Carson drew her pistol and stepped toward the driver. She leveled it at his face, her jaw set. “Don’t move!” she said. “You are under arrest!”
The man blinked at her, no fear registering on his flat mien. Carson could feel the tension ratcheting up. Battaglia stood absolutely still.
“Take him into custody,” she directed.
Battaglia took a step toward the driver. Almost as a single creature, the surrounding men took a step forward as well.
Battaglia stopped. The driver smiled at Carson. “So maybe you can to see now?”
Carson licked her lips and swallowed, but she held her gun steady at the man’s chest. “Don’t move,” she said again.
“Or vaht?” he said. “You will shoot me for speeding ticket? I not think so.”
Carson stared at him, struggling to think what to do. The driver stepped toward her until his chest pressed the muzzle of her gun. “Shoot,” he urged her quietly. “Shoot me, you little suka.”
Carson’s finger twitched, but she knew she couldn’t do it. Her mind raced for options. All of this over a traffic ticket?
Battaglia’s hand moved to his radio. The driver fixed Battaglia with a deadly stare. “You call for more police?” he asked, then shook his head. “You do that, they no get here soon enough. Not for you two.”
Battaglia lowered his hand.
“Good,” the Russian said. “Bad for you to end up in hell tonight.”
Battaglia drew his gun and held it to his side. “So how many of you fucks are coming with me?” he growled.
The driver chuckled. “None, I think. Not tonight.” He turned away and walked back to his gold Honda.
Carson tracked his movement with her gun, but kept her finger off the trigger.
He’s right, she thought. I can’t shoot him for a speeding ticket.
All of the other men fell back and got into their respective cars. A moment later, the two cars pulled away and sped up the road, the taillights dwindling in the distance.
Carson stood still for a moment. The whirring of her patrol car’s rotator lights and the clacking of Battaglia’s flashers filled her ears. Then her hands began to shake. She put her gun back into her holster carefully, snapping the security clasps into place with trembling fingers.
Battaglia stood bathed in the red, white, and blue of their emergency lights, his pistol still clenched in his hand at his side.
Carson turned away and turned off the emergency equipment. When she looked again, she saw that Battaglia had done the same. He slid into the driver’s seat of his car.
“Clear your stop,” he said abruptly, “and meet me in the church parking lot two blocks south.” Then he goosed the accelerator and sped away down Post.
Carson nodded. She was unsure if he was angry at her or at the situation. She got back into her car and typed the appropriate clearance code into her mobile data terminal. Then she dropped the car into gear and followed Battaglia.
His car was in the center of the empty church parking lot. His headlights were off, but the parking lights were on. She glided in next to him, putting their windows right next to each other.
Battaglia’s eyes burned. “Are you okay?” he asked her.
Carson started to nod, then half-shrugged. The beginnings of tears prickled at her eyes and she tried to force the emotion aside.
“Scared?” he asked.
She nodded.
He nodded back. “Holy shit. Me, too.”
“It didn’t show,” she said, remembering his bold statement.
So how many of you fucks are coming with me?
He took a deep breath and let it out. “Yeah, well, you can never let that show. Not ever.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Son of a bitch. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Never?”
He met her eyes, then shook his head resolutely. “No. Do you know what just happened there?”
Carson swallowed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean just what I said. Do you know what the situation was?”
She didn’t sense any frustration in his voice. “I think,” she said, “that if we would have forced the issue by arresting the driver, his friends would have jumped in.”
Battaglia nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’m sure of it. Only I don’t know if all they would have done is jump in. I think that there were guns that we just didn’t see yet.”
“So we did the right thing?” Carson asked.
“Yeah,” Battaglia whispered. “We did the smart thing. It was either let them go or get into a gun fight over a traffic ticket.” He paused. “Fuck!”
“Should we call a sergeant?” She figured Sergeant Shen would want to know about this. Plus, other officers should be aware.
“No!” Battaglia snapped.
The force of his voice made her jump. The shock broke loose her pent-up emotions. The tears of fear and anger welled up in her eyes, burst, and flowed down her cheeks. She looked away in shame.
“I’m… I’m sorry, B.J.,” Battaglia said, his voice softer.
She turned back to face him. “Why don’t we call a sergeant?”
Battaglia sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe we do. But if people hear about this, we’re going to get Monday morning quarterbacked to death. Everyone is going to wonder how we just let those two cars drive away like that.”
“But it’s like you said,” Carson argued. “It was either that or-”
“It doesn’t matter. Cops are critical. They’ll eat us alive.”
“I still don’t see-”
“Just trust me,” Battaglia said. “I’ve got enough juice to maybe survive this kind of hit to my reputation, but you’re…”
He paused.
“I’m a rookie,” Carson finished for him.
“Yeah,” Battaglia answered, but she could see there was more.
“What is it?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Plus you’re a woman.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What, you want to live in make-believe land where that particular fact doesn’t matter? You know exactly what I mean. It’s why you didn’t ask for a third car.”
Carson didn’t reply.
“We have to sit on this,” Battaglia said. “We have to keep it a secret.”
“I don’t know…”
Battaglia shot her a hard glare. “What’s to know? You want this for your rep?”
“No,” she answered. “But don’t we have a responsibility to the other cops out here? So they know what might happen?”
“Yeah,” Battaglia said. “We do.”
“Then we have to tell a sergeant so that-”
“You just let me worry about that part, okay, rookie?”
Carson stopped short. Battaglia’s words should have seemed cutting, but there was a softness to the tone. She hesitated, taking a deep breath and running her fingers through her hair. She didn’t want people on the job to think she was weak. She couldn’t afford that. But what could she have done differently? What could any of them have done?
She knew Battaglia was right. Away from the actual event, most of them would come up with a solution. They’d feel superior to her. And they’d think badly of her. After all, if she couldn’t even control a simple traffic stop, what good was she as a cop?
“I’ll take care of it, B.J.,” Battaglia said quietly.
She believed him.
“Trust me,” he whispered.
“Okay,” she whispered back.
FOUR
0844 hours
Day Shift
Renee scanned field interview reports while sipping her coffee. After she read each one she quickly entered the salient parts into her computer database, then set the actual report aside for later filing. She was nearly through the stack when she came upon an interesting FI from Officer Battaglia on graveyard shift.
Spoke with confidential informant (CI). Stated Russian gangs are directing members to disobey officers on traffic stops. Driver will stall while passenger uses cell to call for assistance. Once the group outnumbers officers, members are directed to push matters to a head by refusing to allow anyone to be arrested. Warned not to do anything that would warrant officers using deadly force. Just disobey and walk away. CI usually pretty reliable.