A/N – And months later, I finally get around to starting the sequel… I really should finish some of my in-progress stories, but Blake was giving me puppy-eyes. And now I need drag out Line of Duty for a massive re-write, because some of the errors are really bothering me. One of these days, I'll actually get something finished.
Police notes at the bottom.
A/N the second - Because I've been reminded that I neglected to mention the timeline for this little jaunt... Set a few months after In the Line of Duty and before the epilogue.
"Why the slag am I doing this?" Barricade growled.
Blake kept his eyes on the radar. "I'm not really sure on that one myself," he said distractedly. "Though I imagine it had something to do with the chief suggesting you either start earning your parking space or find a new one."
"Rhetorical: adjective, meaning 'of or relating to rhetoric, especially a question with no answer expected.'" Barricade snorted. "Learn your own language, fleshbag."
Blake grinned at the steering wheel. "Well, if you really don't like my company-"
"- The chief did offer to see if the space next to that truck was free. You know the one, Leadbutt or whatever his name was," the officer pointed out, turning his attention back to the road in front of them.
The interceptor just harrumphed.
Blake checked the dashboard radar reflexively as an Oldsmobile crawled past, well under the limit.
The screen read 98mph.
"Oh, ha ha, funny," Blake deadpanned.
The display changed to 163mph.
"You're a regular laugh riot, you know that?" Blake drummed his fingers against the steering wheel.
"Stop that," Barricade growled.
Guiltily, Blake pulled his hand away. "You know, this would go so much faster if I had something to distract myself with. Like coffee."
"And I would care why?"
"Well, it'd keep me from being quite so irritating," Blake pointed out.
Barricade snorted. "I was partnered with Frenzy. After him, you're merely annoying."
Any reply Blake had planned was cut off by an SUV flashing by, lighting up the dashboard radar with a very believable 86 mph. "And here we go," Blake murmured.
Barricade laughed, his tires spraying gravel as he swung out onto the road. Engine rumbling with unmistakable enjoyment, Barricade caught up to the SUV with ease. His passenger just grinned at the Mustang's happy purr, snagging up the radio.
"Dispatch. Go ahead, 643."
"I need a 10-28 on California plate union-tom-george 6-" Blake rattled off the plates, bracing himself as Barricade swerved around the slow-moving Oldsmobile.
"Dispatch, 643. Plates are valid, expire 10 of 09."
"Copy, Dispatch," Blake answered, flicking the switch to the overhead lights. Barricade obliged with flashing red-and-blue and a whooping siren. "I'm pretty sure I hit 'lights,' not 'sirens,'" Blake muttered to the dash.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Barricade ignored him, hanging right behind the speeding SUV. "Dispatch, we'll be having traffic at Padalia and Court," Blake radioed as the SUV pulled to the side and stopped. He could swear there was a tone of disappointment in the siren winding down.
Stepping out with flashlight in hand, Blake gave the roof a consoling pat. "Maybe next time." He barely got out of the way as the door snapped shut.
Chuckling to himself, Blake walked up to the SUV's open window. "Good evening," he said cheerfully, letting the flashlight illuminate the backseat of the vehicle as he approached. "License, registration, and –" Blake saw the driver's head turn, the dilated pupils, the barrel of the pistol in his hand coming up…
It felt remarkably like being punched by that drugged-up bodybuilder. He couldn't breathe… Blake staggered back, the second shot dropping him to the pavement.
Damn it, get up Blake. You're in his line of fire. Get behind cover! Coughing, Blake scrambled around the SUV. Don't stop; never stand behind a vehicle. How many times did the Sergeant Calder scream that back in the academy? 'A vehicle in reverse will kill you just as dead as a vehicle in forward…'
Blake tripped over the curb, sprawling on the sidewalk. "643- Dispatch, I've been shot…" he gasped into his portable, "I need backup!"
"All units, all units, Code 30. Officer down at Padalia and Court. All units in vicinity respond. Clear all radio traffic except for emergencies…"
Sirens started in the distance, a familiar comforting sound to the officer.
The sound of the SUV's door opening wasn't quite so welcome. Blake cursed himself for an idiot, belatedly pulling his gun. "Stop where you are! Drop the weapon!" His order didn't come out quite as strong as he hoped; the pain in his chest and midsection making it difficult to breathe. Being half-sprawled on the sidewalk didn't help much either.
The gunman rounding the end of the SUV ignored his command, stalking forward with his pistol in hand.
"Stop!" Blake took aim, flipping the safety off. "Drop it!"
The pistol swung up, the gunman focusing on Blake's head.
Before either could fire, Barricade lunged forward, engine snarling. His brush guard caught the gunman in the legs, sending him sprawling over Barricade's hood. The gun clattered to the asphalt.
Blake threw himself on the gunman as he hit the ground, shoving him face-first into the blacktop and pulling the stunned man's arm around. Blake had the cuffs on before his prisoner realized what was happening. He slumped, fumbling his sidearm back into its holster.
"643, 10-15. I've got him in custody, requesting assistance for transport." He was straddling the man's back, one hand between his prisoner's shoulder blades to keep him down.
"Dispatch, 643. Copy 10-15. Are you injured, 643?"
Blake checked himself, surprised to find himself intact. "Negative, Dispatch, my vest caught it."
The first squad car arrived moments later.
"Richie! You alright?" McKenny bailed out of his cruiser.
"Yeah, I think so." He squinted up at the other officer. "I think I need a hand up," he admitted.
McKenny chuckled, helping Blake off their suspect. "You're bleeding, buddy," he told Blake, pointing.
"I am?" Blake touched his neck, feeling bemused when his hand came away bloody. "When did that happen?"
"You tell me." McKenny shook his head. "Stay here, I'll grab a first aid kit. The paramedics should be along to check you out a tick." Another pair of officers behind McKenny had finished patting down the gunman and were checking his injuries.
Blake slouched against Barricade, undoing his uniform shirt to loosen the Kevlar vest. It helped a bit, but Blake figured he probably had a few nasty bruises. "Thanks for the save back there, Barricade." He patted the hood with his un-bloodied hand.
"Stop putting sweaty handprints on my finish," the interceptor grumbled.
Blake managed a lop-sided grin, deciding not to mention the sweat-and-blood imprint left from the gunman's face encountering Barricade's hood.
Speaking of which… "How in the hell am I supposed to explain this in my report?"
"Do I care?" Barricade snorted. "Just don't bleed on my brush guard."
A/N – Policey-code notes:
After six hours of meandering around police forums and working my Google magic… I still have no idea which system the LAPD uses for call numbers. The Highway Patrol uses one, LA sheriff's office a totally different one, and some of the specialized LAPD units seem to have several others. Annoying of them. Even the cop shows on TruTV have either featured CHP this last week, or just did voiceovers with most of the radio calls edited out. My normal source of cop info was unhelpful – the LGPD uses yet another system. The call numbers here are stolen from another SoCal police force – Each car, rather than each officer, has a call sign. Hence, last time Blake was on the radio he was 110, and this time around he's 643, Barricade's number.
"10-28" is a request for the operator in Dispatch to check the license plates he's giving them in the police database. Dispatch is replying that the plates are properly registered, not reported stolen, and when the tags expire. Letters are said over the radio with a phonetic code that uses mostly names to prevent letter confusion.
"Code 30" means an officer is in urgent need assistance. "10-15" means that the suspect is in officer custody. He then requests another officer to assist with transport, because even if he hadn't been shot, Barricade only has two doors. No secure back seat equals no suspect transport.
Right, I think that's all the police trivia for this time around…