sliced a hand over his neck. “All Desert Eagles. Pop. Pop. Then gone. Not so much as waving an UZI.”

Ford glanced at the board, at the photos of the Jones brother, mulling his lips. “The grenades are an opening act.”

“Sooooo.” J.J. tilted her head to get an answer. “Wh-where is the main performance?”

Ford stood back up and placed his coffee down to fold his arms. He gave J.J. a nod, leaning in as if to whisper a conspiracy. “...Go and find it.”

J.J. sighed with a roll of her eyes, making Ford flick her nose with a chuckle. He clapped his hands. Not only did he get the attention of his detective, several other officers in uniform under his command came over. “Put an ABP on the Jones Brothers. Have traffic hunt them down, they were driving like mad men from that stunt last night. Find out where they are hiding. I want to know where they eat, smoke, even which bathroom stall they prefer to take a dump in. Bring extra toilet paper if you have to in making sure they don’t notice you.”

“YES SIR!”

“Dismissed.” With another clap of his hands, his officers and detectives dispersed to their duties. He waited for a bit, checking over his shoulder to see if anyone was looking. Quietly, he walked into his office, closing the door...ah, might as well close the blinds.

He pulled out his phone like a fidget spinner, and hit a quick dial number. A deadpan voice answered.

[Vrrrrr—We’re sorry. Lt. Wong is out of the shower. Please leave a message after the tone, meep meep.]

“Lieutenant, I think we got a mole in the station.”

[Ooof. Heavy words. And my coffee is still brewing on the hotplate.]

“I’m serious.” Ford turned to the side to whisper. “I think someone at the station tipped off the guys last night, the Jones brothers. Otherwise, there was no way they would know where to hit and when.”

[I’ve been bothered by the timing myself.] Lt. Wong paused on the line before he answered. [Fortunately, I had some inkling in the back of my mind so I asked him for help.]

“Sir. You’re breaking up. Did you say him or Kim?”

[Yep.]