The floor hummed—phones ringing, laughter leaking out of the break room, printers grinding. Vince was already slouched at his desk, rubbing a thumb into his temple when the squeak of wheels rolled past.

  Vince groaned, leaned back in his chair.

  Brian dropped his bag on the desk across from him. “Yo, V, catch the game Sunday?”

  Vince shook his head. “Didn’t watch. Checked the box score, though. Almost a fifty burger.”

  Brian grinned. “End of the season, good teams show out. Defense wasn’t even there.”

  Vince leaned backward and crosses his arms. “Listen, bro, do you ever talk about anything but football?”

  Brian pulled his chair out from the desk and sat down. “What’s up your ass today Vince?” Brian jokingly smirks.

  Vince pointed at Brian. “You know I don’t watch sports that much.” Vince lowered his hand back to his side, crossing his arms. “Well, besides playing pickleball, I enjoy doing shit, not wat-“

  “You? Pickleball?” Brian fell back into his chair laughing, hand on his chest, barely controlling himself. “Sorry, Roger Federer,” Brian threw up his hands up. “I wasn’t aware of your secret passion.”

  Vince's face contorts in confusion. “Who the fuck is that?”

  Brian laughed again, and Vince smiled, throwing crumbled paper at him.

  Brian's laughter falls to a stop. “So you played tennis when you were younger, or always pickleball?” Brian says as he puts his stuff away under his desk.

  “Tennis in high school, our team was pretty good.”

  “Fair enough, I never even heard of pickleball until like last year.” Brian looks at Vince. “My ex-wife? Loved doing weekly runs with the company she was at.”

  Vince raised his eyebrow, “You never would go?”

  “What do you think?” Brian smiled back.

  “Pickleball with the ladies?” Vince leaning forward with his elbows on the desk.

  “Well, that’s what I thought at first, secretaries make great team players I came to learn.” Brian chuckles at Vince. Vince laughed back, falling back into his chair.

  “Get this,” Brian leans forward, half whispering. “Fucking her boss, and he was fucking all the office ladies.” Brian wipes his nose. “Real kicker was the guy confesses this to his pastor.” Brian snorts and chuckles. “Who was married to one of his secretaries.” Vince's mouth opens, and he freezes.

  A couple of cops walked by. Brian paused his story, waiting for them to pass.

  Brian stopped laughing and pointed at Vince. “Oh, buddy, and on top of all that, the guy's wife finds out and throws boiling water on his face.” Brian shakes his head. “Turns out she's no better, turns out she was pickling balls too.” Brian laughs again, winking at Vince.

  “Jesus Christ my guy, sounds like a nightmare.”

  Brian crossed his arms. “Hardly, made the divorce so easy. Besides, making love to her was like watching a seal give birth.” Brian smiles at Vince, and Vince smiles back.

  Brian exhaled deeply, jokingly. “So lunch later? New diner on 57th—”

  “Maybe,” Vince mutters. “Got this file—”

  “Morning, homicide,” Aubrey called as she steps into the bullpen, coffee in hand.

  Brian perked up. “Brooke, have you been to the diner on 57th?”

  Aubrey set her bag down. “Yeah. Cute spot.”

  Miss Evie slid her cart into the corner. Styrofoam cups rattled against one another.

  Vince smirked and raised his arms to the ceiling jokingly. “And the women who will save me from pickleball stories!” Vince looks back at Brian, who is shaking his head with a smile.

  Aubrey looked back and forth at Brian and Vince. “Well bullet casings from a double homicide aren’t much better.” She said while putting her bag down.

  Vince leaned back. “Ever feel like a case just… laughs at you every time you open it?”

  Aubrey chuckled into her cup. “That’s every case, Vince. Why?”

  He slid a folder across to her. “Because this one’s been laughing at me for years and thought maybe you could shut it up—cold case, clean people, good neighborhood. Nothing’s ever stuck. You’ve got the theory brain—figure you might see what I missed.”

  Aubrey fliped through the pages. “Hm. Free work. You trying to get me hooked on cold cases?”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Maybe. Or maybe a favor. Either way, I’ll owe you.” Vince leaned back, arms behind his head. “Besides, you dissected Stonetown like nobody else.”

  Miss Evie set a coffee on Aubrey's desk. Aubrey looks up and smiles back.

  Vince looks to the cart and slouches forward. “I’m glad this is here.” He snickers and grabs a snack from the cart.

  Aubrey scanned faster, tapping her pen against the margin. “Casings' distance doesn’t line up. Back door casing’s too far behind the one by the counter.”

  Vince leaned forward. “Shooter hit once, then fired again while bolting. Fits.”

  Aubrey looked up. “Fits? That’s why the only witness swore he smelled bleach at the back door before police even showed?”

  Vince blinked. “Could’ve been the janitor. Hard thing to build a theory on.”

  “Maybe. Except the victim’s body was found at the front. Near the counter. Way less blood than the damage should’ve caused.” She taps the file. “Which means someone cleaned. Before anyone arrived.”

