Cafe Serra

Night. A quiet café patio on Kingsway. The neon sign flickers: “Cafe Serra.” Rain taps the pavement. Officer Jake Hoyt leans back in his chair, eyes sharp. Across from him sits Agostinho, nervous, stirring his espresso.

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JAKE HOYT
You ever see Internal Affairs?

AGOSTINHO
The cop movie?

JAKE
Yeah. Internal Affairs. Richard Gere playing dirty behind the badge. Andy Garcia hunting him from the inside. That’s my kind of assignment.

AGOSTINHO
Hunting cops?

JAKE
Not cops. Corrupt cops. Big difference.

(Jake taps his badge against the table.)

JAKE
Internal Affairs is a dream job. You don’t gotta rat out old friends who made one bad call. You don’t chase kids over parking tickets. You go after the ones shaking down shop owners. Protection rackets. Envelope money. The guys who forgot what the badge means.

AGOSTINHO
And what happens to them?

JAKE
First? A warning.

(He gestures toward the café sign.)

JAKE
Cafe Serra gets a visit. Quiet conversation. “We see you. Clean it up.” That’s mercy.

AGOSTINHO
And if they don’t?

(Jake’s face hardens.)

JAKE
Then it’s Trump Alcatraz.

AGOSTINHO
That’s not real.

JAKE
It’s an idea. You keep reoffending, running rackets, threatening small businesses? You don’t get the angel cop anymore. You get consequences.

(Jake leans forward.)

JAKE
Look, I’ve worked narcotics. I’ve seen what happens when the line blurs. When cops start thinking they’re untouchable. Internal Affairs exists so the public doesn’t lose faith completely.

AGOSTINHO
But turning on your own…

JAKE
It’s not turning. It’s cleaning house.

(Jake pulls out his phone. A clip from Internal Affairs plays silently — tense interrogation scene.)

JAKE
See that? That’s what happens when nobody stops it early. It rots the whole department. Good cops get stained by association.

AGOSTINHO
So you’d arrest someone you trained with?

JAKE
If he’s extorting shopkeepers? Absolutely.

(Beat.)

JAKE
The badge isn’t a shield for criminals. It’s a contract with the public.

(He stands, rain starting to fall harder.)

JAKE
You know who you are. If you’re running protection money out of cafés and calling it “security,” this is the warning. Clean it up.

(He turns to leave.)

JAKE
Because the angel cop knocks once.

(He pauses.)

JAKE
After that? The door gets kicked in.

Jake walks off into the wet Vancouver night. The café sign buzzes louder as Agostinho sits frozen, espresso untouched.