Chapter 16-17 - The Rookie: Former Seal

Chapter 16 – The Rhythm of the Street

September 30, 2015 – 10:43 AM

City Car 7-Adam-15 – South Los Angeles Precinct

The city pulsed with a familiar rhythm, muffled by the hum of the sun already setting over the streets of Los Angeles. The light reflected off the hood of the police car like a blade, and the car's air conditioning did its best to keep the interior at a bearable temperature. Derek Davis drove, hands steady on the steering wheel, eyes alert to the movement on the sidewalks. Beside him, Angela Lopez maintained a relaxed posture, but her eyes were constantly scanning.

The radio crackled from time to time, but that morning, calm prevailed. Nothing but routine calls—petty thefts, suspicious noises, domestic arguments that didn't require an immediate response. A rare respite between storms.

Angela glanced out the window and then turned to him.

— "Funny. When I was a rookie, I thought quiet days were the worst. Like... the silence before the bomb."

Derek kept his eyes on the road, but answered lightly:

— "They were the ones that kept me most alert. In the field, quiet days meant two things: either the enemy has retreated... or they're preparing something."

— "And today? What do you think it is?"

— "Today I think it's just a quiet day. And that's rare enough for us to enjoy."

She smiled.

— "You know, even after everything you've told me, I'm still amazed at how well you manage to live in the present."

Derek glanced quickly at her, then back at the street.

— "It's a daily exercise. Choosing not to live in yesterday."

— "But yesterday is still there, right? In everything."

— "It is. But you don't have to boss me around. I let it sit in the shade while I drive."

Angela laughed, shaking her head.

"You should write a book with those phrases. A manual of tactical wisdom for urban police officers and former officers."

"No one would buy it."

"I would buy it. I'd keep it in the patrol car and refer to it on long shifts."

Derek smiled.

"You already have good instincts. What you need is to learn to let silence work for you."

She turned to the window, thoughtful. The radio crackled with a call:

"7-Adam-15, call of a possible disturbance at an elementary school, East 29th and Maple. Police presence requested for possible trespassing."

Derek pressed the radio button.

"7-Adam-15, copying. On the way."

10:59 AM – East 29th and Maple – Thomas Edison Elementary School

The patrol car stopped in front of a school surrounded by green fences and walls painted with children's murals. On the other side of the fence, a staff member called out to someone, her expression tense. A group of children lined up waiting to return to their classrooms, while three adults monitored the movement outside with worried eyes.

Derek and Angela got out of the patrol car. She took the lead.

"Good morning, ma'am. What's wrong?"

The staff member, with a badge hanging around her neck and a clipboard trembling in her hands, pointed to the back of the playground.

"There's a man back there. He jumped the wall. He said he was looking for his nephew. But he didn't give his name or identify himself. And when we asked him to wait, he walked around the side of the school. Now he's over there near the gym. We don't recognize him."

Angela and Derek looked at each other. The tension rose a notch.

"Let's take it easy," Derek said. "You keep the children inside the school, okay? Close the gates and wait here."

"Yes, sir."

Angela pulled out her radio and called dispatch:

"7-Adam-15, responding to a call of a possible intruder at an educational institution. We need preemptive support and paramedics on standby. Coming to investigate."

Derek walked with his eyes scanning the ground, his body leaning slightly forward. A habit he'd acquired in the field that never left him. Angela, beside him, held the holster with her left hand, keeping the other close to her vest. There was still no reason to draw her gun, but the alert level was rising.

On the side of the school, near the back fence, they spotted him. A man of average height, sweaty, with a stained shirt and erratic steps. He was walking in circles, mumbling something.

Angela took the first step:

"Sir! LAPD. Can you stop and talk to us, please?"

The man looked at her. His eyes were wide, his pupils dilated. High. Probably high on meth. He took a shaky step back.

Derek noticed the movement and stepped forward slightly from the side.

"Sir, we need you to stay still. No one is going to hurt you. But we need to understand what's going on."

"I... I'm looking for Kevin... he was here... I just want to see him, just see..."

"Who's Kevin?" Angela asked.

"My nephew! He told me he was coming to this school... but... but they're hiding him from me..."

