“This is a terrible idea.” Calligan whispered to McCullough as they hunkered in the shadows. Surrounding them were the silhouettes of massive rail cars and mechanical clutter, that were commonplace in most railyards. Though, that wasn’t the only thing that was common for such venues, especially at night.

Two vehicles, as black as the night, sat idling in the yard. Around it stood half a dozen men, each one puffing idly on his choice of tobacco. The shortest of them reclined easily on the front of one of the cars, clutching a briefcase in one hand. Another man approached them apprehensively, clutching a briefcase of his own.

“This was your idea. You’re the one who decided we should try to be fancy and infiltrate the Syndicate’s drug operation, so that we can hunt down the drugs used in the murders.” McCullough replied, staring out from their vantage point. “But you have to admit it’s risky, and I just hope they don’t try a double cross.”

“We have so many officers waiting to pounce, he wouldn’t dare try to double cross us.” Calligan retorted. “Every dealer has a supplier, and the supplier’s in this town have connections. Especially if they have a Boston accent, and I know our dealer does. Besides, it took us a week to get this together; there’s no backing out now.”

“I’m not worried about him double crossing us. We were lucky enough to find that guy already in the station. All he has to do is fake like we’re making a deal, and then we’ll call in the cavalry to clean things up. And it’s that last part that worries me.”

Calligan nodded. “Well, if something does go wrong and we have to start shooting, we only need one of the suppliers alive. That’s all it takes to start climbing the chain and find out who’s behind the Syndicate. As for anyone else, they may need to get their priorities straight before we have to straighten them out ourselves.”

Having finished their exchange, the two detectives turned their attention back to the task at hand. The dealer, having made his way to the other men, appeared to be making conversation with them, but the detectives were too far away to hear what was being said. Calligan began to inch forward, but stopped himself as all of the figures suddenly tensed. He saw several reach inside their coats, grabbing what Calligan knew to be their guns.

Bewildered, Calligan scanned the yard, searching for a source of alarm, even checking himself to be sure that he hadn’t accidentally betrayed their position. It was then that he became alerted to a low rumbling sound slowly approaching and the light of four headlights breaking onto the yard.

“Those aren’t ours are they?” Calligan asked McCullough as he withdrew his gun. “If they are, then they’re blowing this whole operation.”

It was then that a gunshot rang out, and they watched as the dealer slumped to the ground. Then, more shots began to fire as the men began to exchange with the newcomers.

“Remember, we only need one.” McCullough said calmly, and they charged into the fray. To their disappointment, the battle was over before they arrived. Uniformed police officers swarmed the scene, checking any identification and hurriedly carrying the bodies away.

“Who’s in charge here?” Calligan asked a pair of officers as they grabbed a body and began to pick it up.

“Sergeant Fredericks, right over there.” One of them said, pointing to a tall man with stripes on his uniform.

McCullough shook his head. “I think you misunderstood his question.” He responded, flatly. “He asked you who’s in charge here.”

The officer looked at him, confused.

McCullough sighed, before suddenly letting loose on the unfortunate officer. “I’m detective McCullough and this is detective Calligan, and this was our operation you just wrecked. Look at all these bodies, are any of them moving? Because at least one of them was supposed to be when everything was said and done with. Now put that body down and wait for the coroner like you know a little bit about protocol. Unless you want to keep making yourself seem like a traitor who’s in the pocket of the Donahues!”

McCullough’s shouting caught the attention of the Sergeant, who made his way over to the detectives.

“What seems to be the problem here?” He inquired in a stuffy voice. His face was long, with the jowls of an often worn frown and a wispy moustache.

“What’s the problem here?” McCullough sneered. “You ruined all of our work, and you have the guts to ask us what the problem is.”

“What are you talking about?” He returned.

“No one gave you the signal. Why did you move in?”

The police officer gave a look of surprise at this. “The signal was a police whistle, correct? I know I heard one, didn’t everyone else?”

He glanced around inquisitively, and all the nearby officers nodded their agreement.

“See?” He said snidely, “And that’s why we went in.”

McCullough scowled, unconvinced. “Really, you heard a whistle? It must’ve just been the wind between your ears, because I didn’t blow one.”

“Then I guess it was all a mistake.”

McCullough was on the Sergeant in an instant. Howling with rage he slammed his fists into him again and again, and it took Calligan and four officers to pull him off. By that point the damage was done, his mouth was already bleeding and his face was beginning to swell.

“What was that Mac?” Calligan inquired, stunned by the sudden ruthlessness of McCullough’s behavior.

“I guess it was a mistake.” He muttered. “Or maybe a lesson not to pull this kind of stunt again. Come on Calligan, let’s go. You can come too, Sarge, if you want to learn how to do things right.”