Case Progression
"Alright, let's go over this again," Harrison said to Officer Rodriguez, who was perched on the edge of his desk, scrolling through a seemingly endless stream of social media posts on his tablet.
Rodriguez nodded, setting the device aside and flipping open a well-worn notebook. "We've got three victims: Cdai, Tato, and JX. Multiple gunshot wounds, high-caliber weapons. Crime scene was a mess - blood everywhere, shell casings scattered. Convenience store clerk heard the shots but didn't see much beyond some shadowy figures."
Harrison grunted, pulling up the surveillance footage they'd been over a hundred times on his computer. The grainy video showed indistinct figures moving in the darkness, but nothing clear enough to make a solid identification.
"And our person of interest?" Harrison asked, though he already knew the answer.
Rodriguez sighed, picking up a file from the cluttered desk. "Tyson Johnson, goes by T3, also known as TeeBaby or Demon Child. Close associate of Saaheem Valdery, otherwise known as Sahbabii. Witnesses placed him in the area before the shooting, possibly looking for Lil Reese."
Harrison nodded, pulling up T3's file on his computer. The young man's mugshot stared back at him, face covered in distinctive tattoos. "Let's bring him in again. Maybe he's had some time to reconsider his stance on cooperation."
Before they could move, Rodriguez's tablet pinged with a notification. "Hold up," he said, moving the screen towards Harrison. "Lets rewatch that Akademiks' video again."
"Now, let's break it down," Akademiks voice filled the office. "We all know Cdai was tight with Lil Reese, a major player in the Chicago drill scene. But here's where it gets interesting - earlier that same day, Arell's boy Kenny got shot. And guess who was spotted at the same place Kenny got hit? That's right, Cdai."
Harrison paused the video, turning to Rodriguez. "How the hell did he know about Kenny? We've kept that under wraps."
Rodriguez shrugged, his expression grim. "Streets talk. Akademiks has his sources."
They resumed the video, watching as Akademiks pulled up old photos of Arell and Cdai together, arms slung over each other's shoulders, laughing and looking carefree.
"Check this out," Akademiks said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "Arell and Cdai used to be tight. Same block, same crew. They rolled together, did dirt together. But now? Now they're on opposite sides of the gun. It's wild how things change."
As the video ended, Harrison sat back, his mind racing. "We need to look deeper into this Kenny angle."
Rodriguez nodded, already pulling up Kenny's file. "I'll get on it. What about T3? You think he'll crack this time?"
Harrison stood up, stretching his stiff muscles. "Let's find out. He's had a week to think things over. Maybe he's feeling more talkative today."
They made their way to the interrogation room, passing by the evidence board covered in photos, notes, and red string - a visual representation of their frustration.
T3 sat at the metal table, his face a mask of bored indifference. But Harrison could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes darted around the room.
"Alright, Tyson," Harrison began, taking a seat across from him. "Let's try this again. Where were you the night Courtney Ealy was killed?"
T3 leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Man, we been through this a hundred times. I don't know nothin' about that shit."
Harrison nodded, keeping his expression neutral. "Right, you said you were at your girlfriend's place. But see, we checked that out. Again. She still says she hasn't seen you in weeks."
T3 shrugged, his eyes never leaving Harrison's. "Maybe she forgot. We ain't that serious."
Rodriguez, who had been silently observing from the corner, stepped forward. "Come on, Tyson. We've got multiple witnesses placing you in the area that night. You were looking for Reese, weren't you?"
T3's expression didn't change, but Harrison noticed a slight tightening around his eyes. "I don't know what y'all talking about. I wasn't looking for nobody."
Harrison leaned forward, his voice low and intense. "Listen, Tyson. We know you were involved, at least peripherally. You help us out, maybe we can help you. But if you stay quiet, all this falls on you. You understand?"
For a moment, something flickered in T3's eyes - uncertainty, maybe even fear. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the same impassive stare.
"Man, I told y'all already. I don't know nothin' about no shooting. Y'all trying to pin this on me, but I ain't have nothin' to do with it."
Harrison sighed, changing tacks. "Alright, let's talk about Sahbabii then. You two are close, right?"
T3 nodded slightly. "Yeah, that's my boy. What about him?"
"We know he was in the area that night too," Rodriguez said, his tone casual. "You two hang out a lot. Must've been together that evening, right?"
