Detective Fog sat in the window of her favorite bakery out of those bakeries located across the street from Dedalus Bar.

With complete tabs on every single person in the establishment with her — that is, the baker, the cashier, and a little old man with a cinnamon bun the size of his head — she was able to speak freely to Jimmy on the phone.

She drummed fingers on the wooden counter ​and felt the strong glaze of afternoon sunlight coming through the glass on the back of her hand, feeling as if she were coming up with a plan of attack.

Her words came out slowly, carefully chosen. "The fact that Athena's murder provoked a gang war means that each gang is trying to pin the murder on the other. No one wants the credit. This Modus Operandi is different from the murder of Mayor John Banikas. Everyone knew the Sigler mafia did it, and the Sigler mafia didn't mind, nor did the Andreous try to take credit. Nor did the Sigler mafia try to pin it on the Andreous, like what is happening here. I wonder if that means they're scared. Could they have left their head honchos vulnerable somehow?"

On his side of the line, Jimmy made a wordless noise in his throat. It sounded vaguely like the sound a dog makes when there's a treat out of reach, a begging whine. Like all proteges, sometimes Jimmy wanted his mentor to give him the answers.

"The limited evidence at the scene makes it difficult to close the case. It's in these reactions — the things the mob does in response to Athena's murder — that might tell us where the evidence is lying. Or they might do something stupid during this reactionary phase. Anything we can do to shake them up and keep them on their toes, provoke further reactions from them, would be one step closer to arresting Mena Sigler herself. What was the drive-by scene like? Sloppy?"

"No. Surgical. It was a surgical drive-by. There's no other way to describe it," Jimmy said. "I've never seen such a work of art painted with a machine gun, and I don't expect to ever again. They aimed to miss any possible living target, except Cousin Andreou, who was hit surgically to wound by a master sharpshooter.

​"If the Sigler Mafia wanted a meeting with the Andreous, couldn't they have just asked?" said Fog. She tore into her dinner, some kind of savory muffin with a whole egg baked inside.

The answer that came to her mind was the same as what Jimmy said.

​"They needed to be sure the Andreous would take this seriously and send one of its captains to deal with the situation." Well done, Jimmy. "Sigler bet that they would send the man at the top to settle a dispute like this, especially if Hugo Zane was asking for the meeting and attending himself. Taking out David Andreou​ and starting a gang war​ was explosive. Possibly an overreaction. These mob lords think they're gods and everything should go their way — now they're throwing a temper tantrum."

Detective Fog replied, "The Andreous will strike back, of course. They will need to kill someone important to show that they aren't weak, and the Sigler Mafia can't just push them around. If we could only predict how they will strike, we could catch a couple of Andreous and throw them behind bars with charges that will stick."

"Maybe we should keep our eyes on the prize," said Jimmy. "The Andreou family is a dangerous force — maybe they even killed Athena Rex. But the Sigler Mafia is worse. I thought you wanted to put their members away?"

"I will take whatever I can get, Jimmy," said Detective Fog. "Don't forget who our client is, and, therefore, what our objective is. We need to prove Adoni Rex didn't kill Athena. Poor asshat is sitting in a cell right now, albeit a luxurious one, and Dexter Mars asked me to ensure that the police look somewhere, anywhere else for Senator Rex's murderer. Sigler's soldiers and Andreous are running around with unregistered weapons; maybe we get an arrest, a button man holding the same murder weapon used to do Senator Rex. Anyway, it's better than working with what we currently have, which is doodoo all.

"Every time there's a back and forth, we have an opportunity to guide the police to an arrest that may prove Adoni innocent — we have a shot at getting Senator Rex's murderer for his or her next hit. So give me a chance to solve the next one. Maybe before it happens."

"Oh yeah?" said Jimmy. "You're going to figure out how the Andreous are going to hit back, something no one else can do — not the cops, and certainly not anyone Mena Sigler has in her employ? Just how are you going to do that, Fog?"

Malyssa looked over her shoulder again to make certain she really was on neutral soil, watching and listening for a second as the bakery owners yelled at each other in Spanish about whether to adapt the cruffin into their selection of daily pastries. The old man with the cinnamon bun had finished and left. Still, there was always a chance the place was bugged. She held the phone out in front of her and switched to text. She typed: "I got a guy" and hit send.

