Chapter 4: The Internal Radio
Miller backed out of the convenience store at last, the automatic door sliding open to let him stumble into the cool evening air. He slammed his palm against the metal hood of his unmarked patrol cruiser, breathing heavily, trying to regulate the chaotic spike in his adrenaline. The red button on the remote was out of sight now, but its mental image burned behind his eyelids like an afterimage from a welding torch. He ripped the radio mic off its dashboard clip with a violent jerk, his thumb pressing the transmission toggle until the metal squeaked. "Dispatch, this is Seven-Four. I'm clear of the scene at Oak Street market. Everything is secure." The static hissed back at him for a long, agonizing moment before the bored voice of the desk sergeant crackled through the speaker. "Copy that, Seven-Four. Return to precinct for the shift change." Miller released the toggle, his knuckles white. He didn't trust the dispatcher. He didn't trust anyone in this precinct anymore. For the past three years, Miller had been running protection rackets for a syndicate operating out of the shipping docks, and his immediate supervisor, Lieutenant Marcus Vance, had always assured him that the streets were clean of federal oversight. But Mr. Chen’s encyclopedic knowledge of his identity shattered that comforting illusion. Miller climbed into the driver's seat, tossing the crumpled handfuls of cash onto the passenger-side floorboard where they lay like discarded trash. He turned the ignition, the engine purring to life with a low, mechanical growl. As he shifted into drive, his rearview mirror caught the reflection of the convenience store window. Through the glass, Mr. Chen stood quietly by the counter, holding a landline phone to his ear, his lips moving in silent, deliberate cadence. Miller slammed his foot on the accelerator, tires screeching against the asphalt as he bolted away from the curb. He needed answers, and he knew only one man in the entire department who could explain why an old Asian shopkeeper was calling the shots that made a corrupt cop tremble in his own boots. The neon lights of the city blurred into streaks of red and yellow as Miller pushed the cruiser past the speed limit, his mind racing through a dozen potential betrayals.