T3's jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. "Nah, man. I told you, I was with my girl."
The interrogation continued for hours, a slow dance of questions and evasions. T3 remained steadfast in his denials, never wavering from his story despite the detectives' best efforts.
As the clock ticked past midnight, Harrison finally called it. "Alright, Tyson. We're done for now. But don't go far - we'll be talking again soon."
As T3 was led back to his cell, Harrison turned to Rodriguez, frustration evident in his voice. "He's not budging. Not even a little."
Rodriguez nodded, his own exhaustion showing. "Yeah, he's holding it down. Gotta respect the loyalty, even if it's misplaced."
They made their way back to their desks, the precinct eerily quiet in the early morning hours. Harrison pulled up the social media feeds they'd been monitoring, scrolling through a sea of tweets and Instagram posts.
One tweet caught his eye: "Damn, remember when Arell and Cdai was tight? Now look at 'em. Streets ain't loyal fr 😤 #RIPCdai"
Another post showed an old photo of Arell and Cdai together, captioned: "From brothers to opps. This game cold af 💯"
Harrison rubbed his eyes, the blue light of the screen burning his retinas. "It's all here, man. The history, the beef, the motive. But we can't prove any of it."
Rodriguez nodded, pulling up another file on his computer. "What about Arell Rose? Any progress there?"
Harrison shook his head, frustration evident in every line of his face. "Nothing we can pin on him. His alibi for that night is solid - security footage shows his car at his old apartment complex the whole time. And that manager of his, Geoffrey Rose, seems to have an answer for everything."
He pulled up Geoffrey's file, scanning through the information they'd gathered. "Remember that case he was involved in? Defending that scrapyard owned by the Mexican family suspected of cartel connections?"
Rodriguez nodded. "Yeah, he got the case thrown out, right? And now he runs the place himself."
"Exactly," Harrison said, leaning back in his chair. "It's convenient, isn't it? A scrapyard would be a perfect place to dispose of evidence."
Rodriguez's expression was grim. "Yeah, but it's all above board, far as we can tell. We've got nothing concrete to tie Arell or Geoffrey to the shooting."
Harrison sighed, closing the file on his desk. He stood up, walking over to the evidence board and staring at the web of connections they'd pieced together.
"We're missing something," he muttered, more to himself than to Rodriguez. "The pieces are all here, but they're not fitting together."
Rodriguez joined him at the board, his eyes scanning the photos and notes. "What about the weapons? Any luck tracing them?"
Harrison shook his head. "Still the same dead ends. Serial numbers filed off, no matches in the database."
They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the unsolved case hanging heavy in the air.
"Alright," Harrison said finally, turning back to his desk. "Let's go over the surveillance footage one more time. Maybe we missed something."
They spent the next few hours poring over the grainy video, frame by frame.
As the first rays of sunlight began to filter through the precinct windows, Harrison sat back, rubbing his tired eyes. "This is getting us nowhere," he said, frustration evident in his voice.
Rodriguez nodded, stifling a yawn. "Maybe we need to approach this from a different angle. What about Kenny? Have we dug deep enough into his shooting?"
Harrison pulled up Kenny's file, scanning through the information they'd gathered. "Hospital records show he was admitted with a gunshot wound to the leg the day before Cdai was killed. But he's been tight-lipped about what happened."
"And Arell visited him in the hospital," Rodriguez added, pointing to a note in the file. "But we couldn't get any security footage from inside. Hospital said their cameras were down for maintenance that day."
Harrison's eyes narrowed. "Convenient timing, don't you think?"
Rodriguez nodded, a spark of excitement in his tired eyes. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Yeah," Harrison said, already reaching for his phone. "Let's pay Kenny a visit."
<>
Kenny stood in the tunnel leading to the court, his heart pounding with anticipation. It had been just two days since their upset victory over the Canton Charge, and now they were facing the Westchester Knicks.
He glanced at the whiteboard near the locker room, where Coach Stevens had updated the standings. The win against the Charge had bumped them up to 23-22, now sitting in 5th place. Maine was still just ahead at 24-21, while Fort Wayne nipped at their heels at 22-23. With five games left, including tonight's, they needed to win at least three to have a shot at the playoffs.
"You ready to put on another show?"
Kenny turned to see Arell grinning at him, flanked by Malik.
