Levendorf said, Officer Hernandez-one minute, one second.
Hernandez glanced over at Pike as he stood, and Pike made an imperceptible nod of encouragement. Pike and Hernandez had been roomies at the academy.
Hernandez turned to face them.
My name is Paul Hernandez. My grandfather, my dad, and two uncles were all LAPD - I'm third generation--
The shift cheered and clapped until Levendorf told them to knock it off, then ordered Hernandez to continue.
I had two years at Cal State Northridge playing baseball before I got hurt. I love baseball, and I bleed Dodger blue. I'm married. We're expecting our first this June. I became an officer because I look up to officers, what with my family and all. That's the way I was raised. It runs in the blood.
The shift cheered again as Hernandez returned to his seat.
Levendorf quieted the crowd, then looked at Pike.
Officer Pike-one minute, one second.
Everyone said pretty much the same things-they talked about their education and their families, but Pike hadn't gone to college and wouldn't talk about his family. He couldn't see that it mattered or why it was anyone else's business, anyway. Pike figured all that mattered was what a man did in the moment at hand, and whether or not he did right.
Pike stood and turned. This was the first time he had seen the officers assembled behind him. They were all colors and ages. Many were smiling and loose; others looked stern; and a lot of them looked bored. Pike noted those officers with two stripes on their sleeves. Civilians always confused these for corporal stripes, but these were the P-IIIs. One of them would be his training officer.
My name is Joe Pike. I'm not married. I pulled two combat tours in the Marines--
The shift broke into wild applause and cheers, with many of the officers shouting Semper fi. LAPD had a high percentage of Marine Corps veterans.
Levendorf waved them quiet and nodded at Pike to continue.
I want to be a police officer because the motto says to protect and to serve. That's what I want to do.
Pike took his seat to scattered applause, but someone in the back laughed.
Got us a regular Clint Eastwood. A man of few words.
Pike saw Levendorf frowning.
Levendorf said, We call this part of the program 'yone minute, one second,' Officer Pike-so I figure you got about forty seconds to go. Perhaps you'd offer a bit more, self-illumination-wise; say, about your family and hobbies?
Pike stood again, and once more faced the crowd.
I qualified as a scout/sniper and served in Force Recon, mostly on long-range reconnaissance teams, hunter/killer teams, and priority target missions. I'm black belt qualified in tae kwon do, kung fu, wing chun, judo, and ubawazi. I like to run and work out. I like to read.
Pike stopped. The shift stared at him, but Pike didn't know whether or not to sit down so he stared back. No one applauded.
Finally, an older black P-III with salt-and-pepper hair said, Thank God he likes to read-I thought we had us a sissy.
The shift broke into laughter.
Levendorf ended the roll call, and everyone herded toward the exits except for Pike and the other new guys. They stayed behind to meet their P-IIIs.
Three senior officers bucked the departing crowd to make their way forward. The burly black officer who made the crack about Pike being a reader went to Grissom. The second P-III was an Asian officer with a face as edged as a diamond. He offered his hand to Hernandez. Pike watched the third P-III. He was shorter than Pike, with close brown hair, a rusty tan, and a thin, no-nonsense mouth. Pike guessed he was in his late thirties, but he might have been older. He had three hash marks on the lower part of his sleeve, signifying at least fifteen years on the job.
He came directly to Pike and put out his hand.
Good to meet you, Officer Pike. I'm Bud Flynn.
Sir.
I'll be your training officer for your first two deployment periods. After that, if you're still around, you'll swap T. O. 's with the other boots, but you're mine for the first two months.
Yes, sir.
You can call me Officer Flynn or sir until I say otherwise, and I will call you Officer Pike, Pike, or boot. We clear on that?
Yes, sir.
Got your gear?
Yes, sir. Right here.
Grab it and let's go.
