"Wow! You mean like the whole of our gang in California?" Mr. Brock's voice boomed, laced with disbelief.
   Grandwalker leaned against the hood of his sleek black car, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "Yeah. Seems some freshly spawned crew's decided to drape themselves in our colors. Overlord wants to issue a directive."
   Brock frowned, picturing the chaos a rogue gang could unleash. "Is there a central place? A meeting point where all the members would gather?"
   Grandwalker shook his head, the setting sun glinting off his dark sunglasses. "Nah, we just tap into the live feed from our own bolt-holes." He opened the car door, the interior smelling faintly of leather and something metallic. "I'll swing by and pick you up tonight."
   Brock hesitated, his gaze sweeping across the quiet street. He imagined shadows lurking, whispers carried on the breeze. "I don't know, Grandwalker. Leaving this area exposed... these new gangs are desperate, anything could happen. I'd lose my job if they attacked while I was away".
   Grandwalker's expression hardened. "Suit yourself." He slid into the driver's seat, the engine purring to life. With a curt nod, he put the car into gear and sped away, leaving Brock standing alone with his anxieties.
   As the taillights disappeared around the corner, Brock pulled out his phone, his fingers moving with practiced speed.
   *Ring ring*
  *Ring ring*
   "Hello," Mrs. Julie answered, her voice a warm counterpoint to the tension churning in Brock's stomach.
  "Sweetie, how are the boys doing?"
   "Almost done," she replied. "They should be moving everything out in under half an hour."
   "Alright, I'm on my way. Give me fifteen minutes." Brock said.
   "Alright."
   Brock ended the call and hurried to his own car, the need to protect his family overriding any lingering doubts about the gang meeting. He ignited the engine, picturing Julie and the boys working like well-oiled machines. 
**At the police station**
   The air in the squad room hung thick with frustration. Superintendent Davies, a man whose temper was as legendary as his thinning hair, slammed his fist on a desk. "Come on! We're chasing ghosts here! Somebody *find* me that goddamn minibus!" He stalked between the rows of desks, his voice a thunderous roar. "Check every route, every side street! It's been three days! That bus didn't just vanish into thin air! I want a damn good report on my desk when I get back here."
   The collective exhale that followed Davies's departure was almost audible. Shoulders slumped, and the clatter of keyboards resumed, but now with a weary edge.
   "Tch," one officer muttered, scrolling through endless traffic camera footage. "Makes it sounds so easy."
   Suddenly, a shout pierced the gloom. "Got it! I got it!"
   Heads swiveled toward Luna, a young detective with eyes that missed nothing.
   "Luna, are you serious?" another officer, Arlo, asked, rushing to her desk. "Wow! You actually found it. Let's go."
   The two of them practically ran out of the office, the promise of a lead electrifying the atmosphere. They sped away in an unmarked car, heading toward the last known location of the elusive minibus.
   An hour and fifteen minutes later, they parked at the edge of a bustling marketplace, the air thick with the scent of spices, fish, and exhaust fumes.
   "This is crazy," Luna said, her voice barely above a whisper. "How could they have hidden anything in a place like this?"
   "They say the best place to hide a tree is in the forest," Arlo murmured, his eyes scanning the crowded streets. "No surprise their hideout is right here, in plain sight."
   "Which means they could be watching us right now," Luna commented. A shiver ran down her spine.
   "Maybe," Arlo said, pointing with his chin. "Look over there."
   A beat-up white minibus was emerging from the grimy garage of a fish store.
   "That's it," Luna breathed, adrenaline surging through her. "They really did hide in the middle of a forest... but too bad for them. Let's go."
   They pulled the car directly in front of the minibus, blocking its path. An elderly man, his face etched with worry, climbed out of the driver's seat. Luna and Arlo approached him, their expressions grim.
   "You're under arrest for suspicious use of this vehicle in an illegal operation," Luna announced, flashing her badge and snapping handcuffs on the man's wrists.
   "Illegal operation? What are you talking about? This is my business vehicle!" The old man protested, his voice trembling.
