It was a sunny morning in Los Angeles, the sun was high in the sky, the temperature was over 100 degrees. The beaches of Santa Monica were already crowded, and the sound of car horns could be heard as cars lined up at the traffic lights - in short, it was a typical June Thursday in California. Lucas Jackson woke up as he did every morning in his loft on Ocean Ave, where he began his day with a run around the block. Immediately after a cold, invigorating shower, he prepared his favorite breakfast: bacon, eggs, and homemade orange juice.

He put on his usual white T-shirt and his favorite black jeans and walked to his car. It was a sports car, metallic gray. He opened the car's glove compartment and pulled out his shiny badge: LAPD, it was engraved on it, tucked it into his jeans, and set off at a brisk pace for his destination. Before going on the force, Lucas drove to West Los Angeles, where Tyrell Barbershop was located, and like any self-respecting African American in LA, he got a haircut at Tyrell's. He walked past the old-fashioned barbershop sign, still photos in the window of the bar's opening in 1989, the door opened, the bell rang in the room. Tyrell was there talking to his neighborhood friends

"Look who's here," Tyrell said with a smile.

"How are you, old man?" asked Lucas, hugging him.

"You know, those bastards from the Council are always trying to send me away, but they know very well that I will die in here," he said, chuckling, then continued, "so how are we doing today?" he asked, referring to his hair

"As usual," Lucas replied.

Tyrell wrapped the black cape around Lucas' neck and shaded his short black hair, ran the razor blade through to remove the unwanted hair, and in no time his hair was done, he got back in his car and drove all the way to Culver City, a well known neighborhood in LA where the police station was located, waiting for him was his partner: Jack Salters, a young man with light hair and a neatly trimmed beard, was a sunny and loyal fellow; he had been partnered with Jackson two years earlier when his previous partner retired; since then they had solved numerous cases, including one that earned him the Medal of Honor.

The two of them went to Sergeant Jennifer Hodkins' office as usual to be assigned a new case after successfully solving the previous one. Sergeant Hodkins was very fiscal and always careful with the rules, always wore her hair tied back and had been in charge of the district for three years now. In fact she was the only sergeant in charge of a district since you had to be a captain to run a division. She was sitting at her desk reading a report

"Hello, Sergeant," Salters said, sipping his cappuccino

"Detective," Hodkins replied "Have you got a new case for us?" asked Lucas 

"Actually, yes," Hodkins admitted "We just got a call from headquarters, it's a big case," he continued

"Great," Jack said overjoyed 

"I wanted my best detectives on the case," the sergeant flattered them

"What's the case?" asked Jackson 

"It's about the murder of two Mexican cartel men, they were found in a parking lot on Ince Boulevard" Hodkins announced "Forensics is already on the scene, oh, I forgot to tell you ...... the FBI will be working with you," he added

"Then it's a really big case," Lucas concluded. 

The two got into their cars and drove to the parking lot on Ince Boulevard. When they arrived, they found the police barricade and the forensic team processing the scene. The parking lot was in front of a school and had been cleared because of the incident. The officer on the case gave all the information to the two investigators

"It's Juan and Tito Ruiz, they both died of exsanguination, it looks like they were left here on purpose," the officer announced

"What a bad way to go" Salters said, taking off his sunglasses.

"It looks like they were tortured before they died" Jackson suggested, "did you find any fingerprints?" he then asked

"None, it looks like they were wiped clean, maybe with bleach," he said

"Okay, we need to talk to forensics," Lucas said

"He's already talking to us, that fed over there," the agent said, pointing to a man in a matte blue tunic with FBI initials in yellow. The two approached the federal agent, but when they looked closer, he had a familiar face to Lucas.

"I don't believe it, Alex McClaine," Jackson said in surprise

"Small world," Alex said.

Alex McClaine wore a white shirt and jeans under the FBI tunic, had short curly hair, was quite muscular and very focused. He was an old acquaintance of Lucas's; the two did not get along very well because of something that happened when they were young.

"Apparently we're supposed to be working together" Alex said smiling

"Forget it, man, I'm not working with you," Lucas confirmed

"Come on, it's still about that story, it's been almost twenty years" McClaine admitted

Salters took his partner aside and said: "Look, man, I know you and the handsome agent have a history, but this case is too hot to screw up" 

"You're right, buddy," Lucas apologized, so the two reluctantly went back to work with the FBI.

The agents decided to cooperate, and together he asked the CSI, details about the murder

"There are signs of torture, electric shock and more on the body, it seems they wanted to get information" admitted the coroner.

