“There’s still half an hour to the supposed time of attack,” Devon said curtly. 

Taylor frowned, digesting the gravity of the situation. Then, he heard footsteps.

“Man, that shit was good food,” Jefferson emerged from the corridor. “We’re back.”

“Where’s Deborah?” Devon asked with urgency.

“Smith and Sanders are still parking their car,” he said to Taylor and Devon, still floating in the calm before the storm.

“Now we know what a property investor’s supper is like.” Williamson followed behind him. “It’s a pity you didn’t come.

“Nevermind, we still have enough for another hundred of those lobsters,” Jefferson added.

“I don’t think I can have this shit every day,” Williamson complained. “Hell, even once a week! We are too rich for our own good.” He broke down chuckling. “Matt, you should have been there.

“Yeah, that can wait,” Taylor said gravely.

Taylor and Devon leapt at them and showed them all that they had received and analysed. Unsurprisingly, the four of them were just as startled. Their smiles faded. Fear was now brooding throughout the room. 

“Now that I think of it, why would Vance warn us of this?” Devon asked Taylor. 

“It seems like a huge risk,” Jefferson said in agreement. “He’s in some pretty deep shit himself.” He pointed at the screen. Vance was still on the ground in the footage. “Why would he worry about us enough to leak this?”

“He’s done his calculations,” Taylor asserted.

“He’s defying them to help us,” Williamson said. “That would break his partnership with them!”

“A hard choice. But a risk he’s willing to take,” Taylor answered, beginning to pace about the room. Even as he replied with certainty, the uncertainty of all this was getting to him.

“Why?” Jefferson asked.

“We’re more useful to him than they are. I mean, who is more valuable? They are disposable. We aren’t.”

“Because they were idiotic enough to have left Walt Lawyer alive?” Jefferson asked.

“We certainly are more effective. I mean, by professional standards,” Williamson suggested snidely.

“Not just that,” Taylor explained seriously. “For a small fee, we keep his income flow secure. As for sources of income, he can always find others. There are many street gangs, many meth producers, but only one police force—and one unit to protect them from prosecution.”

“Right, right,” Devon agreed. “For now, as long as we are still of use to him, it’s in his interest to protect us from their shenanigans, insofar as he is able to get his information.”

“Alright. But why does the gang want us dead?” Taylor now wondered, still unable to dispel that sense of scepticism in him. “What good will it do for the rest of the gang?” It would indeed be a strange thing for 1564 to do. To look a gift horse in the mouth. To punch a gift horse in the jaw. 

“Well, they won’t have us poking our noses into their business,” Jefferson guessed.

“But The Hangman knows we won’t do that!” Williamson said.

“Perhaps not us,” Jefferson laughed with an air of sarcasm. “But there are those who care enough to do that. People with actual good hearts and a sense of justice, I mean. There’s always Team C.”

“Ah.” Williamson entertained the idea. “Nice men like Sergeant Adams. They can’t be brought under control. They can’t be tamed.”

But something still bugged Taylor. “Is it worth a mass hit?” he asked Devon and the other two. “Besides, we saved their people’s asses twice. Just why are they turning on us?”

“Those people know we know what dirty things they’ve done,” Jefferson said. “They might be trying to erase all evidence of their crimes.”

“I’m not sure that’s very sensible of them,” Taylor replied. “But then again, I don’t know what those meth heads have going on in their minds. If they have any.” 

Taylor glanced at the screen again. Vance had certainly sent this. “In any case,” he said, “us and the gang—we’ve only made agreements with Vance. We’ve not made agreements with each other. I bet they don’t mind getting rid of all of us. Once Vance is in charge, we’re the only thing preventing them from having control over the city.”

“At the very least, Vance thinks the gang wants us dead,” Devon said. “But who is ‘us’ anyway? They really want our whole subdivision in Vine Creek dead? I don’t believe they have the capacity to do that.”

Taylor stroked his chin with some anxiety. “They might have a card up their sleeve we’re unaware of.”

“You’re right,” Jefferson said. “So we need to strike those bastards preemptively. With you on our side, we can practically slaughter them.” The rest nodded enthusiastically.

Matthew Taylor clutched his first and gritted his teeth. He had his own card up his sleeve. He would play it if necessary.

“It’s 15 minutes to midnight,” Williamson reminded them. “How preemptive can the strike be? It’s not like we can blow up the base. At most, we can defend ourselves preemptively.”

“Where do you think the least expected of places is?” Devon asked. “For someone trying to help, Vance isn’t the most specific.”

“Where would it be stupidest to launch an attack on the police? Where would we be the most protected and least vulnerable?” Taylor ran through the criteria aloud. He frowned at his own thoughts. “I don’t like the idea, but…it has to be right here.”

At that instant, Devon stood up from his seat, slamming his table. “Outside! Behind you!”

Taylor turned around. All of them stumbled back at the sight.

A shadowy figure stood at either end of the roof of the factory building opposite the police headquarters. Both wore headbands embossed with the numbers ‘1564’. 

One wore a black garb and a hood which totally obstructed its face. It was holding up a pair of binoculars to survey the vicinity. The other held what appeared to be a sniper rifle in its hand, pacing about. Then, two more figures arose between the first two. A tall, slender one, and a larger, stouter one, both holding pistols aimed at their building.

They had arrived.