   A woman, her face creased with anxiety, hurried out of the fish store.
   "What's going on? Where are you taking my husband?" she cried, her voice rising in panic.
   "Ma'am, we're taking him to the station for questioning," Arlo said gently.
   "Questioning about what? He didn't do anything!" the old woman shouted, attracting the attention of the surrounding crowd.
   "Ma'am, please calm down," Arlo urged, his voice soft but firm. "Maybe he didn't, but that bus was used in a robbery. You can request an attorney if you want. You can come with us if you want."
   Luna escorted the old man into her car, while Arlo guided the distraught woman into the minibus, and the convoy made its way back to the station.
   Back at the station, Arlo delivered his report to the superintendent.
   The old man was placed in a sterile interrogation room, the air buzzing with tension.
   "Sir," the interrogator began, taking his seat across from the suspect. "We both know the state is not in a good condition because of the robbery incident. You will need to answer every question I ask."
   "I'm not answering a single question until my lawyer arrives," the old man declared, his voice surprisingly firm.
   "Maybe you still don't understand the gravity of the situation. The main bank was robbed just after the other branches transported millions of cash there, and your crazy minibus did it," the interrogator barked, shoving a tablet displaying an image of the minibus in front of the old man. "And you want me to sit here and wait until your lawyer arrives."
   "Hmph, young men this day, they have no respect for old age," the old man muttered, turning his gaze to the door as it swung open.
   A young man, impeccably dressed in a black suit and a sleek overcoat, strode into the room.
   "Speak of the devil," the interrogator muttered. "Can I start questioning now?"
   "Not before I have a word with him in private," the old man replied, a flicker of a smile playing on his lips.
   "Tch, annoying old man," the investigator mumbled as he stormed out of the room, leaving the two men alone.
   "Mr. Gardener, thank you for coming so quickly," the old man said, extending his hand.
   "No need to thank me, Mr. Smith," the attorney replied, taking his seat.
   "It seems like everyone in this station is having a bad day," Mr. Smith observed.
   "Yeah, I heard the superintendent is putting a lot of pressure on them to find results. So, what's your case with the police?" Mr. Gardener asked.
   "They claim someone used my vehicle for an illegal operation," Mr. Smith stated.
   "By illegal operation, you mean the bank robbery, right?" Mr. Gardener clarified.
   "According to them, yes."
   "Did you lend the vehicle to someone?"
   "Come on, you know there's no one to lend it to. All my kids are in the US," Mr. Smith replied.
   "You need to think harder. Perhaps a neighbor? Or some other close acquaintance."
   "I can't think of anyone."
   "Has the vehicle been working properly lately?"
   "Yes, nothing's wrong with it."
   "That means no one tampered with your wire in order to steal it for the operation and then returned it back just to clear suspicion."
   "Of course not, but I do recall renting it out," Mr. Smith said as he tried to recall what might have transpired.
   "When was that?"
   "Early this week, maybe on Monday or Tuesday. Some boys came to me and requested to rent it for two hundred dollars just for an hour or two," Mr. Smith explained, coughing a few times. "I couldn't resist the offer, so I gave in. I guess they were the bad gang."
   "(Sighs) You're telling me you rented out your minibus to a bunch of strangers just because you needed money." Mr. Gardener summarized.
   "Will I go to prison?"
   "No, not at your age. But you'd definitely be punished if there's no proof that you're not an accomplice. So, was there a written agreement?"
   "I didn't think it was important."
   "Hmmm. Was it a cash payment or a bank transfer?"
   "It was a cash payment."
   "These people really don't leave any clues. Did you deposit the money into the bank?"
   "Yes, why?"
   "Before I tell you why, what's your average deposit since the opening of your store?"
   "Twenty to forty dollars."
   "In other words, that was the first time you deposited such a high amount." The lawyer assumed. "Well, if you can show them your credit alert, they might compromise."
   "Credit alert? I deleted it. I wanted to surprise my wife with something big on her upcoming birthday, so I deleted it so she wouldn't know I had so much."
........
...