Eiling was a man who used hard methods, but he hadn't gotten this far by losing his grip on basic arithmetic. He could see the shape of this situation clearly: the CCPD detectives and inspectors were not under his authority, their argument with him was technically a jurisdictional dispute rather than insubordination, and the video already circulating online meant any action he took in public today would land in a context distinctly unfavorable to him.
He could not order the police officers taken to the base. That was the wall.
"You really want to push those two?" Jude called from the steps, his tone carrying the specific quality of a man offering a genuinely well-intentioned warning. "Buddy, I say this for your own benefit. Don't."
Eiling gave him a look that communicated precisely how much weight he was giving that advice, turned away from the CCPD officers entirely, and waved two fingers at the soldiers behind him.
"Take him."
The soldiers moved.
Jude turned to Joe and said, mildly, "Joe — wasn't it you who asked me to come to the station today? To cooperate with the investigation?"
The effect was instantaneous. Joe and Singh exchanged a look that lasted about half a second — two experienced officers with the shared instinct of men who have been improvising under pressure for twenty years — and moved.
Joe got there first. Two quick steps, one arm blocking the soldiers' path, the other steering Jude by the elbow through the door. "My apologies — this man is a material witness in two active cases and a person of interest in a third. He's in our custody for questioning. You'll need to go through proper channels."
Jude, being propelled into a police station with somewhat more physical force than the act required, sent Joe a sideways look. We're doing theatre. Why are you actually manhandling me.
"That's correct," Singh said, falling in immediately. "He's in police custody. If the military has a claim, you're welcome to file the paperwork and come back when we've finished our process."
There wasn't much Jude could say about this, so he said nothing and let himself be walked inside.
Eiling stood in the doorway and watched it happen. His pretext was thin, the CCPD was outside his jurisdiction, and the people currently blocking him were doing so while following every rule. His face had gone a shade that suggested considerable internal pressure.
"Very well, Inspector Singh. Detective West." He pointed — one finger for each of them, with weight behind it. "You'll understand soon enough how unwise it is to work against a general."
"One last piece of advice," Jude's voice drifted back from somewhere inside the station. "For your own sake — let this one go."
Eiling took this as exactly the provocation it sounded like. He smiled, coldly, and left with his two soldiers.
He'd been outmaneuvered twice in one day by a food truck owner. He hadn't forgotten his original objective — Bette Sans Souci — but that had quietly dropped to second priority. Something uglier and more personal had moved to the front. He was going to find a way to balance this, and he was going to be deliberate about it.
He needed a win so badly it had started to feel like a physical requirement.
After the military cleared the area, the CCPD exhaled collectively and returned to their actual jobs. Jude spent a few minutes in the corner of the bullpen with Joe.
"What Eiling said about me — any of it true?"
Joe looked at him steadily. "I didn't know if any of it was true. I helped you anyway."
"Because?"
"Because you've been in this city almost a year, and you've been feeding half this department for most of it. I'm an old cop, Jude. I know what kind of person I'm looking at." A pause. "That said — is there something I should know?"
"Ask Barry. Too many ears here to get into it. He's involved, he can explain." Jude nodded toward the window. "Can I sell the rest of the spicy strips out front? I promised some kids yesterday I'd save them a few packs."
Joe looked at the food cart, ten meters from the station entrance. "You'll be visible from the door. Don't wander. You want someone to—"
"You've all got real work to do. I'm fine."
Singh appeared at Joe's shoulder. "Joe. My office. We need to talk about Eiling — this is going to get complicated."
Joe stood, gave Jude a look that said watch yourself, and got a thumbs-up in return.
The cart was barely set up when the first familiar faces came around the corner.
Danton and Elizabeth Black, arm in arm, moving with the slightly purposeful energy of people who've seen something upsetting and have come to check on someone.
"You two out for a walk?"
Elizabeth got there before Danton could answer. "Jude. Are you alright? We saw the video. That man had a gun to your head — he's an old bastard. I don't care if he's a general."
Elizabeth Black did not, as a rule, swear. The fact that she had, twice in one sentence, said something about how this morning had landed.
"Keep your voice down," Jude said, not unkindly, glancing around. "He is an old bastard. But he's petty and powerful, and that combination is one you don't antagonize out loud on a public street."
"Having power and influence makes him untouchable?"
"Think about Stagg," Jude said. "How did that go for him, in the beginning?"
Danton's expression was calm. "Stagg's finished. He's doing what cornered men do." He studied Jude for a moment. "Is there anything we can do?"
"Not right now. I've got a handle on it."
"Jude—" Elizabeth started.
"Trust me. If I actually need help, you'll hear from me."
Danton put a hand lightly on his wife's back — a small, quiet gesture. As one practical-minded person reading another, he understood that Jude had already assessed the situation and arrived somewhere. More questions wouldn't add anything. He bought two packs of spicy strips, and the two of them headed back down the street.
Thirty seconds later, Satsuki's voice came through the earpiece.
"Danton just sent a text to someone he refers to as 'the mysterious man.' Content: if the 'Multiplex' needs to take action, he can be reached anytime."
Jude laughed quietly. "He figured it out." He shook his head. "Did he give himself that nickname? A man whose power is literally multiplying himself calling himself the Multiplex. A bit on the nose."
He was still working through the implications of Danton knowing — or correctly guessing — more than he should, when the next customer arrived.
"What's on the menu today?"
Jude looked up.
Dark trench coat. Sunglasses. The particular composure of someone who recently derailed a high-speed train and is treating the subsequent Tuesday afternoon as a completely ordinary event.
"Japanese spicy strips." Jude stared at him. "You've got real nerve."
Leonard Snart held his gaze, unhurried.
"This is directly in front of the Central City Police Department. You're a wanted man. You are standing ten meters from the front door."
Snart's mouth curved, very slightly. "Are you selling or not?"