Detective Mason Daniels opened the door with his shoulder and quickly stepped inside the large office space. Inside there was a line of back-to-back desks with thin walls separating them. At each sat someone with a headset, all speaking loudly as if they were the only ones in the room – it was a hive bustling with activity.

“Who’s in charge here?” he asked the desk closest to him.

The man just continued talking into headset. “Yes ma’am, we guarantee a one-year warranty for all of our products.”

Daniels shook his head and continued passed the long line of telemarketers, coming to an office in the back. “LAPD, open up,” he said loudly as he knocked on the door, trying to make his voice heard over the others’.

A few moments later the door opened. Daniels was greeted by a finger telling him to wait a moment as the man continued talking on his phone.

Is anyone ever not on the phone here? he wondered to himself.

He was motioned to a chair across from a desk about the size of four of the desks out in the main room. He looked around the office, seeing various plaques on the wall. The table was overflowing with papers, with one clear corner where a phone lay. Of course, he thought to himself.

He was waiting nearly five minutes before the man finally hung up and smiled. “What can I do for you, officer?”


“Sorry. Detective.”

Mason Daniels just shook his head, sighing as he thought about how he would need to spend a good amount of time here, questioning the workers. He had always hated telemarketers.


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