Derek approached slowly. His hands were exposed, his voice firm but not aggressive.

"What's the boy's full name? We'll check it out for you. But you need to leave this area. It's on restricted property, and the children are scared."

The man hesitated. He staggered. He looked down at his hands.

"They think I'm crazy... I'm just tired... I just want to see Kevin."

Angela used the radio.

"We have a man impaired, possible narcotics use. Awaiting containment."

Derek spoke clearly:

"Sir, I'm going to come over and put my hand on your shoulder, okay?" Just to ensure your safety."

The man nodded with a tiny gesture.

Derek walked firmly, and in a single movement, placed his hand on his shoulder and gently turned him, carefully immobilizing him. The man didn't resist. He cried. Like a child. His legs trembled, his shoulders trembling.

"He was my nephew... I raised him... I lost him..."

Angela took a deep breath. This was more than an invasion. This was someone broken, searching for a memory. She placed her hand on the radio.

"Central, code 4. Subject in custody. Request psychiatric and social transport."

12:16 PM – Police car, en route

Back in the car, silence reigned for a few moments. Derek was behind the wheel, his eyes on the road. Angela seemed to absorb what she had just witnessed.

"People's pain is invisible until it explodes," she said finally.

"And when it explodes, the city calls us."

"Did you learn that in the field?"

"I learned it here. Because here, no one bleeds in their uniform. They bleed inside."

She fell silent. Then she smiled lightly.

"You talk as if you've lived ten lives."

"Sometimes, it feels like I have."

She stared at him for a few seconds.

"But still, you manage to be here. Present. And not broken."

Derek smiled.

"It's because now... I've chosen where I want to be." Before, it was always where I was sent."

Angela leaned against the window, her eyes scanning the busy street around her.

"So what now, Davis? Where are we going?"

He glanced at the GPS, then smiled slightly.

"Wherever the city needs us."

And the patrol car continued its course through the hot streets of Los Angeles, carrying two officers two worlds that now walked together. Between past, present, and the constant blare of the radio.

Chapter 17 – Languages of the Heart

October 1, 2015 – 4:07 PM

East Los Angeles Precinct – Squad 7-Adam-15

The afternoon weighed like hot concrete over the city. The sun had passed its peak, but it still seared the asphalt, sending the heat rising in visible waves over the cars. Inside the squad car, the air conditioning hummed steadily, trying to maintain a minimum sense of comfort. Derek Davis drove with the same precision as always, his hands steady on the steering wheel, his eyes scanning the street with constant alertness.

Angela Lopez had her portable radio clipped to her vest, typing on her tablet between incidents. The shift was busier than usual—two incidents involving domestic violence in a row, and now a call about a possible disturbance at a small apartment complex.

The radio crackled:

"7-Adam-15, code 415—verbal altercation in progress between two apartments. Additional units en route. Address: 1260 Cypress Avenue, unit B."

Angela confirmed:

"7-Adam-15, en route."

Derek turned the wheel smoothly and accelerated. The tires screeched softly as they rounded the bend. His expression remained neutral, but Angela sensed something in his posture shift. A subtle tension, as if a silent alarm was ringing inside him.

"It seems normal, but these calls are the ones that turn into a knife to the throat in two seconds," she said, more as a rant than an observation.

"Especially when they involve children or an unknown language," he replied, without taking his eyes off the road.

Angela looked up. "Are you sensing something?"

"Always."

4:13 PM – Cypress Condominium – Unit B

The patrol car stopped in front of a simple but well-kept housing complex. Low walls, freshly pruned trees, and a small playground where three children were still playing despite the police presence. At the door of Unit B, a middle-aged woman waved nervously at the officers, speaking too quickly in broken English. An elderly man shouted from inside the apartment next door.

"She's yelling all the time! I told her to shut up and she started throwing things!"

Angela approached the woman. Her blond hair was tied back in a messy bun, her pale eyes wide with tension. Her daughter, a girl of about five, hid behind her mother's legs, her eyes watering and her cheeks flushed.

"Ma'am, tell me what's going on," Angela asked, trying to keep her tone calm.