Jimmy replied out loud, "What for? Please explain, Fog."

She shook her head and resisted the temptation to show off her plan to the partner. "Later, later," she said into the receiver. "I can't be stupid, Jimmy. Enthusiastic, sure, but not stupid. Just hold your horses, and before you know it, it'll all be taken care of."

On the other end of the line, she could see him wrestling with himself not to push her, puckering his lips to the side and clenching his fists in front of her laptop, which she guessed he could plug into the giant monitor on his desk while his computer sat in custody. He couldn't keep himself from complaining, though. "So you mean I don't get to know the secret plan until it's all over? That's not fair. You never involve me."

"Involve you? Didn't I get you a murder to solve? I gave you the Rex case to handle all by yourself. Solved it yet?"

"Well, no," said Jimmy. "But I did figure out she was wearing someone else's wedding ring, didn't I? I think I deserve some thanks for that."

"And just where has that ring led you, Jimmy?" Malyssa asked.

Air exhaled into the phone's mic, clattering over the line. "To be honest, it seems like it hints to the husband — symbolic of infidelity?"

It was Detective Fog's turn to exhale dramatically, but she kept her air out of the receiver so that Jimmy couldn't hear. Jimmy went on, "Obviously, it's our job to follow other leads, take the heat off Mr. Rex, that's what we've been hired to do. I'm just saying, maybe he did it."

Detective Fog kept herself from telling Jimmy his idea was stupid. Instead, she maintained her professionalism and tried to be encouraging with every decibel of her voice. "Surely we can do better than symbolism. That ring came from somewhere, belonged to someone. Trace it."

"That's not going to be easy, boss. The cops have it in their evidence bags. All I have are the pictures. Maybe when the DNA comes in, one of your police force contacts can let us know what they've got."

"What police force contacts?" Detective Fog asked, and mid-sentence, she rolled her eyes, realizing that Jimmy was trolling her.

​"Listen, find out where the ring came from. Get creative. If you're sleeping with someone in the police department, then by all means, but I promise you it belongs to somebody, and it's a huge break, certainly the most interesting evidence ever to come out of these mob killings. There was nothing like it in the Mayor Banikas case. This is your chance to show me you can crack something no one else has cracked yet."

"Why do I get the feeling you've already cracked it, boss?"

Detective Fog looked out across the busy street, black cars swooshing by at rush hour, just as congested as any other hour, obscuring her view of the Dedalus Bar every other split second. She decided to go with the honest answer. "Because you know I wouldn't risk failing our client. That doesn't mean I solved it. Could mean I have faith in you." Or an honest answer, anyway.

"Well, I do got a question for you, Fog. Do you even care whether the person guilty of Athena's killing goes down for it? She was your friend, wasn't she? If Adoni did it, don't you want him to burn? Do you care whether it was the Andreous or the Siglers, do you care who you put away for this, or is it all good as long as some cold hard criminal goes down?"

"Preferably more than one," Malyssa said absentmindedly.

On the other side of the cars breezing past each other, a constant stream of men and women in hats were imitating the cars in a crush of slow-moving traffic. Jimmy went on berating her on the other end of the line, how she wasn't even trying to get real justice, find the real killer — she couldn't possibly know already who done it, he didn't know where this irresponsible behavior was coming from, maybe she was traumatized by Paul's murder, maybe she was eating too much gluten the way she was frequenting those bakeries. It was getting to her head.

While he talked, a cluster of mobsters in suits and hats piled out of Daedalus Bar, or at least crowded in the doorway watching the lines of pedestrians, one of them shaking his head about how busy it was, where'd all these people come from? Except this one wasn't wearing a hat.

Detective Fog recognized Jennifer Makris and wondered where her hat was. Next thing she slipped off her bar seat and was wading through the pedestrians, jaywalking into the cars, her phone still at her ear with Jimmy's voice asking questions he didn't give her time to answer, as cars started to honk at her but luckily chose not to run her down, screeching to stop instead. She got to the other side of the street before she decided what she was going to do, but she certainly had the attention of four mobsters in hats and one without.

