After everything was secured, Felix turned to check on the K9 handler. The man was sitting on the ground in a daze, blood trickling slowly from his scalp, seemingly unaware of it.
Maybe it was his first time shooting someone at such close range. The shock hadn't worn off.
Felix stowed the officer's gun and gear in his own cruiser, then pulled gauze from the first-aid kit in the trunk. He crouched and handed it over.
"You're bleeding, brother. Press it down."
It must've happened in the scuffle inside the SUV. Too much adrenaline to notice at the time.
The young cop took the gauze mechanically, pressing it to his head, showing no sign of pain.
You were a raging bull a moment ago—now look at you.
"Partner, what were you chasing that guy for? Did you come out here alone? Where's your team?"
The K9 officer said nothing.
Felix shrugged. He wasn't the kind to coax men out of silence. Instead, he reached down to tease the Belgian Malinois sprawled at his feet. A yellow body, black muzzle, sharp eyes—clever and disciplined. The dog recognized the play, but stayed still, only shifting its gaze.
Everyone knew a dog that refused to react made for a boring game.
Felix unfastened his pepper spray pouch, idly toying with the idea of testing it. Then, in his peripheral vision, he caught the handler staring at him.
"This clasp came loose. I was just fixing it," Felix said with an awkward smile, standing and stepping aside.
Sirens wailed closer. Several LAPD cruisers screeched to a halt outside, and half a dozen officers stormed in with weapons drawn.
"Hands where we can see them! LAPD!"
Felix raised a hand. "Relax, fellas. Your K9's here—took a knock to the head. The suspect he was chasing is in that SUV. Took multiple rounds. Needs medical."
The sergeant in charge signaled his men to check the vehicle. He knelt by the handler, examined the wound, and nodded. "Not serious. Few days' rest will do, Jimmy."
The young officer finally spoke, voice shaking.
"I know I'm fine. It's just… I shot him. He might be dead. I didn't mean to kill him. He wouldn't obey. I just wanted to stop him…"
"I understand, Jimmy," the sergeant said calmly. "You did what you had to. Don't dwell on it. Rest up. See a department shrink if you need to."
Felix scratched his head. Look at that. Their sergeant gives a man comfort. My own boss? Nothing but cold paperwork. What a difference.
When the sergeant finished with Jimmy, he stood and faced Felix. "Sergeant Wilson, LAPD. Can you walk me through what happened?"
"Deputy Felix, LASD Temple Station. I was here getting my cruiser repaired. The suspect ran inside, Jimmy followed with his dog. The guy tried to escape in a vehicle. Struggle broke out—two men and a dog crammed in there. He refused to surrender, hit the ignition. Jimmy had no choice but to fire. That's all."
Wilson nodded. "Jimmy's weapon and gear—are they with you?"
Felix shook his head. "Per protocol, I secured them. But I can't hand them over. The shooting happened in our jurisdiction. They go to my supervisor, then get routed back to you."
It was his first time dealing with LAPD. The two agencies were supposed to have decent relations, trading favors when needed. But Felix wasn't about to test it here.
Wilson didn't press. He just patted Jimmy on the shoulder and went to inspect the SUV, asking questions of the garage staff.
So that's how it is. He was testing me. If the rules really said I should hand it over, he'd never have dropped it that easily. Tried to shake down a rookie, see if he could walk away with the gun. If I'd given it up, I'd be catching hell back at the station.
Felix burned Wilson's face into memory. One day, I'll return the favor.
Moments later, LASD units arrived. Sergeant Green led the team. Felix reported the situation, then handed over the weapon and gear. Green nodded, muttered, "Good work," and walked off.
Then he went straight to Wilson, smiling too wide, making small talk. The exchange was stiff, Wilson's expression darkening as Green swung the recovered equipment casually in front of him like a trophy.
One of the deputies pulled Felix aside, explaining. "Remember—every department's equal. No chain of command across agencies. But jurisdiction matters. If you make an arrest in my turf, no problem. If nothing happens, no foul. But if there's a shooting, someone dies, and the weapon ends up in my custody? Then I get to hold a card over you. Maybe I don't even want a payoff—maybe I just keep the leverage. Favors matter in this country too."
Felix understood. A debt owed today meant a favor demanded tomorrow.
Later, Green came back, beaming. "Felix, you did well. Bright future ahead."
Felix's eyes flicked. He tried his luck. "Sergeant… my cruiser's down. Any chance you've got a spare I could use?"
"Again? No. Find another solution." Green turned away.
You missed your calling, Sergeant. You'd thrive in politics.
Without a loaner, Felix had no choice but to chase the mechanic again, pressing him to expedite the parts.
Meanwhile, others pulled the suspect from the SUV. They went through the motions of CPR until paramedics arrived, declared him dead, and carted the body away. Crime scene techs bagged shell casings, charted the SUV's movements and impacts, and collected debris.
The garage's surveillance footage was reviewed repeatedly, copied into several sets, and filed by both departments. Cooperation had its rules.
Then came the kicker.
"What do you mean, I have to file a report? I didn't fire a shot!" Felix nearly jumped out of his skin.
"You want me to write it?" Green's tone was flat. "If you'd pulled the trigger, you'd already be on leave. Since you didn't, you write the report now, and you get to go home on time. That's how it works. Get moving."
Felix cursed his luck, but there was no escape. He left instructions with the mechanic, then hitched a ride back to the station.