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“Don’t look so sour, bambina,” Jake says to Lana as they enter the break room. “We’re the best detectives in the force. We’ll catch the guy. He’ll make a mistake eventually.”
Eventually, yes. But the question is when. And how many will have to die before the killer finally makes a mistake.
It’s been 72 hours of intense chase since the last murder from a series. A murderer, slippery as an eel, vanishes every time the police are seemingly close to arrest them, leaving behind just one more dead body to add to the tally. And not one lead in sight.
A team with the best detectives in the force was put together. But even they are struggling. It’s when Bruce Goodman nodded off in the middle of uttering a sentence that Lana and Damon decided it might be time to take ten. It was clear anyway that the small lead they had was slowly getting further and further away.
Officially, the SL-9 team is waiting for another report from forensic that everyone knows is going to give them nothing. Damon went to see if he could speed up the process in any way. Lana decided to go with the detectives to make sure none of them went haywire during the break.
She now regrets it.
“Detective Marshall,” Lana says sternly. “Can we refrain from talking about the case when we’re on a break?”
“Our first in 72 hours,” Neil adds wearily as he drops on the break room couch.
Jake ignores him completely as he waltzes to Lana’s side, trying to catch her attention, “Did I hear correctly? Has the bambina just asked me not to talk about the case?”
“Jake,” Lana says sternly. Her glare is murderous. “Stop talking.”
“As you wish, bambina.”
“Detective Marshall,” Lana says. “I am your superior officer.” Neil scoffs as discreetly as he can. I’m your boss never worked on Jake and it won’t start today. And still, out of sheer desperation or just because she can’t take it anymore, Lana adds, “If you bambina me one more time…”
“What will you do, Detective Skye?” Jake says. “Arrest me? Pin the SL-9 killings on me?”
Neil groans. He tips his cowboy hat down, and says wearily, “Please, Lana… I’m begging you... Arrest my brother.”
Everyone is exhausted. After an intense chase of 72 hours with very little sleep and too much coffee, everyone’s sanity is on thin ice. This break can either save them as a team or irreversibly break them apart.
“Pardner!” Jake cries out. “Betrayed by my own brother. Arrested by a superior officer I thought I could trust…”
No one replies to Jake. Even if they had the energy, all the detectives in the room know not to give in to his antics.
“Slow and steady wins the horse race,” Jake says. “We’ve been working non stop for 72 hours. We need more than a measly 10 minute break.”
“And still, that’s all we’ll get,” Lana says. “So let’s make the most of it.”
Jake stops and stares at Lana, pointing at her, “You’ve got more bags under your eyes than the luggage room of a train on the White Pass & Yukon Route Railway…” And then, out of habit or out of infinite stupidity, Jake adds the one word he never should have said, “...bambina.”
The silence that follows his declaration is heavy. Neil takes off his hat and watches Lana's face carefully, trying to gauge whether his brother will come out of the room alive, or if Neil will have to help dispose of the body.
Then, in one swift move of utmost velocity, Lana reaches for the nearest throw pillow on the couch and throws it. The next second, Neil catches from the corner of his eyes his brother ducking; the throw pillow wheezes past Neil and he’s about to protest about the dangers of throwing pillows when a catastrophe happens. The next sound is a sound of disaster. A loud gasp, broken glass, spilled drinks.
For seconds that stretch for hours, there is nothing but the deadliest silence ever heard in a police department break room. When Neil musters the courage to look, he feels all color draw from his face.
The pillow landed on someone else. Someone who was just coming back with everyone’s coffee mugs. Someone who’s known to love the expensive white fur coat that’s now brown and dripping with coffee coffee. Someone who has expertly pinpointed the culprit’s exact location and identity and is glaring at her. Angel Starr’s murderous glare is directed at Lana Skye. Target acquired.
“Oh no,” Neil whines. He glances at Jake in hope his brother will say something, deescalate the situation, apologize. But Jake is Jake. As such, he’s very responsibly hiding his face behind his red bandana and about to burst out laughing. His brother potentially just started a war, and he’s laughing. Neil elbows him and hopes it’s painful enough to spring Jake into action. (Neil knows it’s not).
“Ah!” Lana says suddenly. She’s trying to smile. Awkwardly. Like someone who knows they’re done for but will still attempt to negotiate. Her hands are producing precise gestures. Chief Detective Lana Skye, explaining a strategy. “Sorry, Detective. I understand the, um… I, um. I didn’t mean to..?”
A weak argument. Angel doesn’t even bother giving it credit. She pretends it was never said. Instead, she flips her bangs to the other side of her face and Neil swears he hears Lana gulp.
