Chapter 3 - The Precinct Leak
Marcus stared at the glowing screen of Officer Miller’s phone. The incoming dispatch call requesting a tow for his blue vintage truck hadn’t originated from a disgruntled neighbor or a routine parking enforcement officer. It came directly from the direct-dial extension of Captain Thomas Vance, Marcus’s own direct superior at the downtown federal task force office.
“You see it now?” Miller asked, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. “That call came in twenty minutes ago. High priority. The dispatcher was told it was an abandoned vehicle creating a traffic hazard, which was a complete lie because this driveway is private property.”
Marcus slipped his wallet back into his pocket, his mind racing to connect the pieces. Captain Vance was the last person who should want this truck impounded. Vance was the one who signed off on Marcus using the vehicle as an undercover mobile relay unit. If Vance was orchestrating its removal, it meant the task force had been compromised from the top down.
“Officer Miller,” Marcus said, his tone turning ice-cold. “Did you make a physical copy of that call log?”
Miller shook his head slowly. “No. It’s on the CAD system at the station. But dispatch records everything automatically.”
“Not for long,” Marcus warned. “If Vance ordered the tow, he’s already wiping the server logs. We need to get down to the precinct right now.”
Miller hesitated, looking down at his uniform and then back at his squad car. “I’m just a patrol cop, man. I respond to calls. I don't get mixed up in federal corruption. If Captain Vance is involved, my career is over the second I walk through those station doors.”
Marcus stepped forward, gripping Miller firmly by the shoulder. “Your career is already over if you let them frame you for seizing federal assets illegally. Vance used you as a blunt instrument to get this truck out of my possession. He wanted me out of the way before the sun went down.”
Before Miller could formulate a response, a sharp, piercing whistle echoed from down the residential street. Both men turned. A sleek, black sedan with tinted windows and no license plates was creeping slowly toward the driveway, its high beams flashing twice in a silent, ominous warning.
“Get in your patrol car,” Marcus ordered, shoving Miller toward the driver's side. “They’re here.”
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Miller scrambled behind the wheel, his hands trembling as he turned the ignition. Marcus leaped into the passenger seat of the cruiser just as the black sedan accelerated rapidly, tires screeching as it aimed directly for the blue vintage truck.
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