"When I was little, my grandfather used to take me and my sister to a drive-in diner."
The safehouse was quiet enough that Snart's voice carried without effort. The two remaining men sat across from him, still, listening.
"Worst food I've ever had in my life. But the view was something else — you could see most of downtown from the parking lot." He set his watch on the table. "I still go there sometimes. Not to eat. To sit in the car and listen to their radio pick up the police band, and learn which banks get a sixty-second response time." A pause. "There are forty banks in the city center. Every single one of them hits that mark. That's why we went with the armored truck. On the road, after a 911 call, the police need a hundred and eighty-two seconds to reach the site. We grab the Condac diamond and we're gone before they even turn onto the street."
He looked up at the man to his left — the one who'd been there.
"But something arrived within a minute. And it stopped us."
The man's jaw tightened. He remembered it clearly enough that he didn't need reminding.
"You panicked." Snart's voice was level, almost conversational. "You weren't calm. You made an impulsive call. You stood up and fired three shots at an officer — after I made it explicitly clear that we do not shoot at police or security personnel unless there is no other option." He let that sit for a moment. "We don't carry teammates who make impulsive calls."
"Screw you, Snart."
The answer was simple and immediate. Something in Snart's expression went very still.
"You know what? I don't like any of it." The man's voice rose. "I don't like your plans, I don't like your countdown habits, I don't like your list of rules. What kind of criminal has rules?"
The gunshot was clean and quick. Snart reholstered the pistol and regarded the result without particular emotion.
"Fine," he said to the room. "If you're going to quit, don't come back."
The other two hadn't moved. They didn't speak. Whatever they'd been about to say had evaporated the moment the body hit the floor. The expression on Snart's face when he pulled the trigger was the part that stayed with them — not rage, not satisfaction. Just the calm of a man closing a tab.
On a considerably more cheerful stretch of pavement nearby, Jude was leaning against the food truck, walking Joe and Barry through the morning's entertainment with the enthusiasm of someone recounting a sporting event.
"You have to understand the setup," he said, gesturing broadly. "Two motorcycles, one crane truck, four people total. The armored truck doesn't stand a chance against that configuration — the officers inside couldn't do anything."
"Okay," Barry said, notepad out. "Walk us through what happened."
"The two on the motorcycles swung wide on both sides and hooked the crane rigging onto the armored truck — left and right simultaneously, very clean. The crane arms went up, the truck left the ground. Four wheels in the air, front bumper dragging sparks along the asphalt. It skidded maybe twenty feet and stopped."
"By then they'd already called for backup," Joe said, making notes. "But the truck was hijacked mid-route. It took us time to reach the scene."
"Was it all planned?"
"If we're working on the assumption that this was Snart—" Joe caught himself. "Based on Jude's description — that is absolutely his methodology. He times everything down to the second. When the clock runs out, the operation ends. Full stop. It's why we can never get there fast enough."
Jude perked up. "Is he a repeat offender?"
"Seasoned professional. Major heist every six months, no exceptions." Joe flipped back a page. "You remember that gold bullion robbery six months ago?"
"The one that funded my legendary crab feast? That was him?"
"That was him. Continue."
"Right — so the first half of the operation was extremely efficient. Motorcycles hook the truck, crane lifts it, two guys climb up and knock out both officers in the cab. Smooth, fast, rehearsed. One of them got a little shaky near the end — had his submachine gun pointed directly at an officer for a second — but Snart stopped him before anything happened."
"That tracks," Joe said. "Snart almost never kills cops. Rarely kills anyone, actually." He paused. "People usually chalk it up to his father."
Barry looked up. "His father was a cop?"
"Corrupt one. Also used to knock him and his sister around. You'd think that combination would make him hate law enforcement even more."
"Maybe he hates bad cops," Jude offered. "There's a distinction."
Joe was quiet for a moment. "Maybe. Go on."
"So Snart comes around to the back of the armored truck with what looked like a storage tank — sprayed white vapor on the security door for maybe ten seconds. The metal went brittle almost instantly. Frosted over, started cracking. When he hit it, it didn't bend or buckle — it just shattered. Like ice. Really satisfying sound, actually."
Barry blinked. "How do you know it was liquid nitrogen?"
"I've seen it in a video. Anyway — the door came off, and then a red blur went through the scene so fast it was almost just a smear of light, and then all four of them — the crane driver, the two on the motorcycles, and Snart — were on the ground."
"The blur seemed to be in a hurry. Looked like the kind of guy who kicks a passing dog twice just to make a point on his way somewhere."
Barry opened his mouth.
"Stay on the case," Joe said, not looking up from his notebook.
Barry closed his mouth.
"Then one of the robbers — not Snart — got up and started firing at the officers. And in the chaos, Snart's mask came off. That's how I got a clear look at his face." Jude exhaled slowly, with the air of a man tallying a loss. "The blur took the officers somewhere — hospital, probably. And now I'm down a regular customer. Nine months of patronage, just gone."
"Look on the bright side," Barry said. "The officer's going to be fine. And a failed robbery doesn't mean Snart stops eating."
Jude considered this. "That's a slightly alarming framing. 'The ruthless professional criminal will continue to patronize your establishment.' Very reassuring."
"I'm trying."
Eddie came around the side of the truck before anyone could continue, hands in his jacket pockets. "Joe — on-site sweep's done. No additional leads. How's it going here?"
The temperature around Joe dropped by several degrees. Not literally — that was more Snart's department — but the shift was visible. Joe's expression, already not a warm one, rearranged itself into something that could generously be called professional neutrality.
Jude filed this away without comment. He knew exactly what was under the surface. Joe had found out about Iris and Eddie, and the fact that Joe hadn't yet shot his blond colleague in the kneecap was, in Jude's assessment, a remarkable act of self-control.
"We'll debrief at the station," Joe said flatly. He snapped his notebook shut and looked at Jude. "We may need you to come in and make a formal statement."
"Sure," Jude said.
"We appreciate the cooperation."
"You could also just not come back, and we'd both be fine."