At this point, seeing Mark reinstated made Felix suspicious. Was someone trying to use Mark for a purpose?
Mark wasn't stupid. He smiled and shook his head. "Don't think so much. Being back on duty is safer than sitting at home. If they find my address at home, who knows what could happen. On duty I have arrest powers, I've got you and the others — it's safer."
Fair enough. Solo patrols were off the table now. With buddies nearby there was always someone watching your back, and there was a cruiser within reach: floor it and you were gone.
"We'll stick together. If anything happens, I've got your back."
"You? You don't even have a stripe on your shoulder and you want to watch my back."
They joked, but Mark knew the truth: being with Felix made things safer. Felix would step in when it mattered.
Two successive shootings that left many dead and wounded had quieted the night. The protesters had gone home early; bullets didn't care who they hit.
Felix slept well in the squad room. When he woke for breakfast, the table held nothing but pizza—heaps of pizza.
"Only pizza? Nothing else?" he asked.
Linda shrugged. "There's nothing left. Last night several restaurants had windows smashed and were looted clean. Not even a bowl left inside."
"Such a big deal—no call to pack people up? Why didn't anyone handle it?" Felix had slept at the station; he knew when large deployments happened.
"What would you do? Arrest them and then what—they're out at dawn. Better you sleep a bit."
California's Proposition 47, passed fourteen years ago, reclassified some nonviolent thefts as misdemeanors. Shoplifting under $950 is a misdemeanor.
Good or bad, it was absurd. Stealing over a thousand dollars in goods wasn't easy. High-value stores have security; casual thieves can only get cheap stuff. That meant merchants got robbed and had little recourse; even when thieves were caught, the haul didn't justify prosecution.
After breakfast, the units rolled downtown again. The core protest swelled; bigger area, bigger crowd, bigger potential for trouble. They needed manpower.
Felix climbed aboard the transport and widened his eyes when they arrived. He'd known the world varied, but contact had been limited. In America the differences hit harder. Tonight he saw how jagged the world could be.
One corner held dozens of cops unloading from transports. Another patch staged a "white cops wash Black feet" event — in Christian symbolism washing feet expresses humility and respect. Felix watched a strange scene: white men kneeling, washing Black feet, hundreds filming on phones, chattering excitedly. Riot cops looked on with flat faces.
Nearby, twenty LAPD officers lined up with less-lethal shotguns, ready to push. In front of them, an elderly man in a wheelchair bowed his head; blood ran like water. A young Black woman held a bouquet, handing a stem to each officer.
August in California was hot; organizers had trucked bottled water. Somehow the cops had control of the supply and were handing it out. One officer, twisting a cap, noticed Felix watching and lifted a bottle in a "drink up" gesture.
Many protesters had driven in. This was still a car culture: easy to arrive, hard to leave. Out of sight, officers were slashing tires with pocket knives. The cops' tactics were as low as some protesters' behavior.
Protesters sprayed paint on shopfronts and cars—"LAPD, F==K" scrawled across doors. Someone plastered stickers across a passing bus; passengers screamed. Kids in Batman and Spider-Man costumes posed for selfies, bold enough to hide behind masks but not to confront officers.
Some radicals tossed stones, homemade smoke devices, and Molotovs from the rear, then melted into the crowd while frontliners took the blows. If looting happened, it started as "free shopping": crowds pried doors and grabbed anything movable—snacks, cookware, clothes, toys. Wendy's, Target, Walmart, AutoZone—shells of stores, emptier than after a zombie outbreak. Take and go. If they stayed, they set fire.
AutoZone burned from some accelerant. Flames licked high. A squad rushed in and hosed the crowd with tear gas and rubber rounds. A white girl took a round in the nose and another in the brow, bleeding, pressed against a wall and crying.
Then a shout: "The mayor's here!"
"He's our mayor!"
"Let the mayor through!"
A cop muttered, "Goddamn it — what the hell is Eric thinking?"
A middle-aged white man climbed high with a bullhorn and shouted: "I'm Los Angeles Mayor Eric Garcetti. I apologize for the failures of the police department. I promise to do everything I can to reform the police. I'm considering cutting $150 million from the police budget and redirecting it to health and education in communities of color. It's time to turn words into action and end racism in our city!"
"Empty words!" someone spat.
"No — I'll do this!" he insisted. Garcetti passed the horn, stepped down, and dropped to his knees.
A commotion followed. NBC ran the footage: "Los Angeles Mayor Eric Garcetti took a knee at the protest, apologizing to Black people. The act sparked an uproar. Democrats praised Garcetti as a high-profile politician who displayed leadership and political savvy; protesters were moved by his kneeling, which they took as wide recognition and acceptance of him as a statesman.
"Republicans sneered, calling his move foolish, a political stunt—'typical Democrat,' 'all show and no substance'—predicting it would be futile and humiliating.
"The City Council stated Garcetti's kneel and his promise were personal acts that did not represent the city government or hold legal force. Any change requires a council proposal and a vote; the council had not received, discussed, or prepared any proposal regarding Lare Moni or matters related to this incident."
Garcetti, forty-seven, first elected in 2013 as the city's first Jewish mayor and re-elected last year, had a reputation for dealing with race and nationalism. He had political success and a enviable private life; handsome in a movie-star way and always well dressed. His beet-red tie had become a signature.
Phones recorded Garcetti kneeling; clips spread across North America. At first protesters cheered — maybe something would change.
But the mood soured. The act looked performative. Afterward, Garcetti tweeted he supported peaceful protest and that people had the right to vent, but he emphasized peace was more powerful. He said he approved the way law enforcement handled protests, that violent behavior had decreased, and that police had taken necessary action against those damaging public property and shops.
That flip-flop looked obvious. People felt betrayed and surged back into the streets. Others decided marching alone wouldn't fix things and plotted something else.
The Los Angeles Times reported a shooting at the federal building that morning: a 53-year-old Black federal security officer, Underwood, was struck by a bullet from a distance and killed on the spot. Police suspected the shot came from a small white van and believed the shooter had military training. Detectives were investigating and asking the public for tips.
Greene cut the TV off. "Time to work. Things are off. Stay sharp."
They went back out. Riot control where needed, patrols where needed. But the pressing task was finding the cop killer. An officer shot dead was serious — it signaled the protest could turn into outright war. They had to catch the shooter and deter copycats. The county secured federal courthouses and buildings; as county officers, they took that personally.
They cruised a while, and Felix's new partner, Damon Gutzweller, said, "Hey—there's a white van parked over there. Let's check it."
Damon hit the lights and steered toward the van.
They pulled up, hit the siren and the horn, indicating the vehicle should stop. The van sat there, motionless.