Gunshot residue could be washed off with water, but not completely. That was why officers tested several areas—especially the spots people forgot to scrub. Do it enough times and you'd always get a solid answer.
It was summer, short sleeves everywhere, so skin tests could miss something. In colder months, when everyone wore long sleeves, testing clothing was foolproof. Of course, a suspect could change clothes—but if you weren't guilty, why would you?
Back in China, if a civilian tested positive at the wrong time, odds were eight out of ten they were guilty.
In the U.S., not so clear. At a place like the warehouse, with rounds fired everywhere, residue could easily drift onto bystanders. But timing mattered—if you lit up on the strip, you were a suspect, no matter what you claimed. At the very least, you'd be hauled in for questions.
The results came back clean. Felix and Rachel both tested negative for residue. Neither of them had the chance to wash up, which made the results even more convincing. Mesa's brow smoothed at once.
A uniform hurried over. "Sir, I had the forensics techs prioritize testing Officer Felix's weapon and magazines. None of the spare mags show chamber wear. They've never been loaded into a gun. The pistol's barrel and ejection port are clean—no powder, no recent firing marks. Only some old traces, likely from test-firing. The expert added that the weapon hasn't been maintained since being chambered. Springs may be worn. He suggests the owner take it to a gunsmith."
Felix forced a smile. "Backup piece. Never fired."
Mesa shook his hand. "Thank you for the information tonight, Officer Felix. Take care of yourself. If you're ever unhappy in the job, speak up. You'll be cleared once the civilians are processed."
"Yes, sir."
Words to file away. Reporting upward only got you burned, here as anywhere.
Mesa left to deal with his own matters. Felix licked his lips, faintly pleased. He'd shown his face in front of the chief—and walked away clean. Next time someone tried to stir trouble, Mesa wouldn't bite.
Then Mark's face popped into view, so close it made Felix jump. "Are you insane?"
Mark frowned. "You do realize why the chief pushed the test, right?"
"Of course. He thought I might've fired too." Felix didn't bother to dance around it. "What else would it be? A Chinese kid out past midnight, at a Black gang warehouse show. Easy to suspect he was here for something else. Or pulled a trigger."
"If you knew that, why didn't you run?"
Felix barked a laugh. "Run? Why? I didn't do a damn thing. Why would I?"
"Didn't do anything?"
"What could I have done? Make that Atlanta rapper sing about the Klan? Convince some Blood to jump on stage and open fire? If I could pull strings like that, you think I'd be standing here arguing with you?"
Mark clamped his mouth shut. If Felix really could, he'd shave his head standing on his hands.
"Maybe you did something else," Mark muttered.
"Something else? What, exactly? You think I'm insane? Why would I do anything in the middle of a firefight? You think bullets curve around me? That I'd risk my neck for fun? It was wall-to-wall gangbangers in there. What would I gain?"
Mark faltered under the barrage. "I—wait—no, I'm not crazy." He sighed. "Look, I didn't mean to accuse you. But you have to admit—it's odd. You being here, walking out untouched. I was wrong. I'm sorry, man."
So now it was his character that was suspect. Felix wanted to sneer. The worst part was—Mark wasn't wrong. He had done something. Just not what anyone could imagine. Nobody would believe he was in there just to rack up kills.
Felix clapped his shoulder. "I know you didn't mean harm. If you had, you'd have said it in front of Mesa. I forgive the suspicion. I really didn't do anything." He spread his hands—empty.
Mark nodded slowly. It was true. Felix and Rachel had been searched, their car too. If they had anything incriminating, they'd already be cuffed. Nothing could survive the kind of sweep the place was getting.
Mark muttered another apology. "To you, and to Rachel too."
Felix caught his hand before Rachel could answer. "No more apologies. Just dinner. You owe me."
"Fine. I'll buy."
Mark walked off.
Rachel tugged Felix aside, voice soft. "Felix… maybe I shouldn't have come tonight."
"You should have. Why not?"
If she hadn't, he'd never have pulled nine kills out of one night. The system space had finally proven itself useful.
"I thought we'd die in there," she whispered. "And for a moment I thought—dying with you wouldn't be so bad." Her eyes glistened as she stared at him.
"Don't talk nonsense."
Rachel laughed lightly. "Hee-hee."