CHAPTER 10 THE FAILED AMBUSH #3
Carmine didn't turn. "You ever seen what happens when you rip a tape mid-write?" His voice was calm, conversational. "Corrupts the whole system. Boss'll be pissed."
Marsh stepped closer. "Last warning."
Carmine slammed his palm against the server's emergency stop. The drives screeched, lights flickering red. He tossed the tapes into the duffel and turned, hands raised. "Too late."
Marsh's finger tightened on the trigger—
Glass exploded inward as Dario fired through the window. The bullet grazed Marsh's wrist, sending his shot wide. Carmine ducked, scooping up the duffel, and bolted for the back exit.
Evelyn saw Marsh pivot, fury twisting his face. She kicked the van's side mirror off, catching him across the temple. He staggered, and she ran for the office.
Dario met her at the door, his sleeve dark with blood. "Move."
They crashed into the alley as Marsh's remaining men rounded the corner. Carmine was already at the end of the block, tossing the duffel into a waiting car.
The engine roared. Tires screamed.
Marsh's shout followed them into the night: "This isn't over!"
The car peeled away, the tapes secure in the trunk. Dario checked his clip, jaw set. One bullet left.
Evelyn wiped grit from her palms. "He'll come harder next time."
Dario slid the gun back into his holster. "Let him."
Behind them, the surveillance office burned.
The car took a hard left, throwing Evelyn against the door. Carmine braced one hand on the wheel, the other digging through the duffel. "Got six tapes. Probably two hours of footage, max."
Dario pressed a torn strip of his shirt to the wound on his arm. "Enough to bury Marsh if we move fast."
Evelyn craned her neck to watch the rear window. No headlights yet, but Marsh wouldn’t stay down long. "Where’s Vitale?"
"Waiting." Carmine tossed her a burner phone. "Call him. Tell him we’re inbound with the goods."
The phone rang twice before Vitale answered, his voice smooth. "Status?"
"Tapes secured," Evelyn said. "Marsh is pissed."
A low chuckle. "Good. Bring them to the docks. Warehouse fourteen." The line went dead.
Carmine swore, swerving around a delivery truck. "Docks are a damn maze. Perfect place for an ambush."
Dario checked his gun again. "So we don’t walk in blind."
Evelyn scrolled through the burner’s contacts. Only one number saved. No surprises there. She pocketed it. "We need to know what’s on these before we hand them over."
Carmine shot her a look. "Vitale won’t like that."
"Vitale doesn’t need to know."
The car fell silent. Dario stared out the window, fingers tapping against his knee. Finally, he nodded. "Five minutes. Then we burn the rest."
Carmine exhaled through his teeth but didn’t argue. He wrenched the wheel, cutting down a side street. "There’s a pawnshop up ahead. Old man owes me a favor."
The shop’s neon sign flickered, half the letters dark. Carmine parked in the alley, killing the engine. "Wait here."
Evelyn watched him disappear through the back door, the duffel slung over his shoulder. Dario adjusted his grip on the gun, eyes on the street.
No sirens. No Marsh. Not yet.
The door creaked open. Carmine emerged, holding a dusty VCR. "Only one he had. Hope you’re feeling nostalgic."
Evelyn took it, fingers tracing the cracked plastic. "This thing work?"
"Better than nothing."
Dario popped the trunk. "Clock’s ticking."
Carmine set the VCR on the bumper and fished out the first tape. The label was smudged, but the date was clear: yesterday.
Evelyn slotted it in. The screen flickered to life, showing the alley behind Vitale’s bar. Grainy, but unmistakable—Marsh handing a thick envelope to a detective.
Dario whistled. "Well, shit."
Carmine grinned. "Vitale’s gonna love this."
Evelyn ejected the tape. "Let’s hope it’s enough."
Behind them, a trash can clattered to the ground.
All three turned.
The alley was empty.
For now.
Marsh's fingers twitched toward his holster before he caught himself. The alley's single flickering bulb cast jagged shadows across Evelyn's face as she stepped forward, the tablet still glowing in her hands.
"Problem, detective?" she asked, voice smooth as the silk blouse she wore—the same one he'd seen her in yesterday at the precinct. The one she shouldn't have been wearing today if she'd gone home like she'd claimed.
