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Chapter 243 — The Raid
🕑 Added 2025-11-05 16:32:00 +0000 UTCOnly three agents from the FBI showed up; the muscle for the arrest was all LAPD. No one thought taking down an unlicensed doctor would pose any danger — the only real concern was whether they could also seize that missing bag of dirty cash.
Still, this was a Black neighborhood. Nobody was dumb enough to just walk in with a warrant and no gun. Everyone came armed, because “unexpected accidents” were practically guaranteed here.
The show of force wasn’t because the target was dangerous — it was because the area was a maze of back alleys and blind corners. Completely sealing it off required manpower. And, of course, no one wanted to let those six hundred thousand do— ahem —let the suspect slip away.
At the field commander’s order over the radio, the assault team moved in. Even the two FBI agents — aside from their supervisor — followed at the back of the line instead of waiting safely outside.
They wore ballistic vests labeled POLICE or FBI, moving single-file into the alley.
At the far end, just as described in the reports, the clinic sat behind a half-lowered steel shutter spray-painted with the graffiti tag: Tinkerer .
Even if the target wasn’t expected to be violent, the team followed proper CQB procedure — taking cover at angles instead of lining up in front of the door like idiots in a movie.
Once everyone was in position, two officers flanking the shutter gave a quick tap on the point man’s shoulders — the silent signal. Together they heaved the door up in one swift motion.
Another officer stepped forward with a breaching hammer, smashing through the inner partition.
“Police! Nobody move!” the team shouted as they surged into the room.
What they found inside froze everyone in place — not a gang of criminals, not a rogue surgeon — but a handful of Black kids, barely into their teens.
Some were sprawled asleep on the floor or the bed; a few were awake, sitting on the couch in front of an old TV, taking turns playing Super Mario World on a Super Nintendo.
The oldest of them might have just graduated elementary school. The room contained nothing but the TV, the console, empty pizza boxes, and soda bottles. No weed, no cigarettes, nothing illegal — not even a lighter.
The cops and agents alike were dumbstruck. The kids, staring down a dozen drawn guns, trembled so hard their knees knocked together.
One boy who’d just woken up blinked at the sight, rubbed his eyes — then a sharp ammonia stench filled the room. Someone had wet themselves.
“Tucker! What the hell are you doing here? Why aren’t you at home?!” a Black officer suddenly roared from the back of the group, recognizing one of the kids.
A boy shrank into himself like a quail trying to disappear, but was quickly yanked upright. “Dad… this is Liv’s secret base! We just came here to play games!”
“You’ve been here since morning?”
“I… I slept here last night.”
“What? You didn’t come home?”
“Mom knew I was staying at Liv’s place! Just… not his house, this place instead.”
The boy named Liv froze as every head turned toward him.
“I didn’t hear about this!” the father shouted, veins bulging.
His son, summoning the courage only a scared child could muster, shot back, “You didn’t come home last night either! How was I supposed to tell you?”
That hit hard.
The arrest of Andrew Saxon’s crime syndicate — nearly a hundred men in total — had every cop and agent in the city drowning in paperwork. They’d been recording confessions, guarding prisoners, escorting Saxon to medical care… no one had gotten a full night’s sleep.
So how could this officer go home and scold his kid? He’d been chained to his desk like everyone else, grinding through the aftermath.
The raid commander, keeping his composure, barked, “Check the whole building! Stay alert!” Then holstered his weapon and approached the oldest boy, asking evenly, “Just you kids here?”
The boy nodded nervously. “Yes, sir. Only us.”
“No adults been around?”
“Um… just the pizza guy. He was an adult.”
“Anyone else come and go?” The commander’s gaze sharpened.
“Yes, sir — Mike, Shawn, Alan…” the boy rattled off several names without hesitation, apparently unaware that not snitching was a thing.
The commander’s headache grew by the syllable. “And who are these people?”
“Our classmates. Some from the same class, some from the same school. But I know them all.”
“Which school?”
“Asperko Elementary, sir.”
Total cooperation. He had to give them that.
Meanwhile, the search teams returned from the back rooms — all clear. They holstered their weapons, exchanging disappointed looks. Nothing. No doctor, no cash, no crime scene.
The LAPD team leader and the two FBI agents shared a long, silent glance. This entire operation had just turned into a very expensive field trip.
Then, a small, shaking voice piped up: “S-sir… are you gonna arrest us?”
Could they? Sure. Should they? Hell no. The station was already a zoo — a hundred criminals processed and waiting. Bringing in a dozen kids on top of that? Not a chance.
The commander crouched slightly and said in his most serious tone, “That depends on you, son. Tell me — whose place is this?”
“L-Liv’s,” several kids blurted at once, immediately turning on their friend.
The poor kid wilted under their stares. “Sir, it’s my uncle’s place,” he confessed. “He said it’s empty and we could hang out here.”
“Then where’d you get these?” The officer pointed at the TV and the console — far beyond what most of these kids could afford.
One boy quickly raised his hand. “The TV’s my dad’s old one — we got a new one at home.”
Another said, “The game system’s mine. My dad bought it.”
Their clothes were clean and decent — upper-middle-class kids by the look of them. Theft seemed unlikely.
“Fine,” the commander said. “Then the pizza and soda — who paid for those?”
“My allowance…” “I chipped in.” “Me too…” They raised their hands reluctantly, faces full of guilt.
Before the commander could reply, the radio on his shoulder crackled:
> “Command to entry team. Did you apprehend the suspect? Report, over.”
The commander looked around the trashed room — the children, the video game on pause, the smell of cold pizza and fear — and rubbed his temples.
Yeah. This was going to be a fun one to explain.
