429-R70, again, thought Adrian as she approached the D-4 district precinct. The car was tailing her once again. She couldn't tell if it was actually happening or if it was something her mind was conjuring to mess with her. A few weeks ago, a parrot had appeared on her shoulders, shouting "Je suis comme ça" over and over for three days straight. At other times, a voice would narrate what she did and thought in the past tense, offering observant, if long-winded, commentary of her surroundings. Case in point: her brain was not the most reliable of sources.

But each and every time, she knew it was fake, only a by-product of her addiction, but this time, it felt real. Raw. Natural. That car was seamlessly real, but it couldn't be. Why else would the license be missing from the system? Yet, 429-R70 still watched her every move, like a puma hunting its prey, waiting to strike at the right time. Pushing her thoughts to the back of her mind, she entered the concrete building.

As expected, officers moved about left and right, stacking papers and pushing pencils, with the bitter aroma of black coffee permeating the air like a blanket.

First things first: she must report her presence to the Captain.

She asked a few people where the Captain's office was, and after a bit of fumbling around, she reached the small room with the nameplate of the Captain on it. She knocked three times before being called in.

Dara Lynch sat behind her desk, with her hands supporting her greasy face. A shit-eating grin was plastered on her lips, coated in sugar, most likely from the box of powdered donuts on her desk. The way the sun reflected from behind her made Dara look somber and mysterious.

"Top o' the morning," she said while tilting her head. "I'm Dara Lynch, the Captain of this here ship. Who might ya be?"

"Adrian Sauer. Internal Affairs," she said curtly. Adrian kept still by the door, looking around a bit. She refused to make eye contact with Dara, as she knew it would drive her mad. Powerful people hate not being the center of attention.

"Ah, yeah," said Dara, who still sat nearly motionless. "We got the paperwork from central this mornin'. But I'm 'fraid I ain't much of a reader. Can ya be a plump and tell me why exactly are ya here? Please," she said, motioning towards the chair in front of the desk, "sit down."

Instead of complying, Adrian went to the left of the room, examining a mostly empty bookshelf with a few dusty tomes, legal books she knew Dara had never opened before. With her back to Dara, Adrian began to speak.

"Well, we had an anonymous tip from within this precinct."

"Oh, really?" said Dara, pressing her hands together until they were white. "Do tell, who would that be?"

Adrian took a book out of the shelf-an old legal dictionary-idly sifting through the pages. "Can't. That would defeat the whole 'anonymous' thing. Can tell you what is it about, though," she said while putting the book back. A smaller shelf with a few trophies on top was the next target of her curiosity. "It's about Detective Graham Dunne."

Dara went to grab another donut, but froze for a second at the mention of the name. "What did he do?"

"Oh, nothing much," said Adrian, running her finger around the rim of a small trophy. A figure dunking a basketball could be seen on one side of the cup, but the text was too blurry to read. "It seems like he took out a processed detainee without proper paperwork. Nothing major."

For a second, the panic that had fallen on Dara was dissipated enough for her to release a sigh, but it was short-lived, as for the first time, Adrian turned around to look her in the face.

"...or at least, that was at first. See, our tip told us that Mr. Dunne not only released the suspect, but that he also placed her in his Cruiser before leaving the premises. That is another serious offense since police equipment, vehicles included, cannot be used for any personal matter."

Dara had a deep frown on her face and a smile from ear-to-ear. Her face looked as silly as Picasso's Guernica. Adrian held her tongue, letting her words sink in on Dara.

"These new Cruisers are something else. They record your location at all time and transmit it to a server that we can check. Video and audio, too. A marvel of technology."

Cold sweat started to pour from all of Dara's pores. Her smile kept shrinking and expanding like a prolapsed anus, refusing to meet Adrian's gaze directly. "Ya-hu...pretty neat-o..."

"Neat-o indeed. So, to our surprise, we review the footage and we see Detective Dunne picking up a very powerful and equally dangerous individual named Francis "Frankie" O'Shea. Have you heard of him?"

"Nope," Dara lied. "Who's that?"

"None other than one of the biggest and most powerful men in South Boston. A strongman and a murderer."

"Wow," Dara said in fake surprise. "He sounds like one dangerous individual. Ya sure you wanna take on someone like that? I wouldn't want anythin' happenin' to ya."

Still standing, Adrian walked past Dara's desk, taking a look out the window. She could see the car parked outside, waiting for her. "I'm well aware of the risk, Captain Lynch, but I won't be pursuing him. Internal Affairs handles crimes committed by cops. Like Mr. Dunne's."

"Is picking up a criminal a crime now? I thought that was the whole point of bein' a cop."

"True, but Frankie sat on the passenger seat, and we picked up quite a conversation between them. The thing is, they both drove to a warehouse near the harbor where they removed the detainee from the Cruiser and entered the warehouse a few seconds later. After an hour or so, they both returned to the cruiser, but with no detainee. Mighty suspicious, if you ask me."

Against the sunlight, Dara's eyes shimmered like emeralds, full of rage and contempt for the petite figure in front of her.