Marsh's jaw tightened. The video on the screen wasn't just damning; it was impossible. That alley had no cameras. He'd checked. Twice.
Dario leaned against the brick wall, arms crossed. "You look like a man who just realized his insurance policy has a preexisting condition."
Carmine snorted, flipping a switchblade open and shut in rhythm with Marsh's pulse. "Should've read the fine print."
Evelyn tapped the screen. "This isn't the original. It's a copy." She tilted her head, the motion almost playful. "The original's somewhere very safe. With very specific instructions."
Marsh's stomach dropped. He'd walked into this. Let her feed him the perfect mark—Vitale's bar, the detective on his payroll—while she'd been two steps ahead the whole time. The envelope had been her play, not his.
"Outmaneuvered," Dario observed, pushing off the wall. "Happens to the best of us."
The trash can rattled again. Marsh spun, gun halfway drawn before he registered the feral cat darting past. When he turned back, Evelyn was closer, close enough that he caught the faint scent of her perfume—bergamot and something sharper, like gun oil.
"You had two choices," she said, voice low. "Walk away when I warned you, or double down." She smiled, all teeth. "Guess which one costs more?"
Carmine flipped the knife again. "We taking bids, or is this a fixed-price deal?"
Marsh's fingers curled into his palms. The video wasn't just leverage; it was a timed detonator. If he didn't play ball, it wouldn't just be his career burning—it'd be every case he'd ever touched, every cop he'd ever bought.
Evelyn held out her hand. "Keys."
He hesitated.
She sighed. "The car's already gone, Daniel. This is for your apartment."
The blood drained from his face. His emergency stash. His off-the-books files.
Dario plucked the keys from Marsh's limp grip and tossed them to Carmine. "Standard sweep. Burn anything interesting."
Marsh lunged—or tried to. Carmine's foot hooked behind his ankle, sending him crashing onto the wet pavement. The knife pricked the back of his neck, just shy of drawing blood.
"Ah-ah," Carmine chided. "You paid for the lesson. Don't make it extra credit."
Evelyn crouched beside him, her blouse brushing his shoulder. "Next time you try to play both sides?" She patted his cheek, her rings cold against his skin. "Pick better enemies."
The knife withdrew. By the time Marsh pushed himself up, they were gone—except for the tablet, left deliberately in the center of the alley. The screen now showed a live feed of his empty parking spot outside the precinct.
He kicked the trash can hard enough to dent it. The cat yowled and vanished into the dark.
Somewhere in the city, a safe-deposit box timer was counting down.
Marsh grabbed the tablet, thumb smearing across the screen as he swiped to the next file.
A spreadsheet appeared—dates, amounts, case numbers.
Every bribe, every cover-up, meticulously logged.
His breath hitched when he recognized the format.
His own damn ledger, the one he kept encrypted on a drive taped behind his medicine cabinet.
A new notification popped up: 23:59:59.
The timer ticked to 23:59:58.
Carmine’s voice echoed from the shadows near the alley’s mouth. “Tick-tock, detective.” A lighter flared, illuminating his grin for half a second before he flicked it shut. The scent of gasoline curled through the damp air.
Marsh’s apartment wasn’t just being searched. It was being erased.
He stabbed at the tablet’s call button. Evelyn answered on the first ring. “Too late for negotiations,” she said, amusement threading through the words. In the background, glass shattered.
“Name your price.” The words tasted like bile.
“Already did.” A door creaked open on her end. “You just didn’t listen.”
Dario’s voice cut in, distant but clear: “Found the safe.”
Marsh’s knees threatened to buckle. The safe held more than cash—it had the ledger’s decryption key. The one thing that could turn his sins from rumors into warrants.
Evelyn hummed. “Tell you what. Since you’re so fond of games…” A drawer screeched open. “Let’s play one. You’ve got ten minutes to get to the precinct. There’s a locker key taped under your desk.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then Internal Affairs gets a very educational care package.” A pause. “Clock’s running, Daniel. Better sprint.”
The line died.
Marsh ran.
Halfway to the street, his phone buzzed. A photo loaded—his safe, pried open, the contents piled on his kitchen table. The decryption key sat atop the stack, next to a steaming cup of coffee.
Carmine had texted: PS—we drank all your milk.