“On the ground! On the ground!” The three black-clad operatives moved forward as the terrified men on the couch dropped to the floor. While Dima and Nir held their guns on the men, Imri zip-tied their hands behind their backs. Dima then reached down and, one by one, lifted the bound men by their hair and dropped them back onto the couch. Meanwhile, Imri secured the handguns and rifle.

“Man, you can’t do that to me!” said the young man nearest Nir, his dark hair greased back and his mustache razor thin. “I don’t care if you’re SWAT or whatever, cop. You can’t lift a dude up by his hair.”

The name on his coveralls read Arturo. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing arms with no smudges, matching the clean condition of his hands.

This is the boss of the operation, all right. Nir leaned over and slapped him hard across the face. “Speak only when I ask you a question.”

Arturo looked shocked. It was like he knew the cop game and was realizing this wasn’t it. “Dude, you can’t do that! It’s police brutality.”

Nir slapped him again, and the sound echoed throughout the shop. Blood trickled out of Arturo’s mouth.

Nir leaned closer. “I didn’t ask you a question, did I?”

Arturo was fuming. His face was red, and he was breathing hard.

Nir slapped him again. Arturo lunged up, but Dima’s massive right foot suddenly appeared on the man’s chest, forcing him back down onto the couch.

Nir stepped back. “That time I did ask you a question. You’re not very smart, are you?” He emphasized the last words by tapping the man hard on the temple.

When Arturo didn’t answer, Nir raised his hand.

“I just didn’t understand what you were saying, bro,” Arturo spat out, cowering. “You come in here and shoot my TV. Then you cuff us. What are you doing? Is this a raid? All I have is weed, I swear.”

Nir held up his gun. “You ever seen cops with suppressors, genius?”

The other man’s eyes got really big now. “Are you cartel? Oh man! I swear, I only deal small. I boost cars—that’s my thing.”

Nir spit on the floor. “I eat cartel for breakfast, little boy. I don’t care about your drugs. I don’t care about your cars. I care about one thing. Lily Cohen.”

“Who?” Arturo’s eyes looked down when he said it. No doubt at all that he was lying.

“Lily. Cohen. The teenage girl you’ve stolen from her home because you aren’t man enough to get a woman your own age.”

“Man, I don’t know who told you that.” Arturo was getting a little of his swag back. “But I don’t know the chica. Do I look like I need to mess with teenagers?”