His informant, a jittery kid named Leo, stumbled out of the shadows. “They’re coming. All of them. The Reyes brothers.”
But he knew—walking Leo toward the blue flash of arriving cruisers—that the other half would always be walking beside him in the dark.
He dropped the burner in a puddle. The narc who took bribes died in that warehouse. The one who remained had one badge, one gun, and a witness who’d just seen everything.
“How many?” Marcus asked.
Marcus pulled the bag from his right pocket. He tossed it. Carlos caught it, sniffed the seal, and nodded.
Carlos laughed. The other four fanned out, hands near their waists. The air turned thick with diesel and dread.
Marcus didn’t move. His training said: Verify, then act. His gut said: You’re not a cop anymore. You crossed that line three months ago when you took the first bribe disguised as “expenses.” 1x2 Narc...
1x2 Narc
He pulled his hand from the left pocket—empty.
Carlos nodded toward Leo. “Your rat. He’s been singing to the feds about our supply chain. You didn’t know?” His informant, a jittery kid named Leo, stumbled
“Good. Now for the other matter.”
Marcus’s left hand touched the burner phone in his pocket. His thumb hovered over the emergency call button. In that instant, he saw both versions of himself: the narc who arrests, and the narc who enables. The equation was never 1 times 2. It was 1 divided by 2. Two halves of a broken man.