The sun had just begun its slow climb over the horizon, casting a pale morning light across Eagle Rock. At a sprawling villa nestled on the quiet street, two detectives prepared themselves for the day’s grim work. The first was a woman, her brown-blonde hair pulled back neatly, slipping into a crisply tailored black suit. Beside her, a man adjusted the collar of his own dark suit, his black hair styled meticulously in a faux hawk. Police officers and an ambulance crew buzzed around the scene, their presence marking the villa as a place of tragedy.
    Near the doorstep, a woman lay motionless, her nightgown soaked in blood that had pooled around her midsection—a terrible wound staining her abdomen.
    “Detective Jane, the murder weapon’s gone,” the male detective said, snapping photos with his camera. “But judging by the body’s position, I’d say she was killed the moment she opened the door.”
   Jane knelt, eyes scanning the scene. “That makes sense… no signs of struggle here. Did someone contact the night watchman?”
   “He’s at the hospital,” the man replied.
   Jane’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she glanced around the perimeter of the house. “If the watchman was beaten that badly, I’m betting this was the 18th Street gang’s doing.”
   “Definitely,” her partner said. “The current mayor is probably behind it — scared she might run again.”
    Jane froze at that. “Are you seriously suggesting the mayor hired a gang to kill the previous mayor out of fear she’ll contest again? Watch your tongue.”
   She headed toward the black sedan idling out front. “Send those photos back to the station. Later, we’ll check on the watchman.”
   “Alright,” he said, following her lead.
   Jane slid into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and pulled away. Across the street, her partner crossed to a parked SUV, got inside, and drove off as well.
---
**At Eagle Rock Hospital**
   Mr. Brock lay in a hospital bed, his face swathed in bandages. Blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights, he gradually regained consciousness.
   “Honey, you’re awake!” Mrs. Julie’s voice trembled with relief as she took his hand. “You really had me worried. What happened?”
   Brock reached up, gently caressing her cheek. “Sweetheart... you’re back. Where have you been?”
   She swallowed hard, fighting tears. “I’m here now. But who did this to you?”
   A low groan escaped him. “Those damn 18th Street gang... they attacked me before I could even call for backup.”
   Mrs. Julie’s voice faltered. “So they really killed the previous mayor... But why? Who would do such a thing?”
   Brock’s brow furrowed. “Any word from the other night watchmen?”
   “Security’s tightening up. The doctors say you’ll be ready to return to duty in two or three days.”
   He sighed heavily. “Can you take me home?”
   “Should'nt you stay here until you’re fully healed?”
   “I can’t stay cooped up in this hospital. Besides... I’m partly responsible for the mayor’s death. I can’t miss the funeral.”
   Mrs. Julie’s gaze softened, and she squeezed his hand. “Don’t blame yourself. I know you tried your best.”
   She stood. “The burial’s tomorrow. Rest assured, honey. I have to get to work now—my boss has been calling.”
    After she left, Brock’s phone buzzed with an unexpected alert. He picked it up, confused but intrigued: five hundred dollars had been credited from an unknown account.
   Before he could process it, the phone rang.
   “Hello?”
    “Consider it a token for a job well done. Looking forward to working with you,” said the anonymous voice on the other end.
   “Wait—wait, wait. I’m not signing up for this madness. Killing people? That goes against everything I stand for.” Brock stood, pacing to the window. “I appreciate you freeing my wife, but if anyone else dies on my watch, I’ll lose my job.”
   The caller laughed darkly. “Sorry, but you’re now part of the 18th Street gang—and a valuable asset. Keep up the work, and you might climb the ranks.”
   “There’s no ‘work’ worth this,” Brock snapped, his voice low as he tried not to attract attention.
   “Alright, then. Since you’re in, how about making a deal?”
   “I’m not making any deals. Not like this.”
   “Just four more successful operations, and we’re done.”
   “Four in a row?” Brock chuckled bitterly. “That’s a fast track to quitting my job. Why?”
   The caller’s tone dropped. “Because after that, I get promoted, and you won’t have to deal with me directly. Hell, I might put you in charge.”
   “Four is too many. What if I catch one or two gang members each time to keep my badge?”
   After a pause, the voice finally relented. “It’s not my style to sacrifice my own, but... if it keeps you loyal, so be it.”
   “Deal. Four times only.”
   Brock hung up, sinking back onto the bed, his mind heavy with the unexpected burden.
---
   Hours later, there was a sudden knock, and the door swung open before anyone could respond.
   Detectives Jane and Caleb entered.
   “Hi, we’re handling the former mayor’s case. I’m Jane, and this is Caleb. May we ask you some questions about last night?” Jane said as they took seats beside Brock.
   “No problem,” he said, sitting upright.
   “Was it the 18th Street gang that attacked you?”
   Brock sighed deeply. “Of course. No gang in Los Angeles is as brutal.”
   “If you knew that, why didn’t you contact the police or other watchmen?”
   “I was about to, but then someone hit me from behind. I lost consciousness.”
   Jane leaned forward, her tone sharp. “You know this job is'nt really made for a married man, right? Don’t you think you’re worrying your wife too much?”
   Caleb cleared his throat. “Detective Jane, that’s a bit personal.”
   Jane shrugged. “Sorry I asked."
   Brock gave a tired smile. “It's okay, seriously, I’m only doing it to save enough money to leave West Adams. It’s too dangerous for a woman who gets off work late at night. I can’t quit now.”
    Jane shook her head. “We can’t let this happen again. Eagle Rock’s full of politicians and wealthy people. One more incident, and they’ll all leave. This place will turn into another West Adams—no one will support the night watchmen anymore.”
   She stood. “That’s all for now. Thanks for your time, and get well soon.”
   As the two detectives left, Brock finally allowed himself to relax. He leaned against the window-frame and smirked, thinking back to the call.
   *A valuable asset huh,* he muttered to himself.
.....
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