Chapter 6 - The Black Sedan
"Look out!"
Thomas’s gravelly shout tore through the afternoon air a fraction of a second before the squeal of burning rubber pierced the avenue.
I didn't think; thirty years of street-level survival instincts took over. I dropped hard to the concrete, rolling toward the heavy stone planter flanking the boutique entrance, while Thomas lunged sideways, his hand instinctively flying to his holster.
The black sedan—a matte-finished Mercedes with blacked-out plates—surged across the four-lane thoroughfare, mounting the curb with a sickening crunch. Pedestrians scattered in a blind panic, screaming as the vehicle careened straight toward the sidewalk where we stood. It didn't brake. It aimed directly for the spot where Thomas and I had been standing a heartbeat earlier, its heavy front bumper clipping the bronze lamppost and sending a shower of yellow sparks cascading across the pavement.
"State Police! Stop the vehicle!" Thomas roared, drawing his service weapon and firing two rapid shots into the rear tire as the sedan whipped around in a violent, high-speed donut, throwing up gray smoke and gravel.
The tire blew with a loud pop, but the driver didn't hesitate. The engine revved with a deafening roar, the wounded car tearing back into the flowing lane of traffic and accelerating toward the highway overpass before any cruiser could mobilize pursuit.
Caleb burst out of the boutique door, his face pale, holding his jacket over his head. "Chief! Inspector! Are you hit?"
"We're intact, Stone," I said, pushing myself up from the concrete and brushing the dust off my trench coat. My knee throbbed where I'd caught it on the edge of the stone planter, but adrenaline kept the pain at bay. I pulled my phone back out. The screen was still lit, displaying the chilling notification: Transfer Complete: $500,000.00 - Benevolent Fund Reserve.
Thomas walked over, his face hardened into a mask of pure granite, holstering his weapon with a sharp snap. "That wasn't just a warning shot, El. That was an execution attempt. They knew the exact second we dismantled their store operation."
"They didn't just target us because of the store," I said, holding out my phone screen for him to see. "Look at the timestamp. The half-million sweep from the benevolent fund hit three seconds before that car jumped the curb. Someone inside my own department's financial division just hit the green button for Arthur Dubois."
Thomas stared at the glowing numbers, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. "A digital insider. They’ve got a root-level key to the municipal ledger."
May you like
"Which means," I said, turning my gaze toward the glittering downtown skyline where the municipal headquarters loomed, "our emergency audit of the Brook Haven pension fund isn't safe at the station house. We need to pull the physical hard-servers out of the basement before whoever is running this from the inside hits the total-wipe sequence."
---