Pike hooked the gear bag over his shoulder and followed Flynn out to the parking lot. The mid-afternoon sun was hot and the air was hazy from the smog bank that heated the city. Flynn led Pike to a dinged and battered Caprice that had probably racked up over two hundred thousand hard miles. When they reached the car, Flynn pointed at it.
This is our shop. Its name is two-adam-forty-four, which will also be your name after I teach you to use the radio. What do you think of our shop, Officer Pike?
It's fine.
It is a piece of shit. It has so much wrong with it that it would be down-checked on any other police force in America. But this is Los Angeles, where our cheap-ass city council won't give us the money to hire enough men, or buy and maintain the proper equipment. But do you know what the good news is, Officer Pike?
No, sir.
The good news is that we are Los Angeles police officers. Which means we will use this piece of shit anyway, and still provide the finest police service available in any major American city.
Pike was liking Flynn. He liked Flynn's manner, and Flynn's pride in the department, and Flynn's obvious pride in his profession.
Flynn put his gear on the ground at the back of the car, then faced Pike with his hands on his hips.
First we're going to inspect the vehicle, then load our gear, but before we get going I want to make sure we're on the same page.
Flynn seemed to want a response, so Pike nodded.
I respect your service, but I don't give a rat's ass about it. Half this police force was in the Marines and the other half is tired of hearing about it. This is a city in the United States of America. It isn't a war zone.
Yes, sir. I understand.
That piss you off, me saying that?
No, sir.
Flynn studied Pike as if he suspected Pike was lying.
Well, if you are, you hide it well, which is good. Because out here, you will not show your true feelings to anyone. Whatever you feel about the lowlifes, degenerates, and citizens we deal with-be they victim or criminal-you will keep your personal opinions to yourself. From this point on, you are Officer Pike, and Officer Pike works for the people of this city no matter who and what they are. We clear?
Yes, sir.
Flynn popped the trunk. It was tattered and empty. He pointed inside.
This is the trunk. I'm driving, so my gear will go on the driver's side. You're the passenger, so your gear goes on the passenger's side. This is the way we do it on the Los Angeles Police Department.
Yes, sir.
Stow your gear, but don't stop listening.
Pike stowed his gear as Flynn went on.
The academy taught you statutes and procedure, but I am going to teach you the two most important lessons you receive. The first is this: You will see people at their creative, industrious worst-and I am going to teach you how to read them. You are going to learn how to tell a lie from the truth even when everyone is lying, and how to figure out what's right even when everyone is wrong. From this, you will learn how to dispense justice in a fair and evenhanded way, which is what the people of our city deserve. Clear?
Yes, sir.
Any questions?
What's the other thing?
What other thing?
The first lesson is how to read people. What's the second?
Flynn's eyebrows arched as if he was about to dispense the wisdom of the ages.
You will learn how not to hate them. You'll see some sorry bastards out here, Officer Pike, but people aren't so bad. I'm going to teach you how not to lose sight of that, because if you do you'll end up hating them and that's the fi
rst step toward hating yourself. We can't have that, can we?
No, sir.
Flynn inspected the trunk to make sure Pike had stowed his gear correctly, grunted an approval, then closed it. He turned back to Pike again, seemed to be thinking, and Pike wondered if Flynn was trying to read him.
Flynn said, Now I have a question. When you said why you became an officer, you quoted the LAPD motto, to protect and to serve. Which is it?
Some people can't protect themselves. They need help.
And that would be you, Officer Pike, with all that karate and stuff?
Pike nodded.
You like to fight?
I don't like it or not like it. If I have to, I can.
Flynn nodded, but the way he sucked at his lips told Pike he was still being read.
Flynn said, Our job isn't to get in fights, Officer Pike. We don't always have a choice, but you get in enough fights, you'll get your ass kicked for sure. You ever had your ass kicked?
Yes, sir.
Pike would not mention his father.
Flynn still sucked at his lips, reading him.
We get in a fight, we've failed. We pull the trigger, it means we've failed. Do you believe that, Officer Pike?
No, sir.
I do. What do you think it means?
We had no other way.
