ᴇᴍᴇʀᴀʟᴅ ᴘᴀʀᴋ.

XVI

At Nick's Estate
12:10 AM

"Of all the cases I coulda got, yo..." A woman with back-length dreadlocks smacked her teeth as she stepped out of her squad car, phone to her ear. "I just got one thing to ask: Who in the flyin' walkin' fuck thought it was bright to assign me to the murder of El Chapo's motherfuckin' long-lost son?"

"The hell you hollering at me for?!" The deep male voice on the other end snapped. "I ain't even in your damn department! Besides, what you finna say to the Chief? No, nigga?"

"I could if I wanted to!" The woman argued.

"Then yo ass gon' be out of a job. Do that, and where does that leave the funds for our operation on the Strip?"

"You just got the answers for everythin', don't you, motherfucker?" She side-eyed her phone before rolling her eyes, stepping below the caution tape wrapped around the compound. "I know one thing, though; I ain't walkin' away from this case empty-handed."

"And the fuck does that mean, Dreya?"

"Exactly what it sound like. The detective pay's bullshit; the most I get paid per case is less than ten bands, Dev. That ain't shit for a downpayment on that damn casino, so I'ma see if I can grab some shit in here worth takin' and sell it off." The woman explained in a low whisper as she closed the distance between her and the estate.

"It's like you're craving to get fired, man, fuck..." The male voice griped, prompting Dreya to let out an equally low chuckle, swiping her tongue across her top row of teeth.

"Aye, you just remember to keep our business hush-hush at the bureau, and you ain't got shit to worry about. Told you before, nigga, I'm the one doin' the groundwork here. Any of them niggas find out what we doin', the blame's gon' be on you for runnin' ya mouth."

"Alright, alright, damn..." The male voice then groaned. "Look, if you find some shit to sell, hit me and I'll run the price."

"That's more like it," Dreya smirked. "Stay by the phone."

A few seconds after she hung up the call, a nearby white policeman approached her from the side. "Detective Storme. Chief Tchicaya said you would be taking over this case."

"Better late than never, I guess..." Dreya scratched at her eyebrow. "I was on my way to the crib when she hit me up, sayin' the other detective resigned and she needed me. I ain't bother to ask why, though..."

"Detective Min? He never said, but he was acting a bit different the last time I saw him." The policeman informed her. "I wouldn't blame him if it was because of what he saw in there."

"Yeah, about that..." Dreya pushed the front door to the house open, her loafers echoing on the tile floor as she and the policeman stepped inside. "Run the case by me again. Cliff notes – I ain't got the energy for a full breakdown..."

"Sure thing." The policeman began walking her through the house. "We got a call from Del Vacío's delivery driver on the twenty-seventh of last month. He was dropping off a package for him and pressed the little intercom button by the front door. He reported that Del Vacío was normally quick to answer his door, but he didn't get a response and decided to call us."

"Aight, I'm followin'..." Dreya ogled at the contemporary paintings strung up in the hallway to Nick's bedroom, contemplating their individual price range, and also noting the absence of a struggle throughout the house.