Chapter 27: Armstrong's Move - Part 1
Wednesday, November 7, 2018 - Ralph's Grocery, 6:47 PM
I needed milk. That's it. Simple errand after shift.
The grocery store sat three blocks from Mid-Wilshire, the kind of place cops stopped for quick runs between calls. Fluorescent lights, tired produce, checkout lines that moved like molasses.
I grabbed a cart, headed for dairy. Mind half on the shopping list, half on tomorrow's shift schedule. Emma had texted about dinner Friday—I needed to confirm.
Then I saw him.
Armstrong. Aisle seven, near the canned goods. Not shopping. Meeting someone.
My danger sense pulsed. Low-level. Not immediate threat. Just wrong.
I stopped, pretended to examine pasta boxes. Close enough to observe. Far enough to stay invisible.
The other man: Latino, mid-thirties, leather jacket, gold chain visible at his neck. My recall activated automatically—face match from arrest reports. Carlos Rivera. Gang affiliate. Arrested six weeks ago for weapon possession. Released on bail.
Why is Armstrong meeting with someone we arrested?
They talked quietly. Armstrong glanced around—I ducked behind the endcap. When I looked again, Armstrong was handing over a manila envelope. Carlos took it, nodded once, walked away.
The whole exchange took forty seconds.
Armstrong stayed behind, picked up a can of soup, examined it like he'd been shopping all along.
My heart hammered. My danger sense maintained its low warning. Document everything.
Time: 6:47 PM. Location: Ralph's, Manchester Avenue. Armstrong: off-duty casual clothes, jeans and polo. Carlos: leather jacket, dark jeans, work boots. Envelope: standard 9x12 manila, sealed. Carlos's car: dark blue Honda Civic, partial plate visible through the window—8TG...
Too far to get full plate. Too far for lie detection to work. But enough for documentation.
I left my cart, headed for the exit. Fast but not running. Normal shopper who forgot something.
Behind me, Armstrong called out. "Mercer?"
Shit.
I turned. Smiled. Casual. "Hey, Armstrong. Didn't see you there."
"Doing some shopping?" He walked over, soup can still in hand.
"Yeah. Quick run." My danger sense maintained its warning. Stay calm. "You?"
"Same. Bachelor life." He gestured at the can. "You heading out already?"
"Forgot my wallet in the car. You know how it is."
His smile was friendly. His eyes weren't.
"See you at the station."
"Yeah. See you."
I left. Didn't run. Walked to my car, got in, drove three blocks before pulling over.
My hands shook on the steering wheel.
He knows. He knows I saw him.
Home - 7:23 PM
The encrypted file sat on my laptop. I'd been building it for weeks—dates, times, observations. Nothing concrete. Just suspicious patterns.
This was different.
November 7, 2018, 18:47 - Ralph's Grocery, Manchester Ave. Armstrong met with Carlos Rivera (gang affiliate, arrested 10/15/18, weapon possession, released on bail). Handed over manila envelope, 9x12, contents unknown. Exchange lasted approximately 40 seconds. Armstrong aware of my presence—initiated conversation post-exchange.
I added Carlos's partial plate, physical description, everything my recall had captured.
Should I tell someone?
Lopez. She was sharp, trusted me. She'd investigate.
But what would I say? I've been watching Armstrong for weeks because I have meta-knowledge from a TV show I watched in my previous life?
Or: My danger sense says he's dirty?
One meeting wasn't proof. Could be innocent. Maybe Carlos was an informant. Maybe the envelope contained case files. Armstrong was a detective—he had legitimate reasons to meet with known criminals.
Except my danger sense fired. Except his smile didn't match his eyes. Except he's the guy who kills Captain Andersen in canon.
But I couldn't prove that last part. Couldn't explain how I knew.
I saved the file. Kept watching. Kept documenting.
Armstrong's smart. He knows I saw him. He's testing to see what I'll do.
If I report it and he's clean, I look paranoid. If I stay silent, he knows I'm watching but not reporting.