Flynn grunted, but this time Pike couldn't tell if his grunt was approving or not.
So why is it you want to protect people, Officer Pike? You get your ass kicked so much you're overcompensating?
Pike knew Flynn was testing him. Flynn was probing and reading Pike's reactions, so Pike met Flynn's gaze with empty blue eyes.
I don't like bullies.
Making you the guy who kicks the bully's ass.
Yes.
Just so long as we stay within the rule of law.
Flynn considered him for another moment, then his calm eyes crinkled gently at the corners.
Me being your training officer, I read your file, son. I think you have what it takes to make a fine police officer.
Pike nodded.
You don't say much, do you?
No, sir.
Good. I'll do enough talking for both of us. Now get in the car. Let's go protect people.
Their first hour together was light on protecting people. Each basic radio car normally patrolled a specific area within the division, but Flynn started off by giving Pike a tour of the entire division. During this time, Flynn reviewed radio procedures, let Pike practice exchanges with the dispatchers, and pointed out well-known dirtbag gathering points.
Easing into their second hour, Flynn let Pike write two traffic citations.
After the second citation, which was to an elderly woman who was angry and resentful at having been tagged for running a red light, Flynn painted Pike with a large smile.
Well, how do you like the job so far?
A little slow.
You did fine with that lady. Didn't punch her out or anything.
Maybe next time.
Flynn laughed, then told the dispatchers to begin pitching them calls. Over the next two hours, Pike took a stolen car report from a sobbing teenage girl (the car belonged to her brother, who was going to kill her for getting his car stolen), interviewed a pet shop owner who had made a public drunkenness complaint (a drunk had entered her store, let the dogs and cats out of their cages, then left), took a shoplifting report from the manager of a convenience store (the shoplifter was long gone), took a report from a man who had returned home from work to find his house burglarized (the burglar was long gone), took a stolen bicycle report (no suspects), took a stolen motorcycle report (also no suspects), and checked out a report from a woman who believed her elderly neighbor was dead in an upstairs apartment (the elderly neighbor had gone to her daughter's cabin at Big Bear Lake).
At every criminal call they answered, the suspect or perpetrator was long gone or never present, though Pike dutifully and under Flynn's direction logged the complainant's statement, filled out the necessary form, and performed all communications.
They were proceeding east on Beverly Boulevard when the dispatcher said, Two-adam-forty-four, domestic disturbance at 2721 Harell, woman reported crying for help. You up for that?
Pike wanted it, but said nothing. It was up to Flynn. Flynn glanced over and seemed to read the need. He picked up the mike.
Two-adam-forty-four inbound.
Roger, stand by.
Domestic calls were the worst. Pike had heard it again and again at the academy, and Flynn had already mentioned it in the few hours they had been together. When you rolled on a domestic call, you were rolling into the jagged eye of an emotional hurricane. In those moments, the police were often seen as saviors or avengers, and were always the last resort.
Flynn said, Evening watch is prime time for domestics. We'll probably get three or four tonight, and more on a Friday. By Friday, they've been working up to it all week.
Pike didn't say anything. He knew about domestic violence first-hand. His father had never waited until Friday. Any night would do.
Flynn said, When we get there, I'll do the talking. You watch how I handle them, and learn. But keep your eyes open. You never know what's what when you answer one of these things. You might be watching the man, and the woman will shoot you in the back. The woman might be some scared-looking dishrag, but once we get her old man cooled out, she might turn into a monster. I saw that once. We got the cuffs on this guy, and that's when his old lady felt safe. She chopped off his foot with a meat cleaver.
Pike said, Okay.
Pike wasn't worried. He figured clearing a domestic disturbance call couldn't be much different than clearing houses in a combat zone-you watched everything, you kept your back to a wall, and you assumed everyone wanted to kill you. Then you would be fine.
