Chapter 10: Safety Inspection (Please Continue Reading)

Wally toggled the switch located on the B-pillar, opened the rear door, and pushed the white man inside. The rear doors of police cars are specially designed; they can’t be opened from either inside or outside, only via the B-pillar switch. Between the front and back seats is a reinforced plastic partition with an observation window, and the seating area is intentionally cramped, leaving no room for prisoners to stretch their legs.

That’s why, once you see a Black man get into a police car, he immediately becomes docile—there’s simply no other choice.

Wally got in and called the dispatch desk, reported the situation, and waited until the tow truck arrived to haul away the nearly totaled Z4. Then he drove back to the station.

“Ossi, do you know why I didn’t want to pull him over for speeding at first, but then insisted on chasing him down?” Wally asked.

Ossi thought for a moment. “Because he was provoking us.”

“Exactly. You know, our work is full of risks. Los Angeles is flooded with guns; police must remain forceful, or you’ll find that no one respects you. Everyone will try to challenge you, and you’ll end up in endless trouble, eventually failing completely. So when faced with provocation, you have to strike back decisively, let them know police are not to be trifled with!”

Ossi nodded earnestly. Even in his home country, nice guys get overlooked; here in America, where physical strength is revered, it’s even more pronounced.

He’d never been to America, but he’d seen its films; nerds are bullied mercilessly, while powerful football players are the stars. If the police aren’t forceful enough, they simply can’t enforce the law.

Wally continued, “You might have noticed, I was only following, not performing a PIT maneuver. In your driver training, we didn’t cover that either, because Los Angeles is densely populated. PIT is strictly forbidden within city limits; we can only follow and call for backup. Up ahead, they can deploy spike strips for interception. There’s no need to worry about suspects escaping—both LAPD and LASD have aviation units on patrol overhead, ready to be summoned as needed.”

Ossi appeared proud on the surface, but inside he felt a pang of melancholy. If he didn’t know how heavily armed American police were, he wouldn’t have joined. But not joining wasn’t an option. Anyone who’s played GTA knows: dozens of cop cars, SWAT armored vehicles, helicopters—the combination is unbeatable in the game, unless you use cheats. Otherwise, there’s simply no way out.

This is real life. Although punishing crime earns him skill points and attributes from the system, Ossi couldn’t imagine how many levels he’d need to reach before he could take on LAPD’s nine thousand officers and LASD’s eighteen thousand, even if they weren’t all sent after him.

“And another thing: when you went after the suspect, you were too fast. Do you know if he had a gun in his car? Are you sure he was alone, no accomplices? Could he have had a weapon on him? What if he’d pulled a gun and shot you?

I told you before—always pay attention to safety at work. Did you forget already?”

“I was wrong, Wally. I’ll be more careful next time.”

Ossi was grateful for Wally’s concern.

But what Ossi was really thinking was, of course he was sure—he had the system. The white man’s criminal marker above his head was always gray, even after Ossi subdued him; it never turned red, so Ossi felt safe arresting him.

For danger assessment, he could always trust the system. At first, he thought the marker just showed who was a criminal, someone he could take out. Now he realized it was actually a cheat; with its color-change warning, he’d never be caught off guard—unless someone shot him from a distance with a sniper rifle.

The two returned to the precinct, processed the booking, and then their part was done. A specialized department would ensure the white man had a rough time ahead.

Afterwards, they smoked outside for a while, reviewed the arrest, and Ossi felt he’d gained more experience. Then they got back in the car to continue their patrol—work hours weren’t over, so the job continued.

They cruised the streets for another hour or so when dispatch suddenly called: “Adam44, there’s a report of a dog trapped in a washing machine. Please respond.”

“Adam44, received.” Wally turned the car toward the designated neighborhood.

“Do we really have to handle things like rescuing dogs?” After the adrenaline of a chase and arrest, Ossi had zero interest in saving a dog.

“Of course. Wherever needed, we go. It’s much safer than a shootout with gangs, at least.”

“Alright.”

They arrived quickly at a self-service laundromat. Apparently, the previous customer hadn’t closed the washing machine door properly, and a dog had crawled in and gotten stuck. Another customer saw the situation and called the police.

There wasn’t much to say about the process. Ossi bought a sausage and a bottle of water, fed them to the little dog, and after calming down, the dog slowly scooted out on its own.

The pup had a collar. They called the owner, and brought the dog back to the station. Once the owner arrived and filled out the paperwork, he could take the dog home.

This, too, was a kind of procedural justice: when someone calls the police, there must be documentation proving the matter was properly handled. Keeping a record at the station also protects themselves.

With this task done, the afternoon passed, and Ossi’s first support mission was nearly complete.

“Let’s grab a drink later, Wally. My treat—to thank you for your guidance today.”

There was no need to beat around the bush with Americans; just say what you mean—subtlety goes right over their heads.

Wally waved him off. “You’re about to clock out, but I still have to work. I’ll be on duty past midnight, earning a bit more night pay. Providing for a family isn’t easy.”

“Alright then. Next time you have a day off, let’s call Mark and go for a drink together.”

“No problem.”

Suddenly the radio crackled: “Dispatch calling Adam44. South El Monte, Bisbee Street—someone’s reporting a safety check needed. Please proceed immediately.”

“Adam44 received.”

Wally switched on the lights and siren, speeding ahead. “If residents feel they or others are in danger but don’t want to risk checking, they can request police to respond. Usually, these calls signal real danger, so you must follow my lead, understood?”

“Understood!” With his shift nearly over, Ossi’s excitement rose—a major case at last. He wasn’t here to earn a paycheck as a cop; he was here to punish evil. Without a chance to fire his weapon, how could he level up?

With lights flashing, the patrol car ignored traffic signals and regulations. They quickly arrived on Bisbee Street. Guided by the caller, they reached a two-story detached house. The front gate was open, the lawn scattered with messy footprints and tire marks.

The garage beside the house was open, but empty. The tracks on the lawn likely belonged to the car that was usually parked inside.

Wally frowned and said to the caller, “Go find somewhere safe to hide.”

He then moved toward the garage, intending to check for signs of struggle or collision, to determine whether it was a home invasion or just drunken chaos.

Ossi followed. Wally approached the garage, glanced inside, then immediately retreated, grabbed Ossi, and hurried back to the police car, tossing him a bulletproof vest. “Put it on, quick!”

“What did you find?” Ossi asked as he struggled into the vest.

“There’s a lot of blood on the ground—not sure if it’s from the homeowner or someone else. Just get your vest on.” He donned his own vest and called out to the caller, “Do you have a house key?”

A head poked out from behind a nearby wall. “No.”

“Damn!” Wally cursed, pulling out his Glock 17. “Cover me.”

Ossi nodded, drew his own pistol, switched off the safety, and took up a cross formation with Wally, protecting each other’s backs as they slowly approached the house entrance.

“Why aren’t we going in through the garage?” Ossi whispered.

Wally replied quietly, “The perpetrator should have fled already—a rapid assault is pointless now. We need to go in and confirm what happened, so it’s best not to disturb the scene.”

At the door, Wally stood against the wall a little distance from the handle, signaling Ossi to stand at the hinge end and knock.

Ossi called out, “LASD, Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department. Is anyone inside? Please open the door.” He knocked a few times, then quickly moved aside.

This was a stance and response technique hammered home during training. Too many times in America, police have stood directly in front of doors, only to be shot by gunmen waiting behind them.