Page 37 of Cat and Mouse

"Hey, we did good tonight."

"Yeah, I guess," I mutter, reaching for my keys.

"You know this isn't over, right?" His expression is serious as he looks at me. "The Phantom. He'll make a mistake. They always do. And when he does, we'll be ready."

I nod, but the words don't really hit. They're just words. Empty promises. I'm not sure when the Phantom will make his move or if he even will again. For now, it's all just a waiting game.

And I fucking hate waiting.

The next day, I walk into the station, exhausted and on edge.

"Detective Kane, Captain Harris wants to see you in his office," a voice calls out from across the room. Great. Just what I need.

I push through the glass door, stepping into the familiar cramped space. Harris is sitting behind his cluttered desk, looking more serious than usual. The tension in the air is thick, something's off. He looks up at me and says, "Shut off your radio."

"What?" I frown, confusion etching its way onto my face.

"Just shut it off. This can't leave this room, Kane," he repeats, eyes dark and focused.

I do as he says, switching off the radio clipped to my belt. My heart ticks a little faster as I take a seat. "What's going on?"

He leans forward, elbows on the desk. "We caught someone last night. A drug dealer, low-level guy. But... there's something different about him."

"Different how?" I ask, leaning forward slightly. I'm suddenly more alert, curious.

Harris taps his fingers on the desk. "He was caught in the middle of a cartel deal. Big players. But this guy… he doesn't belong. He's small-time. Doesn't make sense why he was there."

I narrow my eyes. "Has he been questioned?"

He nods slowly. "Yeah. Won't talk to anyone except you."

"What?" That catches me off guard, and I almost laugh. "Why me?"

"I don't know, but he's adamant. Says you're the only one he'll speak to." Harris rubs his face like he's as confused as I am.

"Do you think it has something to do with the Phantom?" I ask, my stomach twisting. That name never stops digging into me.

"Maybe," Harris shrugs, but the look in his eyes says he's leaning toward "yes."

I sigh, pushing my hair out of my face. "Alright. Let's talk to him."

We walk to the interrogation room together. The lights in the hallway flicker as we pass, casting shadows along the walls. It's fitting—this whole case feels like walking through darkness, groping for something solid. When we reach the room, I spot the guy through the window.

He's scrawny, dark hair slicked back, wearing a dirty white tank top and jeans. His skin is a little too pale, probably from sitting in the cell all night. Miguel—his file says that's his name.

I push the door open and step inside. He looks up from the table as I enter, eyes darting around nervously. There's a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"I'm Detective Kane. You wanted to talk to me?" I say, keeping my voice calm but direct.

Miguel looks past me, straight at Harris, then back at me. "Only you. Alone," he says in a thick Mexican accent, his voice shaky but firm.

"Not happening," I say, crossing my arms over my chest. "This isn't some back-alley deal. You talk with both of us here."

He shakes his head, eyes wide. "No. No. You don't understand. It's not safe. I need to talk to you alone. Just you."

Captain Harris cuts in, his tone hard. "Look, you're not calling the shots here. You can cooperate, or we can toss your ass back into holding. You might even get a shot at working as a CI. But if you keep this up, you get nothing."

Miguel shakes his head even faster, his eyes wide with desperation. "I want immunity. I want out. I want a new life, far away. Only then I'll talk."

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