They rolled to a small apartment building south of Temple near the center of Rampart. Motionless palms towered overhead, catching the shimmer of dying light to make the building more colorful than it was. The dispatcher had filled them in: Call was placed by one Mrs. Esther Villalobos, complaining that male and female neighbors had been arguing all afternoon and had escalated into what Mrs. Villalobos described as loud crashing, whereupon the female neighbor, identified by Mrs. Villalobos as a young Caucasian female named Candace Stanik, shouted Stop it! several times, then screamed for help. Mrs. Villalobos had stated that an unemployed Caucasian male she knew only as Dave sometimes lived at the residence. The dispatcher reported no history of officers being dispatched to this address.
Pike and Flynn would learn more later, but these were their only available facts when they arrived at the scene.
They double-parked their patrol car, then stepped into the street. Pike scanned his surroundings automatically as he exited the car-vehicles, the deepening shadows between the buildings, the surrounding roofs-a gulp of space and color he sensed as much as saw. Clear. Good.
Flynn said, You ready?
Yes, sir.
Let's go see what's what.
Pike followed Flynn toward Candace Stanik's apartment.
Mrs. Villalobos lived in the rear unit on the ground floor. Candace Stanik lived in the ground unit next door. Pike and Flynn would only contact Mrs. Villalobos in the event they could not gain access to Stanik's unit or if no one was home.
Flynn stopped outside Stanik's door, motioning Pike to remain silent. The windows were lit. Pike heard no voices, but hacking sobs were distinct. Flynn looked at Pike and raised his eyebrows, the look asking if Pike heard it. Pike nodded. He thought Flynn looked green in the strange evening light.
Flynn pointed to the side of the door and whispered.
Stand here out of the way. When I go in, you come in right behind me, but take your cue from me. Maybe the guy's already gone. Maybe they've made up and are in there all lovey-dovey. Understand?
Pike nodded.
Don't draw your gun unless you see me draw mine. We don't want to escalate the situation. W
e want to cool it. Understand?
Pike nodded again.
Flynn rapped at the door three times and announced them.
Police officer.
He rapped again.
Please open the door.
The crying stopped and Pike heard movement. Then a young woman spoke from the other side of the door.
I'm okay. I don't need anything.
Flynn rapped again.
Open the door, miss. We can't leave until we see you.
Flynn raised his hand to knock as the door opened, and Candace Stanik peered through a thin crack. Even with the narrow view, Pike saw that her nose was broken and her right eye was purple with the mottled skin tight over a swelling lump. The eye would be closed in another few minutes. Pike had had plenty of eyes like that. Mostly as a kid. Mostly from his father.
Flynn placed his hand on the door.
Step away, hon. Let me open the door and take a look.
He's gone. He went to his girlfriend.
Flynn's voice was gentle but firm. Pike admired the way Flynn could direct so much emotion by his voice.
Miss Stanik? That your name, Candace Stanik?
Her voice was soft, but thin and strained. Pike wasn't listening to her; he listened past her, searching for other occupants. A crisp medicinal smell of ether came from her apartment, telling him that someone had been freebasing.
Yes. He went--
Let us in now, hon. We can't leave until we come in, so just let us in.
Flynn pushed gently on the door until she backed away. Pike shadowed inside, then quickly stepped to the side so they weren't bunched together. Together, they would make a single large target; apart, two targets more difficult to kill. Pike kept his back to the wall.
Stepping into the apartment was like entering a furnace. Pike began sweating. They were in a cramped living room. As Flynn approached the girl, Pike noted an entry closet to the left and, across the living room, a tiny kitchen and dining area. A short hall branched off the dining area. The apartment appeared neat and squared away except the coffee table was turned on its side and the floor was spattered with blood. Candace Stanik was pregnant. Pike guessed seven or eight months, though he knew little about women or pregnancy. Her T-shirt was streaked with blood over the mound of her belly, and more blood spattered her legs and bare feet. Pike noted a thin kitchen towel bundled with ice that she had probably been using on her eye. Her lips were split in two places and her nose was broken, and she held her belly as if she was cramping.