"Can I talk to you, Jenny?" she called out, loud, holding her phone a little bit away from her because she wasn't talking to Jimmy. Jimmy went quiet on the other end, no idea what was going on but smart enough to listen, not ask.

Jennifer Makris skipped out onto the sidewalk, and the flow of bodies had to move around them. "What can I do for you, Detective?" she said.

As predicted only a second ago, Jennifer was too cocky to refuse to talk with Fog in front of her friends. She had to prove he was a match for her, she wasn't scared.

But expecting her to come somewhere quiet where they could be alone might be a little too optimistic. So Fog just asked, in a voice that said ​I'm on to you,​ "Where's your hat?" The part of her brain that never stopped talking wanted to ramble on, ​You'd think you'd want to hide grown out roots like those, and you know how everyone's talking about sun protection these days, skin cancer this, advanced aging that, you gotta cover up! If you're so confident you're not gonna get wrinkles, I need to know what skin serum you use.

But she just let the silence hang so Jennifer had to answer.

Jenny was truly an idiot. She smiled big and said, "I lost it." As good as said, ​When I killed Paul Aniston.​ Which didn't mean she did it, it just meant she was taking credit. She was baiting Fog. It could be a distraction, or it could be the truth. Except with so few leads, there was nothing to be distracted from.

"Haven't found one you like to replace it?" Fog asked. "If it turns up, I'll know where to return it."

"That's sweet of you," said Jen.

There was a vibration on the phone in Malyssa's hand as a message came in. She looked down to check it and then held up the phone for Jen to see. "Is this it?" she asked, showing her the picture Jimmy had just sent. To think this case was coming down to a woman admitting a hat belonged to her.

Jen took a long look at the hat in the picture. "It's hard to tell," she said. "It's beat to hell, huh? Jeez, such a nice hat, how did it get crumpled like that?" Shaking her head as if it were a tragedy to humanity, she reached into her pants pocket for her wallet and said, "Still, I'll give you a hundred bucks for it. That kind of millinery craftsmanship . . . Maybe I can get the design replicated by my hatter."

​"So it's not yours?" Detective Fog asked carefully. Accuse her of killing Paul Aniston, and she would deny killing Paul Aniston, but if she could just goad Jen into goading her back, admitting the hat was his, she'd have her.

Except that the hat was inadmissible. But at least she'd know, and that was a start.

"What do you think?" was the best answer Jen could come up with. Not incriminating herself, but not backing down. Maybe she was just taking the credit, but the look in her eyes said she meant it. Like a novice poker player, no strategy, just taking a chance to get her chips. A novice player who would have folded earlier if she really had nothing. Except that this situation was backwards; nothing good would come of convincing Fog she'd done it. She must have felt safe with her gang at her back.

But she wasn't. The second the detective made up her mind, she moved fast. From two feet back, she closed the distance instantly, slamming her forearm into Jennifer's face as her other hand got her gun out of the holster hidden inside her jacket. Next second, Jen's own pistol was pointed in her face while Fog checked for additional weapons. Jen wavered, muddled and surprised, and the other mobsters spread out around her on the sidewalk.

Pedestrians continued through their circle until one of the women whose face Malyssa didn't recognize raised a gun-arm high in the air and fired off a shot. The passersby scattered up and down the sidewalk or into the street, giving them a wide berth, but Malyssa ignored the shooter while she patted Jen down.

"What are you looking for?" the mobsteress asked, all smug smiles.

When she finished her search and found no second weapon, Malyssa swore. Most mobsters carried a registered firearm, so the cops couldn't get them on illegal firearm possession any time they wanted, but they would never use the registered weapon to commit a crime. If she only had a registered gun on her, it wasn't the one that killed Paul. The registered firearm would be carried at all times in case a need for legal self-defense arose or a situation where one could get off on self-defense. The second, unregistered weapon would be carried only if the mobster was about to carry out orders.

Jen only had one gun on her, the one she currently held to her chin.

"Is this the murder weapon?" Fog asked.

"No," said Jen, and she shook her head with a sincerity that made Fog want to fire.