— "Он кричал на меня... и на мою дочь!"

("He yelled at me... and my daughter!")

Angela blinked. The Russian was clear, fluent. And completely out of her league. The woman tried to explain herself, alternating between broken English and rapid-fire sentences in her native tongue.

— "Ma'am, I don't understand. Slowly, please."

The woman shook her head, frustrated, visibly terrified. The girl began to cry softly, clinging to her mother tighter.

Angela turned to Derek.

— "She's speaking Russian. She's scared, and I can't understand enough to calm the situation."

Derek nodded. His eyes softened for a brief moment. Then he took a step forward and crouched down to look the girl in the eye.

"Привет, малышка. Всё хорошо. Я полицейский. Мы здесь, чтобы помочь."

("Hi, little one. It's okay. I'm a police officer. We're here to help.")

The change was immediate.

The girl stopped crying, just sniffling. Her eyes widened in surprise. The mother looked at Derek as if she couldn't believe what she had just heard.

— "Вы говорите порусски?"

("Do you speak Russian?")

— "Да. Я немного жил в России. Работал с переводчиками. Я понимаю вас."

("Yes. I lived in Russia for a bit. I worked with translators. I understand you.")

Angela stood still, watching.

She already knew Derek spoke several languages English, Spanish, Pashto, Russian but seeing him use it... with this woman and her daughter... was different.

He wasn't just translating words.

He was returning dignity.

The woman relaxed her shoulders.

— "Моя дочь боялась. Я тоже. Мужчина in соседней квартире — он злой.

"It's been a long time since I got it."

("My daughter was scared. So was I. The man in the apartment next door he's mean. He threw something at the wall and yelled at us.")

— "You don't need to endure threats. Let's talk to him. Stay calm, you're safe."

("You don't need to endure threats. Let's talk to him. Stay calm, you're safe.")

Derek stood up and turned to Angela.

— "She says the neighbor started yelling, cursing, and throwing something at the wall. She's afraid to leave the apartment. And her daughter is traumatized."

Angela nodded.

— "And the neighbor seems upset. I'll talk to him."

4:25 PM – Unit A

Angela approached the neighbor, a man who was visibly irritated and possibly under the influence of alcohol. The conversation was long, but without escalation. He claimed that his wife "made too much noise," that his daughter's laughter "kept him awake"—and that he only "hit the wall" to "teach her a lesson."

Angela issued a formal warning. She gathered evidence. She called the district's social services department, ensuring the woman would receive counseling.

When she returned to Derek, he was still talking to the mother and daughter, now sitting on the step of the outside staircase. The girl was holding a small stuffed toy, which he had picked up from the ground and returned.

Angela stood beside him, watching for a moment.

The woman, now calmer, gently touched Derek's arm.

"Spacious. She didn't mind, that's what we're going to do."

("Thank you. I didn't think anyone would understand us here.")

— "You're not alone. And you never were."

— "You're not alone. And you never were.")

5:03 PM – Police car, en route

Back in the car, silence enveloped them for a few minutes. Angela stared out the window, thoughtful. After they resumed their journey, she finally spoke:

— "That thing you did…"

— "Translate?"

— "No. Humanize. You didn't just speak her language. You gave that woman a chance to be heard. And for that girl… you were the only adult in that moment who didn't scare her."

Derek remained silent for a moment.

— "Speaking her language was just the first step. The rest is about presence. Intention. Showing that someone there really cares."

Angela nodded.

"You always say little. But today… your words changed everything."

He glanced at her.

"The right word at the right time can save more than a bullet. I learned that late. But I learned."

She smiled, but there was emotion deep within.

"I hope that girl remembers that day. Because a man who looked like a statue in uniform suddenly spoke to her as if he were… from the same world."

Derek looked out the window.

"Sometimes, we need to be what we never had."

Angela fell silent.

There was nothing more to say.

But there was everything to feel.

And that late afternoon, with the city streets still thrumming with life, the patrol continued. Silent. Certain. With two officers… and a mission that, that day, involved no arrests, no weapons. Just empathy.

And that, in that moment, was the most powerful of uniforms.

Chapter 10 - Chapter 16-17