Chapter 3 - The Counterfeit Badge
Officer Vance’s head snapped toward the eastern perimeter of the park. The wail was unmistakable—a high-low electronic yelp that belonged to the municipal police force, not the vintage squad car parked as a prop on the grass. His thumb twitched against the black smartphone screen, where a barrage of laughing emojis, crying faces, and donation tokens cascaded in a blur of luminous green text.
“Shut it down,” Vance hissed toward the bushes. “Julian, kill the feed. That’s city dispatch.”
Julian didn’t lower the camera. His eyes were wide, manic, illuminated by the skyrocketing viewer count. “No way! We’re at nine hundred and ninety-eight thousand! Five minutes, Vance! Keep him on his knees. If they roll up on us, it’s gold. ‘Cop arrests baby, real cops intervene’—it’ll do fifty million impressions by midnight!”
“You idiot, this isn’t a permit issue,” Vance spat, dropping the calm authority he had exhibited moments earlier. He stood up, towering over Leo. Underneath the tan patrol shirt, the fabric strained; the badge pinned to his chest wasn’t cast metal, but stamped tin purchased from an online costume warehouse. Vance wasn’t a cop. He was a disgraced community theater actor who had signed an NDA and an hourly contract for twenty-five dollars.
Leo stood small on the pavement, caught in the crossfire of adult fury. The wail of the approaching siren grew deafening, bouncing off the brick walls of the nearby community center. The baby clutched his plastic cart, believing with all his innocent heart that the siren was coming to carry him away to the dark, mythical “baby jail” Vance had spoken of.
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“Please,” Leo begged the empty air, turning around in circles. “I good boy! I eat vegetables!”
A dark grey sedan rounded the corner on two wheels, blowing past the park’s stop sign and slamming its tires against the curb just thirty yards away. The doors flew open, but the people who spilled out were not wearing uniforms. They wore tactical vests and carried heavy pelican cases.