"You know it," Kenny replied, bumping fists with both of them. "Where are the others?"
"Devon and the others couldn't make it." Arell explained. "But they'll be watching the stream. Geoffrey's already in his seat."
Kenny nodded, feeling a mix of gratitude and pressure. His friends' unwavering support meant everything, but he knew eyes all over the league were on him now after his breakout performance.
"Valery!" Coach Stevens' voice cut through his thoughts. "Let's go, game time!"
With one last nod to his friends, Kenny jogged out onto the court to join his teammates for warm-ups. The Westchester Knicks' players were already there, going through their own routines. Kenny's eyes immediately went to their center, Jamal Blackmon, a 7-footer.
As they went through layup lines, Kenny studied Blackmon's movements. The big man was quick for his size, but Kenny noticed a slight hitch in his lateral movement. Maybe there was something to exploit there.
The starting lineups were announced, and once again, Kenny found himself coming off the bench. He understood Coach's strategy - use him as a spark plug when the team needed a boost - but part of him itched to be out there from the opening tip.
The game began, and it quickly became apparent that the Knicks had done their homework. They were playing aggressive defense on Jamal, the Skyhawks' starting point guard, making it difficult for him to initiate the offense. On the other end, Blackmon was dominating the paint, swatting away shots and grabbing every rebound in sight.
By the time Coach Stevens called Kenny's number with 4:23 left in the first quarter, the Skyhawks were down 18-9. The energy in the arena had dipped, the home crowd growing restless.
As Kenny stepped onto the court, he felt a familiar calm settle over him. The noise faded to a dull hum, his focus narrowing to the task at hand. He received the inbounds pass from Tyrell and immediately pushed the pace, catching the Knicks' defense off guard.
Kenny crossed half-court at full speed, his eyes scanning the court. He spotted Marcus setting a screen on the left wing and made his move. Using the screen, Kenny exploded towards the paint, drawing Blackmon's attention. At the last second, he whipped a no-look pass to Darius, who had slipped behind the defense for an easy dunk.
The crowd erupted, and Kenny felt the momentum beginning to shift. On the next possession, he hounded the Knicks' point guard, a stocky player named Terrence Washington, forcing him into a turnover. Kenny scooped up the loose ball and was off to the races.
Washington managed to get back in front of him, but Kenny had been waiting for this moment. He unleashed a series of crossovers, the ball a blur between his legs. Washington's eyes widened as he tried to keep up, his feet shuffling frantically.
In a move that would soon be replayed on highlight reels, Kenny hit Washington with a hesitation dribble, then a lightning-quick behind-the-back move. Washington's ankles seemed to give way, and he tumbled to the floor as Kenny glided past him for an uncontested layup.
The rest of the first half was a back-and-forth affair. The Knicks, realizing the threat Kenny posed, began throwing double teams at him as soon as he crossed half-court. But Kenny adapted, using the extra attention to create opportunities for his teammates.
With just under a minute left in the second quarter, Kenny found himself matched up against Blackmon on a switch. The 7-footer towered over him, his arms spread wide, daring Kenny to try something.
Kenny's eyes narrowed, accepting the challenge. He started his dribble, slow and methodical, lulling Blackmon into a false sense of security. Then, in a burst of speed that left the crowd gasping, Kenny exploded to his left.
Blackmon reacted a split second too late, his massive frame unable to keep up with Kenny's quickness. As the help defense rotated, Kenny took flight. He soared towards the rim, the ball cocked back in his right hand.
Blackmon recovered, rising up to meet Kenny at the apex of his jump. For a moment, it seemed impossible that a 6'2 guard could finish over a towering center. But Kenny had other ideas.
In mid-air, Kenny double-clutched, contorting his body to avoid Blackmon's outstretched arms. As he began to descend, he unleashed a thunderous one-handed slam, right over Blackmon's head.
The arena erupted in chaos. Kenny's teammates rushed him, shouting and slapping him on the back. Even Coach Stevens couldn't hide his amazement.
As they headed to the locker room for halftime, the Skyhawks had clawed their way back to a 52-50 lead. Kenny's stat line was already impressive: 18 points, 7 assists, and 3 steals in just 14 minutes of play.
The third quarter opened with Kenny back on the bench, Coach Stevens sticking to his rotation despite Kenny's explosive first half. The Knicks took advantage, quickly erasing the Skyhawks' slim lead and building a 64-56 advantage of their own.
