two guns, one bullet and a fuckton of cocaine. (shyan)

(all in a day's work)

Detective Shane Madej was having a bad day, but he was beginning to find that had become the norm since being assigned this case.

"He fuckin' beat us to it again."

His partner, Detective Jen Ruggirello, pursed her lips, looking around the warehouse. It was stripped bare, save for the officers and SWAT team around them. It didn't look like it saw much use; dusty, bird droppings in the rafters- gulls probably, they could hear them squawking in tune with the waves of the ocean right outside.

Shane didn't respond to her for a moment, running a finger over a bare counter. He examined his fingertip idly. It was covered in a dusty powder.

"He was here, I'd be willing to bet on it. Get forensics in here and they'll find this isn't all dust. Probably moved stations again. He's quick." Shane said.

"I don't understand. We got the hint he was dropping a shipment tonight. Where the hell did it go?" Jen slipped off her hat and ran a hand through her short-cropped hair. It was thick and stood in a wild tousle when she did that. She never noticed. Shane didn't mind; it amused him.

'One step ahead of us as always, I suppose," Shane said.

"You don't sound too torn up about it."

"Not yet, I'm... thinking."

He circled the machinery, examining it while the cops around him scanned entrances and exits and chattered to one another. He blocked them out, focusing. Tried to, at least. Two of them were making it particularly hard.

"This is such a fuckin' waste of time, Madej. Just admit he beat your ass again and let us go home."

"Stress startin' to get to ya? Whatcha accomplished since snagging the Goldsworth case?"

He was blocking. Them. Out.

This was where Ricky had been. The intel was good, he knew it was. Goldsworth wasn't a ghost. He had to be here. Somewhere.

"This place isn't big enough to be his whole operation. He transferred how much in that last haul? A lot. This can't be the whole workspace. ...Unless this is just another storage site, and all we found is one more rung in the ladder," said Shane.

He was speaking to Jen, not the two assholes. That didn't stop them from responding.

"This is obviously just where they kept it, it's not where they were making the stuff. Give it up, man."

Did the man mean the lead that led them here, or the case altogether? It was true; he could give up on the case without shame. He wasn't the first detective tasked with catching Ricky Goldsworth. He probably wouldn't be the last either, the way things were going. But either way Shane didn't like giving up on things. And Ricky was supposed to be here, so.

There were no other doors. The square feet of the interior was the same as the exterior. Second floor was only a simple metal catwalk that led to a small, dusty office. Ground floor was empty save for the machinery, a conveyor belt and some stripped work counters... The thing was, it all looked strangely new. Unrusted, unused. Even the buttons of the conveyor belt hadn't had their shine worn off by hours of oily fingerprints, save one. The belt itself looked a little worn, though. Strange. He examined it curiously, and pushed the only button that wasn't shiny and new-looking.

Nothing happened.

Jen furrowed her brows and came over.

"Power's on. You think it's broken?" She said.

"Broken, or meant to do something else. See any buttons that look worn down besides the one here? It doesn't seem to do anything."

Jen brushed her thumb over something Shane couldn't see from his vantage point and grinned, "Maybe not by itself, it doesn't."