littlepriest: (★ ᴛᴇɴ)
Detective Rustin Cohle ([personal profile] littlepriest) wrote in [community profile] herbgarden 2017-02-27 04:16 pm (UTC)

Fuck's sake. For a group of drug-hustling criminals that make up a stable majority of the dealing business this side of Texas, these assholes sure are unprofessional.

That's kind of the idea though, isn't it? Rebel life. No rules -- or at least, no rules that can't be broken. These are the board meetings: in run down trailer homes, mold climbing the walls, flies buzzing around instead of interns with coffee. Rolled up dollar bills in place of pens, trays of cocaine for paper documents.

Crash sits in this rank mobile home for three hours total in a haze, after a sleepless four day binge of traveling, meet ups, information collecting, and more traveling. Building a Louisiana connection with dealers and suppliers, taking this shit into federal territory, this could be a huge bust. There's even rumors of human trafficking in connection, but it's hard to say if they're just bluffing to impress them.

Everything had been going just as planned, waiting on this connection's ring leader to show the fuck up -- until an hour in when someone gets just a little too impatient, hopped up on crystal, and fires his goddamn gun.

It was hard enough to convince them not to call the deal off, but they already got the crystal here with head honcho on his way, and Crash had pistol-whipped his side man, Toad, back into submission. Don't fuck this up.

Too late, though. Two hours later and there's a banging on the door, a commotion that their long distance connection didn't fucking think to check before opening the door. Funny how that guy got away.

Crash is uncannily calm as the reality hits: they're caught. Naturally, being undercover, he has only minor concerns for keeping up the continuity of his cover. Too bad the same can't be said for Toad.

"Fuck man, this shit was rigged," Toad barks from the kitchen as handcuffs snap around his wrists. Crash calmly shuts his eyes as the officer behind him speaks, intrigued by the unnecessary remark.

He waits until he can turn around, staring into the shorter officer's eyes from his downward gaze, drawing in the shapes and the movements he sees in the man's face. "Are you?"

Broussard can be heard just over Toad's string of curses at them: "do y'all not understand 'the right to remain silent'?"

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