Kenny sat on the edge of his seat, his legs bouncing with nervous energy. He watched as Jamal struggled to create offense against the Knicks' pressure defense, and Blackmon continued to dominate the paint on both ends.
Finally, with 6:42 left in the third and the Skyhawks down 68-58, Coach Stevens called a timeout. As the team huddled around him, Kenny could see the frustration etched on his teammates' faces.
"Kenny," Coach barked. "You're in. Run the point. I want you to push the pace, but be smart. Look to create, but don't force it."
Meanwhile, John Winters leaned forward in his seat, his eyes fixed intently on the court below. The squeaking of sneakers and the thump of the ball echoed through the arena as the Skyhawks and Knicks battled it out. But John's focus was singular - Kenny Valery.
The young point guard had just re-entered the game, his team down 68-58 midway through the third quarter. John watched as Kenny immediately made his presence felt, his defensive pressure forcing a turnover that he converted into a quick assist.
"Court vision beyond his years," he noted.
As the game wore on, John's mind raced with possibilities. The upcoming NBA draft was loaded with talent - Karl-Anthony Towns, D'Angelo Russell, Jahlil Okafor. All projected to be franchise-altering players. But as he watched Kenny navigate a pick-and-roll with veteran savvy, John couldn't help but wonder if the G League might be hiding a gem.
"He's raw," John mused, watching Kenny miss a contested layup in traffic. "But that athleticism... that feel for the game..."
John pulled out his phone, quickly pulling up the Milwaukee Bucks' current roster. As a scout for the Bucks, he was always on the lookout for talent that could complement their young core. Giannis Antetokounmpo was showing flashes of brilliance, but they needed more playmaking, more scoring punch.
Kenny, now 19 and turning 20 later in the year, could be an intriguing option. John watched as the young guard used a hesitation dribble to freeze his defender, then exploded to the rim for a tough finish. "He's got that quick first step we're looking for," John noted.
But as Kenny's impressive play continued, John felt a twinge of concern. The Bucks held the 17th pick in the upcoming draft, and if Kenny declared, there was no guarantee he'd still be available. And that was assuming he even declared for the draft at all.
"Maybe we could snag him as an undrafted free agent," John pondered, watching Kenny thread a no-look pass through a sea of defenders. "Pair him with our two draft picks... but if he keeps playing like this, someone else is bound to notice."
The game entered its final minutes, and Kenny showed no signs of slowing down. He was everywhere - stealing passes, pushing the pace, and scoring with a variety of moves that left even the opposing coach shaking his head in disbelief.
As the final buzzer sounded and the Skyhawks celebrated their victory, John sat back in his seat, his mind whirling with possibilities. Kenny Valery had just put up 36 points, 14 assists, 5 rebounds, and 4 steals in 28 minutes of play. Numbers that would make even some NBA starters envious.
"We need to move fast," John muttered, already reaching for his phone. He dialed a familiar number, waiting impatiently as it rang.
"Jon Horst? It's John Winters. Listen, I think I've found something special down here in the G League. A point guard named Kenny Valery. Yeah, I know we're in the middle of a playoff series with the Bulls, but trust me, this kid is worth your attention."
As John began to break down Kenny's performance, he couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. The Bucks were at a crucial juncture - a young team on the rise, led by the rapidly improving Giannis Antetokounmpo. Adding a talent like Kenny could accelerate their timeline, but only if they could secure him.
"Look, I know we're focused on Rashad Vaughn," John continued, pacing near his seat as the arena emptied around him. "But this Valery kid... he could be the steal of the draft if we can get him in the second round."
John paused, listening to Horst's response. "I hear you. Yes, he's raw. Yes, it's only the G League. But I'm telling you, Jon, there's something special here. The way he sees the court, his feel for the game... it's not something you can teach."
As he wrapped up the call, John's eyes drifted back to the court. Kenny was still there, surrounded by his teammates, a broad smile on his face. The young guard had no idea that his performance tonight might have just changed the trajectory of his career.
John sighed, the next few weeks would be crucial. They'd need to watch Kenny closely, gauge interest from other teams, and decide whether to push for him to declare for the draft or try to snag him as an undrafted free agent.
One thing was certain - Kenny Valery had just made the Bucks' offseason a lot more interesting.