"Think what ya gonna say next," she said, "as you might regret sayin' it."

Adrian turned to face her. This time, it was her turn to have the sun behind her back. "We are investigating Graham Dunne's involvement with a criminal syndicate, Miss Lynch."

Dara stood up in a flash, all signs of a smile wiped from her face. Instead, a demon-like anger overtook her semblance, making the veins of her neck pop. "Look, ya stupid child, I don't know what you're playin' by commin' here, but ya just fucked up. Big time."

It was Adrian's turn to smile. This was too good a power trip for her. "I'm afraid I don't follow you, Captain Lynch," she snarled, looking her from top to bottom.

"Ya think ya can stroll in 'ere with ya big eyes and dumb face and think ya can be the one to bring the Lynch family down? You're not the first one to try and ya won't be last."

"Oh, sorry if I offended you, but as I said, I don't intend to take on the Lynch family. Internal Affairs only cares about Detective Dunne's involvement."

Dara took a step to close the distance between her and Adrian, but Adrian turned around and walked to the exit.

"Where do ya think you're going?"

"Gathering some evidence. Gotta review the security footage and interview some people involved. I hope I don't take long. This place is crawling with evidence."

"Get the hell outta my precinct! I won't give you nothin'!" yelled Dara, but Adrian kept going. When she reached the exit, she yelled from outside.

"Don't need your permission! Internal Affairs supersedes your authority. And that's a double negative!"

And with that, Adrian closed the door, feeling wonderful about herself.

It's impressive how every security room looks alike. Seen one, seen all, thought Adrian as she surveyed the small closet of a room with three monitors and a smell of musk that seemed to emanate from every crevasse of the wall. There was even a "Hang in there" poster on the wall. I would've hanged myself a long time ago if I had this job.

To his credit, the guy manning the controls seemed like an OK person, different from the usual seedy, overweight individuals that lurked the shadows of the socially-acceptable voyeurism mechanism that is the security room.

"So there's that, ma'am," said the man with a hint of a drawl. "I reckon that ought to be all."

He had shown her the security footage from that day and, just like the tip had said, Graham took out one of the detainees, put her in his cruiser, and drove away. Adrian noticed that Graham stopped to talk several times with what appeared to be an old man.

"Who's that?" she asked the kid.

"That? Ol' Man River? He's Marvin Sokolov. He's been here since forever. Heck, when God created the Heaven and Earth, Marvin already owed him two month's rent!"

The kid only stopped laughing after seeing Adrian's deadpanned face. "Sorry. He's kind of the punchline 'round these parts. But he's a darn good fellow. You can find him near the cells. He processes the detainees."

The report said the tipper sounded elderly, remembered Adrian, and since he saw it all, it's most likely him. "Good job. Can you make me a copy of that video?"

"Sure can, ma'am," said the kid, "but it's gonna take some time. Half an hour, tops."

She didn't have time to spare but had to wait. In the meantime, she would have to make due. "Okay. Do that. I'll talk to Mr...Sokolov, wasn't it?"

The kid nodded, giving her a thumbs up. Adrian moved out of the security room and to the cells, which were easier to find than Dara's office. There, behind a desk, sat the shiny and meaty head of Marvin Sokolov, who was looking intently at a piece of paper on his desk.

Finding her best customer service smile, she approached the sad little man.

"Hello!" she said in an uncharacteristic chipper way, "my name is Adrian Sauer, and would like to speak to you about a few things."

"Hag," said Marvin, not bothering to acknowledge what she had just said.

"Excuse me?"

"Hag, that's all that comes to mind. Horizontal, five-letter word, synonym of witch."

Adrian blinked for a second before realizing Marvin was solving a crossword from the back of a cereal box. "What about... crone?"

Marvin let out a small gasp before slowly filling the boxes with his black pen. "Thank you. I was stuck on that one since breakfast, so I brought it to work so I could mull it over."

Great, another weirdo, she thought to herself. "How many words do you have left?"

"Including crone?"

"Yes."

"Just one," he said, gazing back at the cereal box. "I'm afraid this one is besting me."

"That's..." she was going to say stupid, but held her tongue, "great."

"I feel the green monkey taunting me," he said, pointing at the picture of a monkey at the edge of the box. She wanted to say that the monkey was gray, but again, she refrained to comment further.

"So, what is it?" said Marvin, pulling up his heavy eyes to meet hers.

"What's what?"

"What you wanted to talk about."

Adrian had let herself be carried away by Marvin's ramblings. She quickly shook her head to get back into business. "Wanted to ask a few questions about Graham. Graham Dunne."

"So which is it?" he asked, "Talk about things or ask about Graham?"

Adrian started to lose patience. It took a couple of deep breaths to calm her down.

"Just questions about Graham."

"Okay. Go ahead. In the meantime, I'll continue my puzzle."

Sure, go nuts, she thought. "Okay. Did you process an Asian woman, about thirty, who was brought in by Graham Dunne?"

