EPISODE 4

An hour later

Riley checked the time on her watch again, her jaw tightening. Nathan West still hadn’t shown up. She wasn’t in the mood to waste daylight — the streets weren’t going to patrol themselves — and being stuck in the department because a low rank officer couldn’t keep to a schedule was infuriating.

By the time she marched into the disciplinary office, her irritation was visible in every step.

Sergeant Mayfair looked up from a file. “Something wrong, Sergeant Hartman?”

“Yes,” Riley said flatly, dropping a short report form onto his desk. “Nathan West, the new officer was assigned to me for patrol an hour ago. He’s nowhere to be found.”

Mayfair raised an eyebrow. “West? He’s related to Sergeant Hayes, you know.”

Riley’s tone didn’t waver. “I don’t care if he’s related to the mayor. He’s an officer, and he’s late. I don’t wait on incompetence.”

Mayfair leaned back in his chair. “You want me to file this officially?”

“I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” Riley said, her eyes steady. “This is about discipline, not family ties.”

Mayfair took the paper, signing the bottom. “Consider it filed.”

Without another word, Riley turned on her heel, heading for the garage. Moments later, her cruiser pulled out onto the street — solo patrol. Fine by her. At least now she could get work done without anyone slowing her.

Hours later, Riley’s cruiser hummed softly as it rolled along the quiet main street. The afternoon sun was warm but not oppressive, casting sharp shadows across the sidewalk. She had one hand resting on the steering wheel and the other lightly touching the mounted radio, eyes scanning both sides of the road for anything unusual. Her dashboard computer was glowing with the patrol map, the blue cursor marking her assigned route.

Her phone buzzed with a message from dispatch. It wasn’t urgent, just a reminder about the afternoon briefing later, but before she could reply, the radio cracked to life with a sharp, almost urgent voice.

Dispatch: “Unit 12, be advised — we have reports of a fight in progress at Harrow Street near Fifth Avenue. Multiple witnesses calling in. Possible weapons involved. Over.”

Riley’s attention sharpened instantly. Harrow Street was barely three blocks away, right within her patrol area.

Riley: “Dispatch, this is Unit 12. Copy that. I’m less than two minutes out. Show me responding.”

She flicked on her lights and sirens, the red and blue strobes reflecting off nearby shop windows. The pedestrians on the sidewalk glanced up, some stepping aside instinctively. Her mind was already shifting into that controlled focus — the one that made everything else fade except the call details and her approach plan.

As she turned onto Harrow Street, the scene unfolded like a live snapshot of chaos. Two men were locked in a violent struggle right in the middle of the road. One had a jagged piece of metal — maybe part of a broken bottle — and the other was swinging wildly with bare fists. A small crowd had formed on the sidewalk, phones out, some shouting warnings.

Riley slowed just enough to size things up before pulling her cruiser in at an angle to block part of the street. She threw it into park, grabbed the radio mic.

Riley: “Dispatch, Unit 12 on scene. Two male suspects actively fighting, one armed. Request backup. I’m engaging.”

She stepped out, voice booming with authority.

Riley: “Police! Drop it! Drop the weapon now!”

The armed man glanced at her, then swung back toward his opponent, ignoring the command. Riley moved quickly, staying just outside their reach. She could hear the crowd murmuring — some gasping when the armed man’s swing narrowly missed the other’s face.

Riley: “I said DROP IT!”

Her hand hovered near her taser, the weapon of choice here given the tight space and the moving targets. The armed suspect suddenly turned toward her, his expression flashing something between anger and defiance. For a split second, his hand twitched like he was going to lunge.

He did.

Riley sidestepped fast, heart kicking hard, the jagged metal just missing her uniform sleeve. She grabbed his wrist with both hands, twisting hard enough to make the weapon clatter to the asphalt.

Riley: “On the ground! Now! Hands behind your head!”

