Code four

Stone climbed back in his car after seeing Candice on her way and did a U-turn, his stomach churning with a hunger for a cheeseburger and fries. This wasn't his usual stomping ground. He couldn't be sure if he'd find an all-night burger bar in his vicinity. Pulling over, he cut his engine and lights, then unlocked his cell phone, hoping his app would find a fast-food outlet open. Movement caught his attention through the windshield of the car parked in front of him. Three black youths ran out of Tragniew Park in South Los Angeles at the side of a gas station. They weren't running away, but playing a game of football, tossing something between them that didn't appear to be a ball. They made their way across the two lanes in a northerly direction. One tossed the package to the other and he touched it down on the sidewalk. That's when he saw the strap. It was likely a purse.

"Crap, it's them. She gave the wrong direction," he mumbled under his breath. Stone grabbed his microphone. "A-eighteen, officer forty-two, I need backup. Three BMs, possibly those responsible for an earlier code two-eleven at West Alondra."

"Copy that, what's your status?"

"I'm across from the Mobil station at the corner of West Alondra and South Central Avenue. Suspects heading north. One of them is a possible code four-seventeen."

"Copy that, remain in position and await confirmation of backup."

"Check that."

Stone waited, then waited some more. He knew from his GPS screen there wasn't a turning for quarter of a mile if they stayed on his side of the highway. Strolling away down the middle of the road, they were growing ever more distant.

"A-eighteen to, Dispatch. What's the status on my backup crew? Only the suspects are quarter of a mile north of the Mobil station."

His speakers buzzed with static.

"Dispatch to, A-eighteen, backup responding. Two L-two's on route. ETA ten minutes."

Ten minutes and he'd lose sight of them. Stone chewed on his bottom lip. He fired up his engine, pulled out from behind the parked car in front with his lights still out, then hugged the sidewalk at a crawl. He arrived at where they had discarded the purse and stopped.

Stone snatched open his door, leaned down and pulled the purse inside by the strap. Inspecting the contents, everything was there that Candice had mentioned apart from the thirty dollars. He tossed it onto the passenger seat, picked up his cell phone and tapped in the details to his app to find somewhere to eat. The app came back with a taco bar open until 3:00 am. It was some distance past his targets, but in the right direction. His cell phone display showed it was 2:40 a.m.

"To hell with this waiting," he muttered, and tossed his cell phone onto the passenger seat.

He put his foot down on the pedal, then flicked on his sidelights. Stone picked up his microphone.

"A-eighteen, officer forty-two. I'm losing sight of the suspects and there's no sign of backup. Pursuing as a code four."

He turned off his radio, not waiting for a response. The suspects were no more than fifty yards away when he flicked on his headlights and activated his siren. They had nowhere to go with high walls either side of them. They stopped and turned, caught like jackrabbits in the headlights, raising their hands. Stone spun his steering wheel, yanking on the handbrake, and his car screeched to a halt, sideways on. Shouldering his door open, he withdrew his gun as he stepped to the fender. He crouched and used the engine block for cover.

"On the ground, now. Careful with the hands or I'll shoot."

Two of them dropped to the asphalt. The third stood his ground.

"I said on the ground, now."

Stone's heartbeat ran away with itself, but his mind seemed to slow down. Mindful of the recent cop-on-black shooting, and the repercussions, he reached one hand for his taser, aware that the scene wasn't covered with his dash cam.

Sirens blurted behind him, their sound growing louder. The big guy looked agitated. His eyes danced around, probably looking for a way out. He was breathing hard, his breaths visible, expelled in a fog in the cold air.

"On the ground now. Don't even think about running."

The guy's arm lowered. Stone pulled the trigger on his taser, the barbs hitting their target. Big Fella wasn't so big anymore, his body in seizure and with his eyes writhing at the volts passing through him. He dropped to his knees, then to the ground. Stone kept him covered with his gun, dropped his taser, and then released his handcuffs with his free hand. He stalked over to the guy. Stone slipped one cuff on his wrist, and then holstered his gun, but the tank of a guy wasn't for letting him cuff his other wrist.