"Yes," he said, "Eleven letters, horizontal, to be upset or annoyed, inability to achieve something."

"What?"

"I need that word. I thought that if I helped you, you could help me. Quid pro quo."

"But you didn't answer my question."

"I said yes. That counts as an aswer. Can you please answer mine?"

Adrian was fuming by that moment, with steam practically coming out of her ears. "Frustration. Can you tell me anything about the woman?"

Marvin began to write the word down, jotting each letter one by one. Adrian had to admit that, for his age, his penmanship was impeccable. "There. Now, I can be of help. The woman is Vietnamese. Her name is Sabata. Eats lots of bananas."

"Excuse me, can you repeat that last part again?" said a very confused Adrian.

"Eats lots of bananas. Seven letters, vertical. Tried Monkey, but that has six."

"Gorilla," said Adrian without skipping a beat. "You said she was Vietnamese?"

"Yes, she spoke nothing but Vietnamese, and gibberish. She seemed to be on drugs. DayDream, by the looks of it."

Adrian gulped hard at the mention of DayDream. She was a hard abuser, so she could generally feel how she must have been.

"Did she tell you why she was on drugs?"

"That's not fair," pouted Marvin, who looked like a melted bulldog while doing it, "I answered one of your questions. Now is your turn. Five word-" he began to say, but Adrian ripped the box out of his hands in a flash. She gave the clues a little glance-over before answering everything in succession.

"Bunny. Sadness. Canada. Blue. Electromagnet. Done," she said, shoving the box back at a very confused Marvin.

"Rude," he whispered, reading the clues again, finding each and every one correct.

"Can you please answer my questions now?" she said, all her patience consumed.

"You know, I'm not an idiot," Marvin said while straightening up. "I was the one who called Internal Affairs, and not without reason."

A chill went through Adrian's arms as she contemplated a new clarity in Marvin's eyes. It was like if he could stare past her soul itself. "Wha-"

"That woman was smuggled in. She kept screaming about a boat, triggered by watching Detective Dunne. Captain Lynch personally summoned me to her office and asked me personally to comply and give her up to the Detective."

Bingo, thought Adrian. I have a link, right there. All I need is evidence.

"Can you sign an affidavit on that?" she asked.

"No," he said bluntly. "You know more than me that an affidavit is next to nothing. I do have several memos I wrote from those encounters. I would be more than happy to provide them as evidence."

"That would be great!" she exclaimed. "Where are they?"

"Home. I couldn't risk them leaving them around for them to find."

"Them? Who are they?"

"The Lynches. I know this investigation is not really about Graham. You are trying to take down the family. I can see it in your eyes."

For much that she wanted to deny it, she couldn't. It was totally true, but she kept her mouth closed.

"I'll give you the memos and will find any evidence I find on the inside, but you have to promise me something."

"Anything."

"Please, don't hurt Graham," the man pleaded. "He's a young man who has been led astray his whole life. He just made some dumb decisions. Please, be understanding."

Sincerity flooded Marvin's eyes. He meant it and believed it to his very core, which was very confusing for Adrian. "If you wanted to keep him safe, why did you accuse him?"

"Because," he said with a tender smile, "just because we punish our children doesn't mean that we stopped loving them. He needs tough love, a wake-up call, to be on the straight and narrow."

She wished she would have someone like that man in her life. It moved her to the very core.

"Deal," she said, stretching her hand to him.

"Deal," he repeated, not bothering to shake it, instead, taking out another box of cereal from beneath the counter.

With a CD filled with footage, Adrian proceeded to leave the precinct but was stopped by the officer manning the front desk.

"Adrian Sauer? someone left a package for you," he said, pushing the manila envelope on the table. There were no distinguishable features on the envelope, and other than the fact that it was slightly heavy, it wasn't suspicious at all.

She took it, opening it up as she exited the building.

Inside, there was a burner phone that immediately began to ring.

She saw left to right to find a perpetrator, someone who was using a phone or glancing at her, but the street was deserted, save for a few cars. Chief among them was the green stalker car.

With caution, she pressed the receive button, when a raspy female voice spoke from the other end.

"You're good, I'll tell you that. The way you stood up to that Lynch bitch was amazing. Number one fan here."

Was somebody eavesdropping on their conversation? She doubted Dara had told anyone about their brief discussion.

"Who are you?"

"Who am I is irrelevant at this point. What I want to do is prod this investigation into the right track."

"I'm fine on my own," she said, walking down the sidewalk. She noticed the green car following her shortly after.

"Let us test that, shall we? By now, you already know about the woman, and how Graham and the Lynch family are connected. But what about this woman? Who was she? Some random Vietnamese broad?"

Adrian had to admit, she had no clue, but it was mostly because she had not investigated yet.

"If you want to take down an operation as big as the Lynch mob, you have to attack the weakest links. Find the little mistakes, and exploit them to their limit."

"Okay. Thanks for the fortune-cookie wisdom. But that still doesn't help."

"Fine," said a voice behind Adrian, before she was stabbed in the base of the neck by a needle.