The second man, seizing the moment, tried to bolt. Riley held onto the first suspect, sweeping his legs out with her foot and forcing him down. She clicked one cuff on, but the crowd was shouting — someone pointing at the runner.

Bystander: “He’s getting away! He’s running toward the alley!”

Riley keyed her shoulder mic with her free hand.

Riley: “Unit 12 to nearest patrol — suspect two fleeing eastbound on Harrow toward the alley behind Fifth. Male, late twenties, dark hoodie. I have one in custody. Over.”

Dispatch: “Copy that, Unit 12. Daniel and Rookie Lee are one block away. They’re en route.”

The suspect beneath her squirmed, muttering curses.

Suspect 1: “I didn’t even start it! He came at me first!”

Riley: “You can explain that downtown. Stay still.”

She double-locked the cuffs and patted him down for more weapons — finding none — then hauled him to his feet. The crowd had shifted, some dispersing now that one man was down, others still filming. In the distance, she caught the faint sound of sirens growing louder.

Meanwhile, over the radio:

Daniel: “Unit 5 to Unit 12, we have visual on the runner. He’s heading toward the old warehouse. Rookie’s cutting him off from the side.”

Rookie Lee: “Unit 7, suspect in sight. He just slipped — going hands on now.”

There was a brief scuffle noise over the comms, then Daniel’s voice again.

Daniel: “Suspect two in custody.”

Riley: “Copy that. Meet me on Harrow so we can transport both.”

She led her suspect toward the cruiser. He was still muttering.

Suspect 1: “You cops always take sides. You didn’t see him hit me first.”

Riley: “I saw enough to know you had a weapon and didn’t drop it when ordered. That’s the part we’re going to talk about at the station.”

Daniel and Rookie Lee appeared within minutes, each gripping the second suspect by an arm. The man’s hoodie was torn, and he was panting hard.

Daniel: “Guess he didn’t count on Lee having longer legs.”

Rookie Lee: (grinning) “Or on slipping in that alley. That helped.”

Riley: “Good work. Let’s get them processed before they decide to start round two.”

Both suspects were placed in separate cruisers. Riley took the lead, heading toward the department. The ride was tense but contained — the man in her backseat alternating between silence and muttering under his breath.

[At the Department]

The parking lot was quiet except for the hum of the cruisers pulling in. Riley got out first, opening the rear door.

Riley: “Watch your head getting out.”

The suspect glared but complied, shuffling toward the side entrance where processing was done. Daniel and Lee followed with their own, the second suspect already starting up.

Suspect 2: “He’s the one who pulled a weapon! You’re cuffing the wrong guy!”

Daniel: “You’ll both get a chance to talk to detectives. Right now, we’re going inside.”

Inside the department, the air was cooler, the smell of coffee drifting from somewhere in the back. Officer Perez, working the booking desk, looked up.

Perez: “What’s this — tag-team Friday?”

Riley: “Fight on Harrow. One armed, one running. We got them both.”

Perez: “Any injuries?”

Riley: “Not to us. They’ve got some bruises and cuts. Better get the medic to look them over before holding.”

Perez nodded and buzzed them through. The suspects were separated into different holding rooms while their details were taken. Riley handed over the recovered jagged metal piece, now bagged and tagged.

Perez: “This the weapon?”

Riley: “Yeah. Pulled it right before he decided to take a swing at me.”

Perez: “Close call?”

Riley: “Too close.”

Daniel leaned on the counter, glancing at Rookie Lee.

Daniel: “You did good out there, Lee. Not bad for your first street chase.”

Rookie Lee: “Thanks. Honestly, I just didn’t want to lose him after Sergeant Riley called it in.”

Riley: “That’s the spirit.”

One of the medics came by to check the suspects, who both insisted they didn’t need treatment. Riley finished her written statement, the words crisp and factual.

The two suspects were now behind locked doors, their shouts muffled, the street outside calm again. Patrol work rarely wrapped up this neatly, but for now, it felt like a win.

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