Chapter 11: The Pontiac Bandit Case - Part 2
POV: Kole Martinez
Saturday morning at the Javits Center car show arrived with the kind of crisp autumn air that made surveillance work almost pleasant. The massive convention hall buzzed with automotive enthusiasm—vintage car collectors, racing enthusiasts, and weekend gearheads wandering between displays of pristine Pontiacs that represented decades of American automotive history.
Perfect hunting ground for a gentleman car thief.
Kole adjusted his earpiece, maintaining visual contact with Jake across the crowded exhibition floor while his photographic memory catalogued every face in their surveillance perimeter. Rosa coordinated from the parking structure, Amy monitored security cameras from the mobile command unit, and uniformed officers maintained discrete positions at all exit points.
Professional operation. Multiple agencies, coordinated response, everything Jake had been requesting for months.
"Position report," Jake's voice crackled through the comm system.
"North entrance clear," Rosa responded.
"Parking structure clear," Amy added.
"Main floor clear," Kole confirmed, though his enhanced perception was processing far more information than standard surveillance required.
Every face, every movement, every behavioral anomaly recorded with perfect clarity.
The morning passed in careful observation—car enthusiasts examining chrome bumpers and vintage engines while undercover detectives searched for one specific face among hundreds of potential suspects. Kole found himself genuinely impressed by the vehicles on display, Martinez's inherited appreciation for automotive craftsmanship mixing with his own growing fascination with Brooklyn's cultural complexity.
Focus. Doug Judy could appear at any moment.
At 11:47 AM, exactly when Kole's pattern analysis had predicted, Doug Judy walked through the main entrance like he owned the place.
There. Northeast entrance, black leather jacket, moving with casual confidence toward the Pontiac displays.
Kole's photographic memory matched the face instantly—every detail from surveillance footage, witness descriptions, and police sketches aligning with perfect precision. But something felt wrong about Judy's behavior. Too relaxed, too casual, like someone who knew he was being watched and didn't care.
This feels like setup.
"Target acquired," Kole reported through his comm. "Northeast quadrant, heading toward vintage display area."
Jake's response was immediate and electric. "Confirmed. That's him. That's definitely him."
Jake's excitement is radiating across the entire floor. Ease up before you spook him.
But Judy seemed completely unaware of police presence, stopping to examine a pristine 1969 GTO with the appreciation of someone who genuinely understood automotive artistry. His body language suggested casual browsing rather than operational reconnaissance.
Too casual. Way too casual.
Kole's lie detection wasn't picking up deception from Judy—it was detecting performance. Not lying exactly, but deliberate presentation of behavior designed to convey specific impressions to observers he knew were watching.
He knows we're here. This whole thing is theater.
"Something's wrong," Kole transmitted quietly. "His behavior pattern doesn't match surveillance preparation. He's performing for an audience."
"Performing what?" Jake's voice carried tension mixed with confusion.
"I don't know. But this doesn't feel like a theft operation."
Before anyone could respond to Kole's warning, Doug Judy moved. Not toward any particular vehicle, but toward the nearest exit with sudden purpose that transformed casual browsing into obvious flight.
Shit. Here we go.
"He's running!" Jake's voice exploded through the comm system as he broke from his position. "All units converge!"
Kole followed, his combat adaptation already processing movement patterns as Jake and Judy began their chase through the crowded exhibition hall. Doug Judy moved with practiced efficiency, weaving between display vehicles and startled spectators with the fluid grace of someone who'd planned multiple escape routes.
Professional. Very professional.
Jake pursued with determined fury, his competitive instincts fully activated by the prospect of finally catching his white whale. His movements were aggressive but calculated, each step designed to close distance while avoiding civilian casualties.
Different styles. Judy prioritizes efficiency, Jake prioritizes results.
Kole's body began copying both approaches simultaneously, his combat adaptation downloading techniques from both men in real-time. Judy's flowing evasion tactics merged with Jake's aggressive pursuit style, creating a hybrid approach that felt both natural and completely alien.
I'm learning from both the hunter and the prey.
They burst through the convention center's main doors into the parking structure, where Doug Judy's true plan revealed itself. Four men waited in strategic positions—not civilians or car enthusiasts, but professionals with military bearing and concealed weapons.
Ambush. This was never about stealing cars.
"Jake, get down!" Kole shouted, his lie detection screaming warnings about immediate danger.
Tasers appeared in the hands of Judy's crew, designed to incapacitate rather than kill. Professional restraint, but deadly serious intent. Jake was exposed, outnumbered, about to be overwhelmed by superior numbers and positioning.
Time to find out what these powers can really do.
Kole's combat adaptation activated like a switch being flipped, every technique he'd ever observed flowing through his muscles with supernatural fluidity. Movements copied from gym sparring partners, defensive techniques absorbed from police training videos, striking patterns borrowed from martial arts documentaries—all of it synthesized into devastating efficiency.