"They look like professionals," McClaine suggested

"I agree, they left no trace, no petty criminal would be capable of that" Salters agreed 

"This case seems more complicated than expected" Lucas said

"Fortunately, we found tattoos linking them to the Nuevas Mexico cartel" the medical examiner added 

"You're thinking what I'm thinking" Lucas said, turning to his friend.

"Of course, brother," Salters nodded.

The two of them had an informant who knew the ring well, so they knew their next move: talk to Tony Gonzalez. The FBI agent went along with the two detectives' plan, and they headed to the Recida neighborhood, a working-class, somewhat run-down area. The informant lived in a small studio apartment on the ground floor of an apartment building; the three knocked on the rickety wooden door. A man dressed in a yellowed tank top and an open beige shirt, with a shaved head and numerous tattoos up and down his body opened it for them

"Hey guys, what brings you to Recida?" he said in a friendly tone

"Not much, you know, we were bored at the station," Salters said wryly

"We need to ask you a few questions" Jackson announced hurriedly, he was quite anxious to finish the case and never have to see Alex again.

"I'm a little busy, we can make it quick," Gonzalez said secretly

"Do the names Juan and Tito Ruiz mean anything to you?" the federal agent said

"No," he replied dryly 

"Does Nuevas Mexico ring a bell?" Salter asked 

"Calm down, amigo," Tony said under his breath "You can't come in here and mention certain names. You're trying to get me killed," he continued

"What do you know?" insisted Lucas.

"I know these aren't people to mess with" Gonzalez said, checking to make sure no one was listening, "and I won't say anything else."

"You're on parole, right?" began Lucas "And am I wrong, or is owning a gun a violation?" he implied, alluding to the gun on Gonzalez's nightstand

"All right," he said, looking around conscientiously "Word on the street is that some guys, professionals, how you say? ...mercenaries, have been targeting the Nuevas Mexico cartel, apparently they have something that belongs to them," he added

"The plot thickens," McClaine said .

Suddenly, two black SUVs approached the house, the windows rolled down, and men with machine guns fired at the agents and the informant. The agents tried to find cover; Salters hid behind the couch, McClaine behind the kitchen island, and Lucas turned the table over and hid behind it. They also tried to respond to the gunfire, but after a few rounds, the SUVs were gone.

"Who the hell did that?" asked Salters from behind the couch.

"Let me guess, it was the mercenaries you were talking about" McClaine hinted, the three agents were unharmed, but when they looked for Tony, they found him on the edge of the doorway with two bullets in him, one through the shoulder and the other near the lung.

"What now?" asked Salters worriedly.

"He's dead" said Lucas, who noticed Tony's phone on the floor, picked it up and unlocked it with the now dead informant's fingerprint

"Man, you don't do that, a little respect" said Salters in displeasure

"He doesn't need it anymore anyway" said Lucas coldly. On the informant's phone, however, the three were able to find a call made to a cell phone number. All that remained was to trace that number. After their narrow escape, the officers went to the station. They spoke to the forensics unit and turned over the phone number, then each went to his or her car to return home.

"Hey Jack, you want to go get a drink?" Lucas asked his friend

"I would love to, man, but I have a date tonight, it will be for the next one," Salters said

So Lucas got into his car and drove back to his loft in Santa Monica, during the drive, watching the sunset over the beautiful California beaches. He began to think about how complex this case was and reflected on the many coincidences, including meeting Alex McClaine. As he parked, Lucas' phone suddenly rang: it was dispatch.

"Hello," Lucas said

 "Hey Jackson, I got a hit on that phone number" the forensics officer said

"Who is it?" Lucas asked curiously

 "Kenny Sanchez" he replied. Lucas quickly hung up the phone and got back in his car. He sped down the LA freeway to a hotel: the Sheraton Gran Los Angeles. Where the FBI agents who had come to LA to participate in the Nuevas Mexico case were staying. Among them was Alex McClaine. Lucas showed his badge at the front desk and motioned for Alex to come down to the lobby

"What's going on?" McClaine asked the detective

"They traced the phone" Lucas announced

"Well, you couldn't tell me tomorrow," Alex said ruefully "The phone belongs to Kenny Sanchez" he revealed. After a few moments of silence, McClaine replied, "Are you sure it's really him?""

Yes," he said.

"It just didn't work out," McClaine admitted dejectedly

"We have to go see him now," Lucas suggested, McClaine nodded, and reluctantly the two agents made their way to a club in the Manhattan Beach area: the Diablo.