Chapter 47 – Confidences in a Taco Truck
Los Angeles – Friday, 2:12 p.m.
A discreet parking lot on Melrose Ave
Vehicle 7A45 was parked under the generous shade of a palm tree, with the engine off and the two occupants relaxing after a busy morning. The clear, blue Los Angeles sky was almost an invitation to laziness, and the tempting smell coming from the taco truck next door was irresistible.
Angela slowly chewed her carnitas taco, sitting in the back of the vehicle, with her legs crossed, while Gustavo savored a chicken burrito with chipotle sauce and a cold lemonade. They had been there for over twenty minutes, and the peaceful silence between them was only broken by the sounds of cars passing in the distance and the casual conversations of the food truck customers.
— "I swear," Angela said, wiping her fingers on a napkin, "these tacos here... beat any five-star restaurant in Downtown."
Gustavo smiled, looking up at the sky.
— "I agree. There's something special about the seasoning. Maybe it's the cook's sweat."
Angela laughed, lightly tapping his shoulder with her napkin.
— "You're disgusting. Now you've ruined my last bite."
— "Sorry," he said, laughing. "You started the compliment."
Angela was silent for a few seconds, watching him with a more contemplative look. The sun was hitting Gustavo's face from the side, highlighting his young features, but already marked by an unusual maturity.
— "You know, there's something I've been wanting to ask you for a while."
Gustavo looked at her, curious.
— "Go ahead."
She rested her elbows on her knees, leaning forward.
— "When you say you worked for the DOD… do you mean… like, civil cases? Or was it something more serious?"
He looked ahead, thoughtful. It took her a while to answer.
— "It depends on what you consider heavy."
She arched an eyebrow.
— "You know what I'm talking about. You don't have to pretend you don't."
Gustavo took a deep breath. The wind blew softly, bringing the scent of fresh cilantro from the trailer. He looked at her sincerely.
— "Okay. I can tell you a few things. Nothing that violates my NDA... but enough to give you an idea."
Angela sat up, visibly interested. Not as a curious person, but as someone who respects secrets and values trust.
— "Go ahead."
— "When I started at the DOD, while I was still doing my J.D., I interned with military lawyers on cases related to national security. At first, I reviewed documentation, read protocols, and researched case law on international actions."
— "So far, it seems like a tough postgraduate course," she commented.
Gustavo nodded.
— "Yeah... but then came the practical part. I started taking part in briefings on counterterrorism operations. I followed investigations linked to radical groups. Once, I helped to set up the legal basis for the extradition of a suspect who was hiding in a country without a direct treaty with the US."
— "Did you have access to that kind of information?"
— "I had clearance. High level. My accelerated naturalization process was conditioned on that. And yes, I renounced my Brazilian citizenship."
Angela made a surprised expression, and then nodded.
— "Wow... that's... big. You broke away from your origins to be able to serve in a country that was still getting to know you."
Gustavo smiled, a little sadly.
— "It's part of it. My parents understood. And, in fact, they became citizens too, as a result. Today they are happy."
Angela took another lemonade from the portable cooler and offered it to him, which he accepted gratefully.
— "And the people? Who did you work with?"
Gustavo smiled.
— "Do you know Harvey Specter?"
Angela's eyes widened.
— "Harvey Specter? The badass corporate lawyer from New York?"
— "Yeah. I worked with him for a while at Pearson Hardman's Boston office. I knew Donna too. Nice, smart… she looked like an FBI agent disguised as a secretary."
Angela laughed.
— "Now you're just kidding."
— "I swear to God."
She was silent, processing everything. Then she continued.
— "And the training? You said once that you had tactical training with SWAT."
— "Yes, I was invited to some special classes with Sergeant Mumford. Basically, training for simulated invasions, hostage handling, negotiation in high-risk areas. I also received basic counterintelligence instruction when I did my summer internship at the DOD headquarters in Washington. Nothing like a spy movie, but... enough to understand how certain mechanisms work."
Angela was impressed. With each sentence, she felt like she got to know a new layer of Gustavo.
— "You're like... a living archive, Gustavo."
— "Not really. There's a lot I'll never be able to tell. But what I can, I share. Especially with those I trust."
She looked at him with a sincere smile.
— "Thank you for trusting me."
He nodded, a sparkle in his eyes.
— "You're my TO. And my friend. Makes sense."
She took another bite of the taco, and then pointed at him with her finger.
— "You know what? I would never have guessed that the shy, clean-cut recruit who walked into the police station speaking too formally was someone with this background."
— "I tried to sound normal," he said, laughing.
— "Well, I failed miserably," she replied, laughing.
3:50 PM – Time to Go Back to Patrol
As they put away the leftovers and threw away the cups, Angela said:
— "Do you think you'll ever go back to the legal world? Like... court, law... DOD...?"
Gustavo thought for a moment.
— "Maybe. But not now. Here... on the streets... is where I want to be. At least for now."
She nodded, a glint of pride in her eyes.
— "Then let's get to work, partner."
He got into the police car and fastened his seatbelt.
— "Let's protect the city."
The police car's siren blared softly as they resumed their patrol.
Chapter 48 – Lethal Precision
Sunday – 9:03 AM
Tactical Shooting Range – Los Angeles Police Department
The air in the range was dry, smelling of gunpowder, metal, and grease. The shooting ranges were mostly empty, except for two occupied boxes in the most secluded corner of the range. Gustavo was wearing his belt holster with his Glock 17, the LAPD's standard issue weapon. He adjusted his ear protectors with the calm of someone at home.