“You,” Angel says, glaring at Lana. “Are you looking for trouble, Skye?”
It’s a question but really, it’s not. Out of the room also flew the respect Chief Detective Lana Skye is supposed to be owed. Lana stiffens even more, raising both hands in an attempt to calm down Angel Starr. But Lana Skye is lucid. She knows she just messed up badly. She’s not getting out of this room unscathed.
“Come on, Angie,” Bruce says in an honest-to-good laugh. “It was an accident. I know a very good dry cleaner and—”
“Stay out of it, doormat.” Angel says harshly, not sparing him a glance. She makes a slow but determined beeline for Lana, not taking her eyes off her the entire time.
Lana takes a step back but remains standing, a bright I’m-sorry smile on her face, sweating bullets. Neil tries to become one with the couch cushions. Bruce is still standing by the window, barely shaken (how he can not feel the tension in the room will always be a complete mystery to Neil, who feels it all too well). Jake has abandoned his seat on the couch (he was too exposed) and is crawling behind the couch, attempting an escape.
“Gant will be here anytime,” Bruce says. “Why don’t we—”
Angel turns to glare at him and Bruce’s smile stays stuck as he takes a few steps back until he is a safe distance from the Cough-up Queen. Neil wonders how exactly any of them will avoid being caught in the crossfire.
Jake (still crawling away) is almost at the door when another throw pillow hits him with such violence he stumbles forward and loudly bonks his forehead on the wooden door. Neil watches in fear as his brother sinks to the floor, boneless and motionless.
Did he just die
“Detective Starr,” Lana says. Her voice is deep and calm; her detective voice. Lana aims at Angel’s professional side. But it’s no use. Angel was wounded profoundly and irreversibly. As Angel Starr slowly looms towards Lana, guilty coffee drips from her formerly pristine white coat, the majestic fur rendered to a soggy, unrecognizable mess, Lana knows it’s over. Angel Starr, the Cough-up Queen, will not back down until she sees justice done for her coat.
“Angel,” Lana says. This time she’s trying to get to her emotional side. She’s trying to reach her friend. It’s almost a plea. But there is something in the slight trembling of Lana’s voice that proves she doesn’t believe she’ll get through.
And indeed, there’s barely a beat between Lana’s last desperate plea and Angel and Lana both reaching for throw pillows at light speed before chasing each other around the break room.
Bruce gasps and runs all the way to Neil, taking cover behind the couch. Neil is too exhausted to move. On second thoughts, Neil decides he’s also too exhausted to watch. Detectives might get physical training, but Prosecutors are office creatures. He closes his eyes and decides now is as good a time as it'll ever be to take his long overdue nap while Lana attempts— and fails— to reason with her colleague.
“Angel— Detective Starr! I didn’t—! It wasn’t— ON PURPOSE.”
“Whether— premeditated or not…— MURDER IS STILL MURDER.”
“Should we stop them?” Bruce asks weakly.
Neil has no idea. He opens one eye, only to see Lana jump over the coffee table before dashing to the other side of the room, near the door. Angel Starr chases her expertly and relentlessly, striking with the throw pillow whenever Lana leaves an opening. To Neil, there is only one right answer he can tell Bruce. The only safe answer. He pulls his cowboy hat over his eyes and settles comfortably on the couch, “Nah, they’re good.”
Lana keeps running away, backing into a corner near the door until Angel is barely a few centimeters away, pillow raised, ready to deal the final blow.
“Angel,” Lana starts, sounding desperate. “Please. Let’s be reason—”
Lana can’t finish her sentence: the throw pillow strikes down mercilessly like the gavel of a judge. Lana loses her balance and falls to the ground. Where she stays. Lying there, next to Jake, by the break room door.
Neil stares at Lana and Jake, a motionless heap of fallen detectives.
Body count: 2.
“Now,” Angel says as she steps over her victims, ominously gathering her throw pillow from the floor. “Who is it. Who was laughing earlier.”
Neil gulps. And that isn’t missed on Angel Starr.
Neil is Jake’s younger brother. But the truth is: Neil has always acted like an older brother to him. Whenever Jake got in trouble, Neil flew to his help. Above all, Neil is used to taking the blame for every single one of his brother’s stupid actions. Old habits die hard. Jake’s blunders are Neil’s. And on his face, Neil can feel guilt spread. The Cough-up Queen can’t possibly not spot it.
“You,” Angel Starr says threateningly. Neil glances panickedly at Jake and Lana, lying side by side on the floor, visibly unconscious. With how little the entire SL-9 team has slept these past few days, Neil thinks (hopes) they’re only resting. They gave up and are now napping. Neil finds himself hoping he could also lie down on the floor, close his eyes and sleep. He’s exhausted and he doesn’t want to fight. He really doesn’t want to. Especially not with Angel Starr.