Cars screeched to a halt behind him, their doors opening, followed by boots on the ground.

"Help me out, guys."

He straddled Big Fella's back, wrestling with his arm. The guy ripped out the barbs, bucked him off and rolled over. Big Fella's gun had slipped from his waistband. Stone kicked it in the direction of his car, stepped back, and drew his own gun. He glanced over at his backup. Their cars were splayed at an angle either side of his car. They were leaning with their backsides on their hoods and snickering. At least they had their guns in their hands, but their arms were hanging by their sides.

"What's so freakin' funny? Help me get them cuffed."

"You look to be doing just fine," one of them said. From what he'd seen of him in the briefing room, he seemed to be their leader. Highway Patrolman Granger. The same guy who'd dissed Candice.

One of the felons on the ground lifted his head like a tortoise, and said, "Let him cuff ya, dude. Look who's here, man." He swayed his head in the direction of Granger.

Big Fella glanced at Granger, sighed, then rolled over and offered his other wrist to be cuffed.

"Come on then, cuff the others."

"They aren't going anywhere. Besides, you'll have plastic cuffs in your trunk. We might need ours."

Stone heard a garbled radio message. One of the officers leaned into their vehicle.

"Come on, guys, leave Tire Monkey to it. We're needed elsewhere."

Stone seethed inside, concentrating on covering his prisoners. Car doors slammed, tires screeched, and they were gone.

He backed off over to his trunk, opened it, and rummaged for some plastic cuffs. Taking care of business, he cuffed the others, for good measure, cuffing their legs at the ankles.

Over at his car, he reached in, switched on his radio, and then picked up the microphone.

"A-eighteen. Officer forty-two. Suspects apprehended. I need a custody wagon."

"Dispatch to A-eighteen, we have your position. Backup called it in. Wagon already on its way. Have you had a radio malfunction?"

"Yeah, loose wire."

Waiting for the wagon, Stone took his pen from his pocket and picked up the felon's gun by the trigger guard. The serial number had been ground off.

He caught a vision of the woman sat in her truck, looking distressed. He doubted she'd pick them out at a lineup. Especially not to be willing to put her life on the line for thirty dollars.

Stone sidled onto his seat. He punched in their details to his computer from the IDs he'd recovered. The three of them had long rap sheets, gang connections, and outstanding warrants. The warrants would see to it they'd be locked up out of harm's way. The wagon arrived. He took the thirty dollars he'd taken from Big Fella's back pocket and placed it inside the woman's purse, then slipped it under his seat. He wasn't about to give them the satisfaction of her having to apply for a new driver's license and insurance card, never mind them leaving her out of pocket. It could have been the last thirty dollars she had in the world.

"What have we got," said the wagon guy, and opened his back doors.

"Resisting arrest for the Big Fella, and probable firearm offences. He printed out the details from his computer, dropped the firearm in an evidence bag, climbed out of his car, and then handed him the arrest details.

"Here, when they process them at the station, tell them to have this firearm checked out ASAP with ballistic forensics. It's probably hot and it could be a burner. There are also some outstanding warrants."

"Resisting arrest? D'ya wanna have me takes them the long way round for the scenic tour?" he said, and then winked as he cut the cuffs on the ankles of one of the prisoners and dragged him to his feet.

He knew exactly what he meant by taking them on a scenic tour to rough ride them up in the back. He cursed at not having a body cam to record his words. What surprised him was that the wagon guy was African American.

"No, I don't want any of that shit. Take them straight back to the station."

Stone climbed back in his car, glanced at his watch. He sighed. The taco bar would be closed.

The speakers for his radio crackled. This time it was the gruff mail voice of Sergeant Baily booming over the speakers.

"Base to, A-18. I want a report on my desk at the end of your shift as to why you went ahead on a code four."

"Copy that."

Stone shook his head. He hoped Sergeant Baily wouldn't be as obnoxious as Logan, and going it alone wasn't a hanging offence.