"This isn't registered, is it? I'm keeping it. Just in case. It's not worth your life," she said, and she bent backward until she could look each of Jen's four friends in the eyes, make sure they got the message.

"Aw, come on, let's talk about this. I like that gun. I lost my hat, now you're taking my gun?"

"What's so special about it? It's just a Glock."

"It's a first-generation. Not worth thousands yet, but there were only maybe twenty gen 1 Gl9s made, so I'd like to keep mine. Listen, sweetheart, I promise you that isn't the gun that killed Paul Aniston, and I'm not bluffing, just trying to help you out. You're gonna look awful stupid bringing that gat to the police. You ain't a cop, you're just a little girl holding a perfectly legal firearm that wasn't used to kill anybody, and you're going to what, bring it down to the precinct and say you caught Aniston's murderer and this is the gun? Don't make a fool of yourself, Detective."

"You're right, I will look stupid taking this gun to the station. Maybe it'll look a little better if I take you with me," said Detective Fog, and she kept the gun where it was pointed, putting the iPhone in her pants pocket. Then from her zip-up jacket pocket, she came out with a pair of police-grade handcuffs and slapped one cuff around Jen's left arm before she could blink.

"What is this?" Jen asked, and while she was speaking, Fog swung around behind her and with one hand closed the other cuff around her right hand behind her back. Some of Jen's friends were laughing at Fog, but she ignored them. "You can't do that. What is this, a citizen's arrest? You can't make an arrest on suspicion of a felony — days after the fact and without a warrant. You're such a joker, Fog, get these cuffs off me." She started to pull Jen down the street toward the bus stop for the eight to take them to Powell Station, where she'd have to transfer to the muni train that would leave her right outside the Public Safety Building.

Four mobsters followed, gawking in disbelief; the ones that weren't laughing had their hands close to their holsters. "You're not a cop, you can't just arrest me," Jen continued to complain.

"Do you know what the penalty for a false citizen's arrest is?" Detective Fog asked conversationally.

Jen groaned. "What, a slap on the wrist?"

"No idea, I really was asking because I don't know. I think you can sue me. Should be interesting to find out. This is my first arrest as a private citizen. Since I was fired from the police force." At the bus stop, she took out her phone and dialed Officer Roussos. To the miscellaneous mobsters, she said, "Are you going to follow me all the way to the station? I can put each of you in cuffs if you want; I have a couple more pairs in my handbag."

The woman who had fired the shot in the air answered, "You're not taking her to the station. The first step you take to get onto that bus will be your last. Why shouldn't we blast you to smithereens?"

The phone ringing in her ear, Malyssa replied, "Oh, you know, murder in broad daylight and all that."

Jen said, "Didn't stop you threatening to do me."

"No, it didn't, but I got you to do what I say. Don't test whether I'll do it or not; if you're really innocent and this gun is clean, you got nothing to worry about. Just a quick trip to the precinct, nothing to lose."

"Just a couple hours of my life. This transit ride alone is what, forty minutes?"

"Thirty-seven. But you get the chance to make me look hella dumb. And then you can sue me for, I dunno, probably some tens of thousands of dollars that I don't really have. You can bankrupt me, how's that?"

"What's in it for you?" Jen asked, and on the other end of the phone line, there was a click and a groggy voice just woken from a nap said, "You've reached Roussos."

Malyssa ignored Jen's last remark as the bus pulled up to the stop and said, "Roussos, I need you to meet me at the Public Safety Building in thirty-six minutes. It's Detective Fog. I've made an arrest in the Aniston/Minardos case." Ignoring the jeering mobsters, including the one who threatened to murder her if she stepped onto the bus, she pushed Jen ahead and stepped up the steps onto the bus. She closed her eyes and winced for a second, terrified of being shot in the head, but the bus doors closed behind her, she paid the fare, and they were on their way.

Thank you for reading Detective Fog. What do you think of this chapter? Is Fog in over her head, or is there any chance her whim and her crazy ploy will pay off? I would be really grateful for feedback on this one, as it's a longer chapter, and a lot happens. Let me know if you enjoyed it!

Stars, comments, and feedback are all welcome!