The first attacker went down to a combination Kole had watched Rosa demonstrate during training—block, redirect, elbow strike to the solar plexus. The man folded around the impact, his taser clattering across concrete.
Rosa's style. Brutal economy of motion.
The second attacker approached from behind, but Kole's enhanced perception tracked the threat through peripheral awareness. He spun with Jake's parkour-influenced footwork, using momentum to drive a knee strike that dropped his opponent like a stone.
Jake's mobility, Rosa's violence. Perfect combination.
The third and fourth attackers tried coordinated assault, but Kole flowed between their attacks like water, his body executing defensive sequences he'd observed in a Bruce Lee documentary weeks ago. Every movement was precise, economical, devastatingly effective.
This isn't just copying techniques. I'm integrating them, creating something new.
Within ninety seconds, four professional criminals lay groaning on concrete while Kole stood over them, breathing hard but completely in control. The silence that followed was broken only by Doug Judy's slow, appreciative clapping.
"Impressive," Judy said, backing toward a motorcycle that had been positioned for exactly this kind of escape. "Very impressive indeed."
He's studying me. Cataloguing what I just did.
"Doug Judy," Jake called out, regaining his composure while processing what he'd just witnessed. "You're under arrest for—"
"Another time, Detective Peralta," Judy interrupted, swinging onto his bike. "Give my regards to your remarkable partner."
He roared away, leaving behind four unconscious criminals and two very confused detectives.
Rosa appeared from the stairwell, weapon drawn, taking in the scene with professional assessment.
"What the hell happened here?" she demanded.
How do I explain what just happened without revealing impossible abilities?
"Ambush," Kole said simply. "Judy set us up."
Rosa's eyes moved from the unconscious attackers to Kole, her expression shifting to something between respect and suspicion.
"Where the hell did you learn to fight like that?"
Here it comes. The question I can't answer honestly.
"Military family," Kole improvised, hating the taste of lies. "Grew up training."
The explanation sounds weak even to me.
Jake was staring at him with an expression that mixed gratitude, admiration, and deep unease.
"Martinez," he said slowly, "that was... that was not normal police training."
No kidding.
"Adrenaline," Kole offered. "Training kicks in when you need it."
Rosa knelt beside one of the unconscious attackers, checking for serious injury while her mind clearly processed the tactical implications of what she'd missed.
"Four men, professional coordination, non-lethal weapons," she observed. "This wasn't random crime. Someone wanted you captured, not killed."
Someone wanted us captured. The question is who and why.
"Doug Judy doesn't usually work with crews," Jake added, his detective instincts cutting through his emotional reaction to the rescue. "This was different. More complex."
Everything about this was different from the fictional Doug Judy I remember.
As sirens approached and backup arrived to secure the scene, Kole found himself wrestling with the implications of what had just happened. His abilities were no longer theoretical or carefully hidden—they were documented, witnessed, impossible to deny.
Rosa and Jake both saw what I can do. The secret's out.
But even more troubling was Doug Judy's behavior throughout the entire encounter. The setup, the ambush, the careful study of Kole's capabilities—none of it matched the charming gentleman criminal from television episodes.
Real Doug Judy is more dangerous than his fictional counterpart.
"Martinez," Rosa said as emergency medical technicians tended to the unconscious attackers, "we need to talk."
About combat training I can't explain using abilities I shouldn't possess.
"Later," Jake interjected, still processing his own confusion about what he'd witnessed. "Right now we need to debrief with Holt and figure out why Doug Judy just tried to kidnap two NYPD detectives."
Kidnap. Not kill. Rosa was right about the intent.
As they headed back toward the precinct, Kole's mind raced through possible explanations for the morning's events. Doug Judy's behavior suggested knowledge about him that should have been impossible—recognition that went beyond simple police identification.
He knows something. About me, about my abilities, about why I'm really here.
The question is: how much does he know, and what does he plan to do with that information?
The drive back to Brooklyn passed in tense silence, each detective processing the morning's events while carefully avoiding the questions they couldn't yet ask directly. But Kole's lie detection caught undercurrents of suspicion and curiosity that suggested his careful facade was beginning to crack.
Time's running out. Soon they'll demand answers I can't provide.
Author's Note / Promotion:
Your Reviews and Power Stones are the best way to show support. They help me know what you're enjoying and bring in new readers!
Can't wait for the next chapter of [ brooklyn 99 New Detective ]?
You don't have to. Get instant access to more content by supporting me on Patreon. I have three options so you can pick how far ahead you want to be:
🪙 Silver Tier ($6): Read 10 chapters ahead of the public site.
👑 Gold Tier ($9): Get 15-20 chapters ahead of the public site.
💎 Platinum Tier ($15): The ultimate experience. Get new chapters the second I finish them (20+ chapters ahead!). No waiting for weekly drops, just pure, instant access.
Your support helps me write more .
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/fanficwriter1