A CINEMATIC AMERICAN CRIME DRAMA · PART 1

Chapter 1: The Man He Should Never Have Touched

The first mistake Officer Travis Cole made that night was assuming the man in the black suit was afraid of him.

The second was reaching for his gun.

The third was believing that nobody was watching.

Rain had fallen over the city of Westbridge for nearly two hours, leaving the streets slick and reflecting the blue-and-red lights of the patrol cars scattered along the avenue. It was 11:43 p.m. The businesses had closed, the sidewalks were nearly empty, and the industrial district beyond the overpass lay beneath a blanket of mist.

A black sedan sat beside a patrol vehicle in the shadow of an abandoned warehouse.

Its headlights were off.

Its engine was still running.

Officer Travis Cole stood beside the hood of his cruiser, gripping the arm of a man in a perfectly tailored black suit.

The man was tall, broad-shouldered, and perhaps forty years old. His dark hair was combed neatly backward, and a small silver badge was clipped to his belt. A black earpiece disappeared beneath his right ear.

His name was Detective Adrian Cross.

He had spent the previous six months investigating allegations of corruption inside the Westbridge Police Department.

Tonight, he had come to collect evidence.

Instead, he had become the target of the very people he was investigating.

“Hands on the hood!” Travis shouted.

Adrian's palms rested against the cold metal.

“They're already on the hood.”

“Don't get smart with me!”

“I'm not.”

Travis shoved him harder against the vehicle.

The impact made the sedan rock slightly.

Adrian turned his head just enough to look at the officer reflected in the rain-streaked window.

“Officer Cole, remove your hand from my shoulder.”

Travis leaned closer.

“You don't give me orders.”

“Then stop giving me reasons to.”

Travis's face reddened.

He grabbed Adrian's wrist and twisted it behind his back.

Adrian did not resist. He did not attempt to pull away or reach for his identification. He simply stood still, his expression composed, as if he were observing a scene he had already anticipated.

That calmness enraged Travis.

“Do you think you're better than me because you're wearing a suit?”

“No.”

“Then why are you acting like you own this street?”

“Because I know exactly why you're here.”

Travis froze for half a second.

Then he pressed Adrian harder against the hood.

“You don't know anything.”

Adrian looked at the rain collecting on the black paint.

“That's what you're hoping.”

Travis reached toward the silver badge clipped to Adrian's belt.

He pulled it free, examined it briefly, and laughed.

“Detective?”

He held the badge up beside Adrian's face.

“Where's your partner, Detective? Where's your backup? You show up in my district after midnight, park beside a restricted property, and expect me to believe you're here on official business?”

“Check the badge number.”

“I don't need to check anything.”

“Then you don't need to touch it.”

Travis tossed the badge onto the hood.

It slid several inches before stopping near the windshield.

“Here's how this works,” Travis said. “I ask the questions. You answer them. If I tell you to get on your knees, you get on your knees. If I tell you to shut up, you shut up.”

Adrian slowly lifted his eyes.

“And if you refuse to follow procedure?”

Travis smiled.

“What was that?”

“You heard me.”

The officer stepped back, reached for his holstered weapon, and drew it halfway.

“Do not move.”

Adrian's expression changed.

Not into fear.

Into disappointment.

“Put it away, Travis.”

The use of his first name startled the officer.

“How do you know my name?”

Adrian glanced at the embroidered label on his uniform.

“It's written on your chest.”

Travis looked down instinctively.

For one brief second, he appeared foolish.

Then anger returned, stronger than before.

“You think you're funny?”

“No.”

“You think that little badge makes you untouchable?”

“No.”

“Then you should start acting like somebody who understands his situation.”

Adrian took a slow breath.

“Officer Cole, I'm giving you one opportunity to step away from this vehicle, secure your weapon, and explain why you stopped an identified detective without establishing reasonable grounds.”

Travis stared at him.

Then he laughed so loudly that the sound echoed off the warehouse walls.

“You're giving me an opportunity?”

“Yes.”

“That's hilarious.”

He drew his weapon fully.

“Now turn around. Slowly.”

Adrian did not move.

Travis raised his voice.

“I SAID TURN AROUND!”

Adrian's gaze shifted briefly toward the dark road behind the patrol vehicle.

A large black tactical vehicle had been sitting there with its headlights off.

Travis had not noticed it.

Neither had he noticed the two figures inside.

Adrian touched the small earpiece beneath his hair.

His movement was so slight that it might have been mistaken for an attempt to adjust his collar.

“Control,” he said quietly, “proceed with the plan.”

Travis heard him.

“What the hell was that?”

Adrian kept his eyes on the road.

“Confirmation.”

“Confirmation of what?”

Adrian turned back toward him.

“That you made your decision.”

Travis tightened his grip on the gun.

“Get down on your knees!”

For the first time that night, Adrian's voice became cold enough to cut through the rain.

“Last chance, Officer.”

Travis raised the weapon another inch.

Then the tactical vehicle's headlights came on.

Two brilliant beams flooded the parking area.

Travis spun around.

The vehicle's rear doors opened.

A fully equipped SWAT operator stepped onto the wet pavement, wearing a dark tactical uniform, protective helmet, body armor, and a face shield. A second operator appeared behind him, maintaining a guarded position beside the vehicle.

The first operator raised his weapon toward Travis and issued a sharp command.

“POLICE! PUT YOUR WEAPON DOWN! HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!”

A red aiming laser appeared across the front of Travis's uniform.

Travis went completely still.

His weapon remained in his hand for one terrible second.