Code Red

The rain hit the pavement like shattered glass, bouncing off the cracked concrete of East Bridge Street — a road locals called The Split. On one end, the neon lights of liquor stores flickered beside rundown apartments filled with people who’d stopped trusting sirens. On the other, the towering police precinct stood like a fortress, clean and unapproachable, as if untouched by the city it claimed to protect.

Detective Elias Vance stood in the shadows of the precinct’s parking lot, watching the street through the steam rising from a manhole. He lit a cigarette with shaking fingers. His partner, rookie officer Maya Chen, approached from behind, her boots splashing in the puddles.

“You shouldn’t be smoking,” she said, her voice steady despite the night’s chill.

“I shouldn’t be doing a lot of things,” Vance muttered, exhaling smoke. He handed her a manila folder. “Intel came through. Word is the Tarrick crew’s running something big through Split tonight.”

Maya flipped through the documents: grainy surveillance photos, maps, and the mugshot of Jace Tarrick, the city’s most elusive criminal. A ghost with a reputation—charming when it served him, violent when it didn’t.

“And what are we doing about it?” she asked.

Vance didn’t answer. Instead, he nodded toward an old warehouse across the street, half-collapsed and tagged with graffiti. “We’re going in.”

Inside the warehouse, Jace Tarrick leaned against a stack of crates, sipping coffee like a man waiting for a train. His crew—four sharp men dressed like construction workers—were loading duffel bags into the back of a stolen van. Guns, pills, money. The usual cocktail.

Jace checked his watch. “Two minutes early. That’s not like him.”

“Maybe he’s not coming,” said one of the men.

“Oh, he’s coming,” Jace said with a smirk. “Vance never misses payday.”

Outside, Vance and Maya approached the warehouse in silence. The rookie’s breath fogged up her glasses.

“Wait,” she whispered. “You’ve worked cases against Tarrick for years. You have history. How did he slip through all this time?”

Vance didn’t stop walking. “History’s a funny thing.”

They reached the side entrance. Maya kicked the door open.

“Police!” she shouted.

Guns were drawn before her echo faded. Chaos erupted. Bullets struck crates. Maya ducked behind a forklift, returning fire. Vance moved slower, more deliberate, navigating the room like he’d been here before.

Then came the shout.

“Hold fire!” Jace’s voice cut through the noise.

Everyone froze.

Vance emerged from the shadows, gun aimed at Jace. But he wasn’t shooting.

“I told you not to come early,” Jace said calmly. “You bring the girl?”

“She insisted,” Vance replied.

Maya’s eyes darted between them. “What the hell is going on?”

Vance turned slightly toward her. “Lower your weapon, Chen.”

“No,” she said. “Tell me what this is.”

Jace chuckled. “She’s got backbone, Elias. I like her.”

Vance lowered his gun. “I’ve been feeding Jace information for two years. In exchange, he gave me names. Bigger fish. We brought down cartels, dirty politicians. Collateral damage was... acceptable.”

“You’re working with him?” Maya asked, stunned.

“Working against worse,” Vance replied.

Jace tossed a duffel bag toward Vance’s feet. “Last drop. Our business is over after tonight.”

Maya stepped forward, still holding her gun. “You’re both criminals.”

“No,” Vance said quietly. “We’re survivors.”

Sirens wailed in the distance. Someone tipped off Internal Affairs.

“You brought them here,” Jace said, looking at Vance.

“I didn’t,” Vance replied. “But I’m done protecting you.”

Jace’s smile faded. “Is that right?”

Maya turned her gun toward Jace. “On your knees. Hands behind your head.”

But Jace was already moving. He kicked the forklift’s lever. It roared to life, blocking her path as he bolted for the back door.

Maya chased him.

Vance didn’t.