With the helicopters overhead, SEB's tactical team ceased playing perimeter guard and moved on the warehouse itself. They checked their gear, flipped down night-vision goggles, and tossed in smoke before breaching. Dark or not, they threw what they had. Wasting munitions was the department's problem; survival was theirs.
Shouts and gunfire echoed inside.
Felix sat in his car and gave a moment's silence for the damned.
He glanced outside. Most of those kneeling on the pavement had already been cuffed. Soon it would be the turn of those inside the vehicles.
"When the cops ask," he murmured to Rachel, "just tell it straight up to the point when the shooting started. After that, say we left with the crowd, tried to drive off but the chaos kept us boxed in—then the police arrived."
"But I can't act… what if they can tell?"
"Then it's over. You'll lose me forever."
Rachel broke into laughter. "Relax. I'll manage."
They were still bantering when a hard knock struck the window.
"Roll it down! Hands where I can see them!"
Felix looked up—two deputies, weapons half-raised, eyes sharp.
He lowered both windows, gripped the steering wheel with both hands, and nodded for Rachel to rest hers on the dash.
"Easy, fellas. I'm LASD, San Gabriel Valley Station. Badge and full kit on me. She's my girlfriend. I can slowly remove the gear and hand it over—or you can take it yourselves."
One deputy called out for backup. Two more approached, sidearms covering. A male officer stepped up.
"Stay still. Do you have only one firearm? Any others in the vehicle? Your passenger carrying?"
"Just the one on me. No weapons in the car, none on her."
"You sure?"
"Absolutely."
"Fine. Where's your ID? I'll take it myself."
"Left pants pocket. Weapon and mags on my belt—watch your hands."
The deputy pulled open the door, lifted Felix's jacket, and froze at the sight of three loaded magazines.
Felix caught the look and smiled faintly. "Better to carry too many than too few, brother."
The cop snorted, fished out the ID, checked photo against face for what felt like forever, then finally nodded to the others.
The raised pistols lowered.
"I'll verify this. Until I'm back, don't move."
"Of course."
He returned quickly. "It checks. He's one of us." Turning to Felix: "Step out, both of you. Hand over sidearm and gear. Standard frisk to follow—your girlfriend will have a female officer. Then I'll search the car. If it's clean, you're done. All weapons will be lab-checked for discharge. Everyone here is subject to the same."
"No issue. I'm stepping out now."
In America, a search wasn't supposed to be forced without cause. But when an officer insisted, the smart move was to comply. You couldn't shoot them first and win. Court came later.
Felix signaled Rachel to join him outside. He raised his shirt, unclipped the holster, and handed over pistol and mags. The search was quick, the car tagged as cleared, the keys taken. They were guided to a holding area—"safe zone," though in practice just a penned corner with guards posted.
No roof, no blankets, no coffee. Zero stars on Yelp.
So they sat. Rachel in his lap, watching the chaos unfold. SEB troopers marched out blood-spattered musicians and swaggering gangbangers, performers or not. Whether the numbers matched the ones who'd gone in, who could tell.
Paramedics pushed in, dragged stretchers out, grim-faced. Most inside were corpses now. The rest filled ambulances: overdosed, drunk, trampled, beaten, shot, cut, even one poor bastard claiming his pelvis shattered from panic at the sound of gunfire.
Departments poured in: Sheriff's gang unit, narcotics task force, LAPD vests scattered across the scene. Then the white SUVs rolled up—canine teams barking, noses ready for weapons, dope, blood, or worse.
After that came the alphabet soup: FBI, DEA, ATF. Tactical vests marked bold letters.
And circling outside the tape, a mob of reporters, screaming "freedom of press" at the barricades. If not for air-safety rules, news choppers would already be overhead fighting for angles.
Felix was watching it all with a wry grin when a hand clapped his shoulder.
"Felix!"