"Dad."
Just as the doorbell rang, Gwen, who had been exercising on the roof, came down from the attic stairs. She was in a tracksuit, a few beads of sweat still glistening on her forehead. "There are several black SUVs downstairs."
George, who had stood up to answer the door, frowned.
Locke also raised an eyebrow noncommittally.
Federal law enforcement agencies—like the CIA or the FBI—loved traveling in large numbers, and they had a particular fondness for black SUVs.
'That fast?' Locke thought to himself.
At the door, George opened it.
Standing there were a man and a woman. George narrowed his eyes. "You are...?"
Phil Coulson, sporting his usual honest and kind-faced expression, flashed his federal credentials. "Captain Stacy, we're with the FBI."
George stated flatly, "I don't report to the FBI. You've got the wrong house."
Beside him, Natasha, her red hair tied back, spoke up. "We're not here for you, Captain Stacy. We're here for Locke Broughton. He's here, isn't he?"
Standing behind George, Gwen looked at Locke.
'Here for Locke? The FBI?'
Locke stood up and walked to the door, his brow furrowed as he looked at his two "acquaintances," Phil Coulson and Natasha Romanoff. "I'm Locke."
Just as he thought. They weren't coming in the name of S.H.I.E.L.D., but rather under the guise of the FBI.
Fine. As long as it was the "FBI," he could work with that. It would have been more troublesome if they had shown up with official S.H.I.E.L.D. titles.
Coulson looked at Locke, seemingly confirming his identity one more time. "Locke Broughton?"
Locke gave an affirmative hum. "Yes, that's me."
Coulson offered a faint smile. "Mr. Broughton, there's a missing person case. We'd like you to come back with us to assist in our investigation."
"Missing?"
"What missing person?"
This time, even Gwen's mother, Helen, came to the door. Hearing this, she asked worriedly, "How old are they? Where did it happen?"
Coulson smiled politely. "Federal investigation. My apologies."
"..."
'Federal investigation? So what? My husband is a Captain in the NYPD.'
Helen shot a look directly at George.
"Please come back with us" was a polite way of saying they intended to take him away and interrogate him until he confessed. That's how it always happened on TV.
This wouldn't do. Tonight was the Midtown High dance, and Gwen had been looking forward to it ever since Locke invited her.
Receiving his wife's signal, George gave a nearly imperceptible nod. He looked at Coulson. "A federal case is a federal case. So, where did this incident occur?"
"The Star Tower."
"...?"
"What?"
"Last night, one of our agents went missing in Apartment 2801 of the Star Tower—the residence of Mr. Locke Broughton."
"Oh my god."
Standing beside Locke, Gwen couldn't help but cover her mouth. She looked at Locke. "Thank god you didn't go back yesterday."
Coulson's eyelid twitched involuntarily.
'He didn't go back? Is that the takeaway here?' Their agent was missing—that was the point!
Coulson stated firmly, "Locke Broughton, please cooperate with our work. After you."
Locke didn't resist. He nodded and was about to agree when George made his move.
"Hold on."
George reached out, physically blocking Locke from stepping out with Coulson. He stared Coulson down. "The Star Tower is in New York City, not federal territory."
Coulson frowned.
George turned his head, about to ask Helen for his phone, only to see Gwen already sliding it into his hand.
Gwen had a look of nervous tension on her face. "Dad, we have the dance tonight."
George's mouth twitched, and he immediately dialed the NYPD.
A moment later, George put down the phone and looked at Coulson, ignoring the dozen or so agents standing behind him. "The Star Tower falls under the jurisdiction of the NYPD. A case occurring at the Star Tower belongs to the FBI only if the NYPD gives it to you. If we don't give it to you, you can't just snatch it in New York. This case is mine."
Coulson: "..."
Natasha: "..."
Sometimes, having more people doesn't mean you have more power. The rules on the surface are what matter most.
In New York City, for any case that occurs, the NYPD is the ultimate authority. Otherwise, how could the NYPD claim to be the premier police department in the country?
The FBI has to follow these rules when they come to New York. The CIA even more so; if the CIA stepped out of line, the NYPD could quite legally and reasonably shut down a CIA safehouse in the city. After all, the CIA is officially an external agency and is prohibited from conducting operations on federal soil.
As for the FBI? While they focus on domestic issues, they primarily handle interstate crimes. Until there is evidence proving a case is interstate, the FBI cannot simply take it if the NYPD refuses to let go.
Clearly, Coulson and Natasha were so used to using fake FBI IDs that they had forgotten: this is New York City, not some other town in the Union.
Almost the moment George finished speaking, the sound of sirens wailed in the distance. It had been less than a minute since George hung up.
George was a Captain, after all. And this was Manhattan. Between his rank and the location, a response time of under a minute was standard; anything over a minute was considered late.
"Sir!"
"Captain!"
"Right." George grabbed his jacket and turned to his wife and daughter. "I'm taking Locke to the precinct first."
Gwen's expression changed. "Dad!"
George cut her off. "Don't worry. As long as Locke has nothing to do with this so-called missing person case, it won't interfere with your dance. I promise."
Gwen finally breathed a sigh of relief. She looked at Locke and said with a smile, "I know Locke is innocent."
George laughed and kissed Helen's forehead, then looked at Locke. "Let's go. You finally get to see what it's like to sit in a police car."
Locke: "..."
The last time Locke and George had gone to the range, they had talked about what a police car felt like. The reason was simple: George preferred his beat-up used car over the high-end department vehicles whenever he was off-duty.
Soon, George and Locke were sitting in the back of the cruiser, sirens wailing as they sped toward the precinct.
Coulson and Natasha exchanged a look.
It seemed... they had a problem.
***
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