SCALAWAG (camren one shot - sort of)

The Pinstripe

"Sergeant!" Jacobs burst through my door, victory splattered across his face, it glowed like a lightbulb.

I had to fight the urge to reach for the fire extinguisher and erase it. With any luck, it would fix the messy bed-head he called a style - short, blond hair sticking out in all directions. He'd let it grow out. Again.

He could be a cactus posing as a human but I'm pretty sure no cactus had that much energy. And fizz.

He didn't knock.

I hate it when they don't.

At least he didn't let the door crash against the wall this time.

Small victories.

He just stood there, hand on the brass knob barely staying still but kept his mouth curved in a toothy grin. A silent invitation for me to ask him to elaborate.

Always one for theatrics. Always wasting my time.

I don't know how he did it but his knee still bounced.

I couldn't deny he was a damn good detective but the guy could tone it down. Whatever choice words I was ready to spit at him again vanished when I heard the next thing he said.

And it most definitely warranted all the pauses and that obnoxious stance.

Because to our unit, it was the fucking jackpot.

"We got a lead on the Pinstripe." It burst out of him, the bottle cap keeping his mouth shut popping out and straight to my chest. It knocked the wind out of me.

"Goddamn it," I grumbled under my breath and Jacobs' unwavering smile assured me he hadn't heard a thing. I could only hope the expression on my face didn't betray me. "Let's go."

I snatched my phone amongst the mess in my drawer that was mostly empty floss containers and small scraps of papers, and darted towards the door. Someone would make fun of me if they saw that. I shoved my phone in the back pocket of my pants, against every urge to dial a number.

This was great for my career. There's no doubt about it. But every beat of my heart sounded a lot like dread. A foreboding sense that something really horrible was about to happen.

I should be happy. I should ecstatic.

I should. I should.

If we take down the Pinstripe, it would be one of my greatest accomplishments. They're New York state's largest and most prolific mob, for crying out loud.

They'd done it all. Bootlegging, racketeering, extortion, torture, kidnapping and even murder. They'd been in business for decades and last year, they'd managed to hijack the largest methamphetamine shipment days before the FBI caught wind of it, making them nearly a billion dollars richer.

They're hell for a section of the population but they're also the saving grace for some.

It's complicated.

Jacobs kept pace, his steps light with anticipation and heavy with determination. As heavy as a frolic down the field. Definitely anything but heavy. He'd never let anything weigh him down. Meanwhile, I could hear the echo of my feet and the staccato sounded urgent.

"You know the guy I busted dealing meth in an alley behind the club? Stew?" He reminded me about an informant of his, a small time criminal who had once transacted with the Pinstripe.

He pulled up a picture on his phone, showing a ratty, balding man I'd never forget.  Smarmy thing looked straight at the camera, his tartar-tinted teeth in full view. His bloodshot eyes squinted with that sinister grin, beaming a malicious promise.