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Mick's gaze follows Len's line of sight beyond the squashed bugs and sticky fingerprints on the Motorcar's window to the sight of a pretty girl and a gangly boy sipping coffee outside the Central City Police Department.
"Cute kid," he remarks, shoveling a forkful of hash browns and eggs into his mouth.
"Yeah," Len responds, narrowing his eyes. "Too bad he's a cop."
Mick pauses mid-forkful. "I wouldn't be so sure about that."
"He's a CSI."
"Maybe he's got a badge." Mick shrugs. "What's the problem?"
"You see that van?"
"Central City Plumbing?" Mick lifts his steaming black coffee and takes a sip.
"Yeah." Len straightens. "Recognize the driver?"
Mick squints. "Should I?"
"That's Mark Mardon."
Mick raises a brow.
"About a year ago, Mark and his brother, Clyde, made a name for themselves by robbing banks," Len explains, popping a ketchup-soaked fry into his mouth. "The night the Particle Accelerator exploded, Detective Joe West caught them trying to flee Central City and shot down their plane." He licks the salt off his thumb. "Mark survived. His brother, Clyde, did not."
Mick jabs his fork toward the police station. "What's that got to do with them?"
"The girl is Detective West's daughter. The boy is his adoptive son."
"And you think Mardon's out for revenge?"
Len rests his elbows on the table and tears open a packet of ketchup. "I think those kids won't know what's hit them."
"Right." Mick wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and downs the coffee grounds at the bottom of his cup. "What's the plan?"
"Plan?"
"Don't give me that crap, Snart. You always have a plan."
Len glances at the kid standing outside the station, a spark of mischief lighting up his eyes. "That's... true."