“I, um. It was Jake,” Neil says. The nervous laugh that escapes him only adds to the obvious guilt that irradiates his entire being. Angel Starr’s keen eyes couldn’t miss that nervousness if she tried. The Cough-up Queen is a trained professional, master at making criminals confess by detecting the slightest change in their composure.
Angel walks back to the couch, the murder weapon (a throw pillow) and Lana’s forsaken weapon (another throw pillow) in her hands. Angel Starr, the Cough-up Queen, is heavily armed and double-wielding. Neil is done for.
He takes a step back and the back of his legs hit the coffee table behind him. When he glances up again, it takes him a solid second to understand what is happening. The first thing he notices is how much faster Angel gets. The second is how her eyes widen in utter surprise. The third is that she’s not charging at him. She’s falling.
Bruce gasps. Neil can’t help but jump from the couch to look at what exactly made Angel trip.
Jake and Lana are using Lana’s red scarf to trip up the Cough-up Queen and put an end to her killing spree. Jake and Lana are working together, coordinating their actions. It’s how it always is with these two: they swear they can’t stand each other but put them together in a team and they’re the best.
Bruce springs in action before Neil can even think about what’s happening. He supposes that’s why he’s a prosecutor and not a detective. Bruce literally (literally) jumps on Angel Starr, but she is too enraged, too quick, too ready for the fight. Bruce gets a taste of the merciless throw pillows as his head is sandwiched between the two. As Jake and Lana make a coordinated move to stop Angel Starr’s rampage, Neil cannot leave them all alone and defenseless to fend for themselves. He throws them the remaining throw pillows. One lands on Lana’s face. Who takes this as a major offense, a betrayal of the worst kind, and immediately charges at Jake (because of course Lana thinks it was Jake; the truce and teaming up was short-lived).
Neil stands in the middle of the room as Bruce, Angel, Lana and Jake engage in a massive, chaotic brawl that looks very much like a pillow fight.
Neil sighs.
Should he stop them? Yes. Will he? No. Lana and Gant are the chief detectives. They’re in charge of the team. This isn’t Neil’s job to put an end to this mess. He’s just a prosecutor, for heaven’s sake.
That is, until Lana shoulder-throws Jake at Neil. Jake smiles at his brother. A mischievous smile that says ‘Will you join the fight, cowboy?’. Will he? Neil isn’t supposed to be in the room with the special team put together to track down the murderer. And still, he decided to join that fight. Why shouldn’t he join this one?
Neil has no choice but to get a pillow for himself. It’s been a while since he’s been in a fight. Prosecutors are office creatures, after all.
As Neil, Jake, Bruce, Lana and Angel fight with the pillows, laughter can progressively be heard in the break room.
“You are PAYING for Goodman’s expensive dry cleaner, I am telling you!”
“Jake, this is going off your pay this month!”
“A cowboy never pays off his debts! You’ll have to beat me in a duel, bambina!”
“I accept the challenge.”
“Lana, don’t. Let my brother pay. No, forget it. I’ll pay.”
“Don’t go making gambles you can’t win, Skye. Not when my coat is in the line! How about you get demoted and spend the next few weeks in the shooting range so you can learn how to aim? That would be good enough to make amends.”
“Bambina did her best. I’m that good at dodging, pardner!”
“Next time, I will throw your cactus at you.”
“Not my cactus! My dearest cactus can’t know the same fate as Angel’s coat! You’re awful at throwing things, bambina!”
“Now, that’s not true. I just flew across the room quite aerodynamically—OUCH! Don’t hit me, Angel! I haven’t slept in 72 hours!”
“None of us has slept in 72 hours, you’re not special, sunshine!”
Throw pillows fly, so do detectives and the sole prosecutor because apparently, shoulder-throws are trendy in the police force.
It’s when Jake ducks to avoid Bruce’s hat and hears a soft thump behind him that everything stops. Detectives and Neil freeze as they see who’s behind Jake, who just entered the room and who’s staring at them for just god knows how long. A tall, large, menacing orange frame.
“Swimming, aren’t we?” Damon says.
The whole room goes silent. Lana lets go of Bruce’s collar. Angel drops the throw pillows on the floor. Neil picks up the plotted pant that was knocked over in the fight. Jake goes to stand wordlessly by his colleagues.
“Gant,” Lana says. “I can explain.”
Lana, however, doesn’t start explaining at all.The room is silent once more. Damon stares at his team. Blinks. Stares. Blinks. He simply bursts into laughter, clapping loudly.
“Excellent! Who’s winning?”