  Vince rubbed his jaw, surprised. “Huh. And the cameras weren’t working either…”

  Aubrey nodded. “Maintenance company filed the outage report the same day. Before the shooting.”

  “Aubrey and Vince traded a glance.”

  Vince whistled low. “Inside job.”

  “Exactly. Don’t ignore what screams at you, Vince. Even when it’s messy.” Aubrey shuts the file and pushes it back toward him.

  For a beat, Vince just stared. Then he grins. “You know, if you’d touched this case three years ago, it’d be closed before Cal restocked his honeybun stash.”

  They both laughed.

  “Brooke, report,” Captain Cal calls from his office doorway, wrapper in hand.

  Vince waved her off. “Thanks, Brooke. I’ll run this angle and keep you posted.”

  Aubrey nodded, grabbed the Stonetown file from her desk, and headed toward Cal’s office.

  Walking past the hum of a printer and the chatter of small talk on the way.

  ?

  Inside Cal’s office, SportsCenter mumbles from the TV. The small, cheap handheld desk fan blows confetti strings towards the door.

  “Morning, Archer,” Cal said, tossing his empty wrapper into the trash without looking. “Heard you and Slater went at it Sunday. Want to tell me why?”

  “Nothing bad, Captain. Just deep in theory. I lost my temper.”

  Cal leaned back in his chair. “Archer, you’re sharp, no one’s doubting that. But you let yourself get wound too tight on scene. You don’t have to win every argument in the room.”

  “I wasn’t trying to win-.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Perception becomes reality in this job. Slater looked sloppy, you looked combative, and I don’t want either of my detectives coming off like that again. Understood?”

  Aubrey exhaled through her nose. “Understood.”

  Cal smirked faintly, reaching for another wrapper on his desk. “Good. Don’t make me play referee. I hate paperwork.”

  “Now, the report?”

  Aubrey set the file down. “Scene doesn’t add up. It feels like a sloppy hit. Staged to look gang-related. But it’s not junkies.”

  Cal flipped a page, chewing thoughtfully. “Strong foundation. Just remember—‘doesn’t make sense’ doesn’t always mean your first read is right. DB results back yet?”

  “Zane turned them in.”

  “Go talk to Slater. Not letting this squad carry tension.”

  “Why me? Didn’t you tell him the same?”

  “I did, but team game Archer. Not every play’s yours.”

  She nodded, collects the file, and heads back to her desk. Vince is gone.

  Brian called over. “Still leaking secrets to your journalist friend, Brooke?” He smirked.

  “Only secret in here is your AI-generated fantasy team. Pretty sure you’re dead last.” Aubrey checked her nails.

  Brian clutched his chest, mock-wounded. “Straight to the heart.” A slight pause fills the room.

  “Where’s the cart lady at?” Dorian rubbed his stomach.

  “Miss Evie?” Aubrey's brow raised.

  Dorian looked at Aubrey. “If that’s what you call her.” He shares a look with Brian.

  Aubrey folded her arms. “That's her name.”

  A long pause between everyone.

  Slater strolled up, hands in pockets. “Vince said uh- you gave him a lead on that cold case.” Slater scratched his face, avoiding eye contact initially.

  Aubrey shrugged. “Sometimes you just need to tilt your head a little. Patterns show up.”

  Slater lingered, reluctant. “Well… good catch. And I skimmed your Stonetown notes.” Slater pulls his hands from his pockets. Pointing a finger at Aubrey. “If your gut says it’s not amateurs, then fuck it.” Slater lowers his hand. “Just please don’t fuck my focus if your ground is solid. Ight?” Slater friendly winks at Aubrey.

  Slater's eyes scrunched. “You fuck, you stole my silver pen off my desk.” Slater grabs it and hoists it to his face. Looking at Brian. “Also, you owe me forty bucks. Next round’s on you, not me.” He winks and wanders off.

  Brian muttered, “If he’s running tabs, we should all be worried.”

  Zane hustled past, folder in hand, straight to Cal’s office. Aubrey follows.

  “Brooke, you were right,” Zane said as she entered. “Two different bullet types. Confirms multiple shooters.”

  Cal folded his arms. “Archer, lay it out. Where’s your head on this?”

  Aubrey took a breath. “The outside scene was staged. Casings planted. Meant to mimic a junkie robbery. Victims had debt. One shooter forced the father’s hand. Then finished the job when he lost control. Too sloppy to be pros. But not random either.”

  Cal studied her. “So—a hit. Second-stringer botched it.”

  Aubrey nodded. “That’s what it looks like.”

  Cal closed the file and slides it across to her. “Then run it. But Archer?” He pauses. Remember what I said.”

  He held her gaze a second longer, then slid the file across.

  A TV announcer breaks the momentary silence on the TV, “A grand slam in the bottom of the 7th! His 3 of his-“.

  Cal glued eyes to the TV now, honeybun stationary in front of his face, mesmerized.

  Aubrey looked over at the TV, then back to Cal. “Yeah, I didn’t forget.” She says flatly.

  Aubrey stepped back and turns out the door before shutting it behind her.