March 18th, 1997

"All units, all units, shots fired. Officer down."

"The fuck..." Frank Williams had just sat down in the front seat of his brand new Crown Victoria convinced he was in for a slow ride compared to the 77th. He could feel adrenaline flush through him and he was proud that his hand didn't shake. It had before.

"Whiskey 5-1 enroute." He managed to snap his call sign into the middle of the babble of other responding officers. Around him the parking lot was exploding into motion like a disturbed anthill. 

He jammed the gear shift into reverse, flipped on his lights, glanced over both shoulders and then shot backwards, spinning the wheel hard so that the front end of his car snapped around. He punched the gear shift up and shot toward the exit, the big V6 engine roaring.

The siren screamed as he activated it, nosing into traffic that scattered in front of him. Other cars were coming onto the motorway behind him and he gunned the engine, only to realize he had no idea where the shooting had occurred, he was not that familiar with the area yet.

"Delta 3-4, Whiskey 5-1, I have no idea where I am going, you're my lead."

"Copy Sarge, follow me." A LAPD Caprice shot past him as more and more cars scattered out of their way. There were a dozen vehicles now as they hurtled toward the scene of the shooting.

For seven minutes they tore through the city at speeds of 80 miles an hour, dodging slow moving cars, dumbfounded citizens and city buses. It never failed to amaze Patrick that Police managed to avoid hitting anyone as often as they did.

The gas station drew into view and he could make out a white man, he assumed he was a plains clothes police officer based on how several others were grouped around him, one wearing a vest with POLICE across the chest. Several others were looking into a green SUV parked nearby.

The various police vehicles came to screeching halts as officers piled out, a plain clothes sergeant issuing orders to contain the crime scene. Williams parked his own vehicle more carefully. He was new here and this was someone else's crime scene at the moment. He climbed from his car and glanced around. The air was hot and a stiff wind was blowing. People were gathering nearby to stair and a news helicopter was already circling. 

"Sergeant." He approached the plain clothes NCO who had been directing the arriving officers to secure the scene. The man glanced at him and nodded.

"Sergeant Williams, hell of a day for your first day in Hollywood Division. We've got a blue on blue."

"Fuck..." Williams nodded. "Thanks, I'm not here to interfere, just tell me what you need."

"Thanks, I appreciate that. For the time being just stick around to back me up if needed."

Williams nodded and moved so he could see into the SUV. A blackman was slumped over the steering wheel. Not good. He quickly approached the gathering knot of officers who scattered slightly as he approached, giving room for a man sitting on the hood of his shitty unmarked car.

"Officer," The man looked up at him. "Sergeant Williams, the new Ops NCO for Hollywood Division."

The man regarded him with immediate suspicion but Williams could see the worry and panic in the stretched lines of his face. "Officer Lyga."

"You say nothing, to anyone, you don't take any notes, you don't do anything of the sort. You talk a lawyer and no one else. Understand me?" Williams was speaking quietly but firmly to Lyga who blinked up at him.

"Sergeant?" 

"You heard me. Not a word until you talk to your lawyer."

Lyga nodded slowly just as the plain clothes Sergeant hailed Williams, waving him over. Williams placed a hand on Lyga's shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"You'll be alright son." He turned away to assist with whatever was needed.