Either way, the game just changed.
Thursday, November 8, 2018 - Mid-Wilshire Station, Morning Briefing
Armstrong sat three rows ahead. Laughing at something another detective said. Normal. Friendly.
My danger sense pulsed whenever I looked at him.
Not immediate threat. Just dangerous person. Predator wearing a badge.
Grey ran through assignments. Standard patrol rotations. Nothing unusual.
"Mercer, you're with Bradford today. Chen, you're riding with Lopez for cross-training."
Tim nodded once. I gathered my gear.
Armstrong caught me in the hallway after briefing.
"Hey, Mercer. Saw you at Ralph's last night."
Here it comes.
"Yeah, I saw you too. Forgot to say hi—realized I'd left my wallet in the car."
"Right. Dinner plans, you said."
I said that yesterday. He's reminding me he remembers.
"Date night." I smiled. Casual. "Can't show up to a date broke."
"Doctor girlfriend, right? Shaw?" He'd done homework. "Good for you. She seems solid."
He knows about Emma. He's letting me know he knows.
My danger sense intensified. Not physical threat. Intimidation. Warning.
"Thanks. Yeah, she's great."
"Don't let me keep you. Bradford hates when boots are late."
He walked away. Friendly. Professional.
Every instinct screamed danger.
Tim's Shop - 10:34 AM
"You're distracted," Tim said.
"Sorry."
"What's going on?"
Armstrong's dirty, I've been watching him for months, he knows I saw him meeting a gang member, and I can't tell you because you'll ask how I knew to watch him in the first place.
"Just tired. Didn't sleep well."
Tim's look said he didn't believe me. But he didn't push.
"Focus. Your head's not in the game, people get hurt."
"I know. I'm good."
Traffic stop. Routine. My danger sense stayed quiet—no actual threat. Just residual anxiety from Armstrong.
I need to tell someone. Build a case. Get him off the street before he hurts Andersen.
But how? Without revealing foreknowledge? Without exposing my surveillance?
Time. I need time to build evidence he can't explain away.
Evening - Ethan's House, 8:17 PM
I texted Nolan: Can you come over? Need to talk.
He arrived ten minutes later, concerned.
"What's wrong?"
I pulled up my laptop. Showed him the encrypted file location. Didn't open it.
"If something happens to me, there's a file here. Password is your address—house number and street name, no spaces."
Nolan's face went pale. "Ethan, what—"
"Probably nothing. Just being careful. The file has information that needs to get to Lopez if I can't give it to her myself."
"You're scaring me."
"I'm being paranoid. It's fine. Just—insurance. Okay?"
He studied me. "This is about a case?"
"Yeah. Something I'm working on. Off the books."
"Does Tim know?"
"No. And he can't. Not yet."
Nolan sat heavily. "You're investigating another cop."
Damn. He's sharp.
"I can't confirm that."
"You just did. By not denying it." He ran his hands through his hair. "Ethan, if you're going after a dirty cop, you need backup. You need official channels."
"I don't have proof yet. Just suspicion. And if I'm wrong, I ruin someone's career."
"And if you're right and you're alone, you get hurt."
"That's why you have the file. If something happens, Lopez will know what to do with it."
"I hate this."
"Me too."
He stood to leave, paused at the door. "Emma knows?"
"No. And she can't."
"You're protecting everyone except yourself."
"That's the job."
"No. The job is teamwork. You're isolating." He squeezed my shoulder. "Whatever this is, be careful. Because you're my best friend and I'm not ready to deliver that file to Lopez."
After he left, I sat in the too-big house, staring at the encrypted file.
Armstrong made his move. Now he knows I'm watching.
This is chess now. And I'm playing against someone with decades of experience.
My phone buzzed. Emma: Still on for Friday?
Absolutely. Can't wait.
Good. You sound stressed in your texts. Everything okay?
Work stuff. I'll tell you about it Friday.
Be safe, Officer Mercer.
Always.
I closed the laptop. Armstrong's game was starting.
But so was mine.
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