“Four. No—five. They want to see the product.”
“Good. Now for the other matter.”
He pulled his hand from the left pocket—empty. 1x2 Narc...
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.
1x2 Narc
The meet was at a derelict fish-packing plant on the south pier. Salt wind clawed through broken windows. Marcus sat alone on a rusted barrel, waiting. In his left jacket pocket: a burner phone with a live line to his handler. In his right: a bag of uncut fentanyl—two kilos, enough to put a neighborhood in the ground.
Carlos drew a pistol. “You want to keep working with us, 1x2? You prove you’re one of us. One bullet. Two sides of the same coin.” “Four
His informant, a jittery kid named Leo, stumbled out of the shadows. “They’re coming. All of them. The Reyes brothers.”
Detective Marcus Cole was a one-man equation the department didn’t like to solve. They called him “1x2”—one narcotics officer with two faces. By day, he was the golden boy of the DEA’s field office, clean-shaven, sharp-jawed, with a binder full of successful busts. By night, he sat across from the very men he was supposed to destroy, sipping whiskey from a glass they’d poured. Now for the other matter