With drugs in your trunk? Out of the car. You’re coming with us.
Victoria stepped out without a word. Her hands didn’t shake. Her heartbeat stayed steady.
She had seen worse in field operations. But standing there on the roadside between two crooked cops with a fake charge hanging over her, she understood something in a very personal way. This was the fear ordinary people lived with.
The ones without credentials in their pocket. The ones with no backup coming. The ones who were completely exposed to the system. She walked calmly toward the patrol car.
The message had gone through. She had managed that much. Now she just had to hold on.
She decided to see the racket from the inside. She needed to remember every face. Greer opened the back door and jerked his head.
— Get in. And keep quiet. We’ll talk at the station.
Victoria got in. The door slammed shut with a heavy metallic thud. Through the divider she saw Greer and his partner exchange a look and grin.
The patrol car rolled down the empty highway. Victoria sat in the back and watched the lights pass by. One yellow streetlamp after another flashed across the glass.
She didn’t panic. Panic was a luxury people in her profession couldn’t afford. Up front, Greer and the younger officer talked in low voices.
They assumed she couldn’t hear them. She heard every word. — Nice car, the younger one said.
— Means she’s got money. — Yep, Greer said with satisfaction. — Dressed decent, too.
— Not hurting for cash. I’d say we can get twenty-five grand out of her. — And if she won’t pay?
— She’ll pay. They all do. Nobody wants legal trouble.
Victoria listened and filed it away. Twenty-five thousand dollars. Standard enough for a setup like this.
This wasn’t some one-off roadside shakedown. It was a polished assembly line. How many people had gone through their hands in a month?
Ten? Twenty? More?
She remembered faces from past raids—women scared half out of their minds, lives already hanging by a thread. Plenty of people hit bottom after false charges like this.
Some couldn’t pay and got real time. And these two kept cruising the highway, looking for the next mark. — Hey, the younger one said, turning toward the divider.
— Why are you so quiet? Most people start crying by now. Begging. Promising the moon. Victoria met his eyes with a cold stare.
— I’m waiting for you to make one mistake too many. Greer laughed from behind the wheel. — Well, look at that. She’s got some fight in her.
— Don’t worry. Lieutenant Oleg will straighten you out. He’s good at breaking stubborn ones. Victoria noted the name.
So there was a boss at the station. The one running the whole operation. — Who’s Lieutenant Oleg? she asked evenly.
— You’ll see, the younger officer said with a grin. — He’s our senior guy. Real serious man.
— Once he talks to you, you’ll be ready to pay and forget tonight ever happened. Victoria gave a small nod. Lieutenant Oleg.
They hadn’t said the last name yet, but she’d get it soon enough. The patrol car turned off the lit highway and onto narrower streets. The houses were dark, windows blank.
No one was out. Just a few weak streetlights over cracked pavement and puddles. Ten minutes later they pulled up to a grim county police building.
The gray paint on the two-story facade was peeling badly. A dirty flag hung limp on the roof. — We’re here, Greer said, killing the engine.
The younger officer got out and opened the back door. Victoria stepped onto wet pavement. The air was damp and heavy.
It smelled like rotting trash and sour mop water. She took a quick look around. One entrance. First-floor windows barred.
The security cameras were old. Half of them probably didn’t work. — Move, the younger officer said, shoving her between the shoulder blades. Victoria walked toward the entrance.
Greer led the way, the other one close behind. They went into the dark building. One lightbulb glowed in the hallway.
The rest had either burned out or never been replaced. The place smelled stale, with old cigarette smoke soaked into the walls. Crooked posters about law enforcement and drug prevention hung along the corridor.
The irony would’ve been funny if it weren’t so ugly. At the front desk, a young desk sergeant sat scrolling on his phone. He barely looked up.
— Another one?