Angela, on the other side, with her safety glasses already in place, wore a gray sleeveless T-shirt with the police emblem on the chest and black tactical pants. She was loading her magazine with agile movements, but noticed that Gustavo already had two ready on the bench.
"I bet you sleep with a magazine in your hand," she commented, fitting his own into the pistol.
Gustavo smiled dryly.
— "Almost. I've had more tense phases. This turned into meditation after a while."
Angela raised an eyebrow.
— "Meditation with bullets? That's for crazy people."
— "For crazy people or for people who learned from the best," he replied, in a calm tone.
She chuckled, but soon returned to her concentration. They both positioned themselves. The first round was five shots at 15 meters. Angela went first. Good posture, feet well planted, arms extended but the grouping came out a little spread out, with three shots at the central target and two pulling slightly to the right.
Gustavo went next. His five shots were dry, rhythmic, controlled to the millimeter. When the silhouette was pulled back by the machine, Angela held her breath.
The five shots were grouped in an area of less than five centimeters, all in the "A-zone" the lethal zone.
She took off her glasses.
— "You're kidding, right?"
Gustavo took off his earplugs, but kept his expression neutral.
— "Focus on breathing control, correct anchoring, and reading the trigger. Do you want me to show you?"
Angela didn't hesitate.
— "Please. If I can do half of that, I'll buy you lunch today."
He smiled and asked her to unload the gun and keep the holster free. He took the pistol from her and returned to the line.
— "Okay, first: your grouping is good, but it's deviating to the right because you're probably pulling the trigger with your finger too tense. You need to think of it as a sensitive button, not a lever. And second… your grip is too high on the wrist."
He showed her precisely.
— "Here. When you hold it like this, you're taking the recoil force line off the correct axis. The gun goes up and pulls to the side."
Angela crossed her arms, listening attentively.
— "And where did you learn that? In training with the SWAT team?"
Gustavo nodded.
— "Some training, yes, with Mumford and Hondo's team. But a lot of it came from some sessions I had with some JSOC — Joint Special Operations Command operators. I couldn't even remember their names, but I learned more in one afternoon with one of them than I did in a year at the gym."
Her eyes widened.
— "JSOC? Did you train with the guys who hunt terrorists hiding in the middle of the desert?"
— "Yeah. One of the guys who taught me the most was from a unit that was never officially recognized. He taught me a technique called 'breathed press-check'. It's used to condition the body to synchronize breathing, vision and trigger pressure."
Angela looked skeptical, but curious.
— "You'll have to show me that."
Gustavo smiled.
— "Let's do better. Grab your pistol. I'll guide you step by step."
She obeyed. They returned to the shooting range. He stood beside her, subtly correcting the position of her hands, the anchoring of her thumbs and the base of her thumb on the grip.
— "Okay. Now, aim for the center. Take a deep breath. Inhale... hold it... and on the exhale, when the air comes out... press the trigger gently. Let the shot break naturally."
Angela followed the instructions. The shot echoed. She looked at the target.
Center.
— "Wow..."
Gustavo lightly tapped her on the shoulder.
— "Again."
She fired four more times. The grouping had already improved considerably. Angela's eyes shone with surprise and pride.
— "Okay, this is witchcraft."
— "No. It's biomechanics, neuroscience and hundreds of hours in situations where a mistake cost more than points on the target."
Angela turned around, now with a confident smile.
— "You should teach recruits."
— "Maybe one day," he replied. "But for now, I prefer to teach those who are actually on the streets with me."
She bit her lower lip, thinking. Then she smiled.
— "So, are you going to show me your aim with the rifle now or are you afraid of humiliating me?"
Gustavo laughed, picking up the Colt M4 rifle configured with red dot and handstop.
— "Only if you promise not to cry."
11:45 AM – Rifle Session
They were now 50 meters from the shooting line, with humanoid tactical targets. Gustavo adjusted the rifle fluidly, shouldering and making smooth transitions between positions standing, kneeling, crouching. Dry, fast, clean shots. The target looked like it had been attacked by a single surgical burst.
Angela, even with her good aim, stopped for a moment to observe in silence.
— "You are a monster, Gustavo. And I mean that as a compliment."
— "Thank you. This is like dancing. Every movement has its cadence."
She smiled.
— "And what did you do in the DOD... was it more of a rifle than a pistol?"
— "It depends. In the legal field, more analysis. But during missions that I accompanied as a legal observer that is, I was there with the team to ensure that everything was legally executed, I needed to be ready. Sometimes we went in convoy, and if there was any contact, I couldn't be the weak link."
Angela crossed her arms, watching him calmly disassemble the rifle.
— "You're not just smart. You're dangerous."
— "The difference between dangerous and prepared is intention."
She liked that one. And made a mental note.
1:10 PM – Post-Workout
Sitting back in the locker room, drinking water and taking off their pads, Angela looked at him sincerely.
— "Thank you for today. Seriously. This kind of thing... is gold. It really makes a difference on the street."
— "You're my TO. If I can help you like you help me every day... that's the least I can do."
She smiled, more softly.
— "I think this partnership will go far."
Gustavo just nodded.
— "It really will."
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