Page 8 of Code of Courage

Cops were being hurt and the new mayor seemed less concerned with their well-being than with talking nice to organizer Thomas Johnston and his marauding hordes, as the rank and file had taken to calling the rioters. Ten officers, besides Danni, were off IOD with serious work-related injuries.

“I don’t understand the hesitation on coming down hard on the lawbreakers,”she lamented to her friend Mara, a dispatcher. “The rioters are committing misdemeanors bordering on felonies every time a riot is declared, every time a rock is thrown or a window is broken.”

“I know,”Mara agreed. “It should be black-and-white, right and wrong.”

“Yeah, no part of me understands why the people in charge don’t feel the same way.”

Maybe Lieutenant Gomez would have some answers. She hurried to get ready for her meeting. Despite the scar, she pulled her chestnut hair back into a ponytail that dropped to just below her collar. Wearing jeans and a T-shirt, she hopped into her SUV and, for the first time in eight days, headed for the downtown station.

She arrived to see that things outside were quiet and relatively normal. There were some people with anti-police signs on the sidewalk, but they were not being violent from what Danni could see. The MO was for the mayhem to start after dark, so Danni wasn’t optimistic the quiet would stay.

She parked around back and used her key card to get inside. She paused just inside the door to steady herself, wondering at the butterflies doing a rumba in her gut. The police department had always been her second home. Her father had spent twenty-five years in uniform. He’d still be working, but cancer caused by the time he spent back east looking for bodies after 9/11 had cut his life and career short.

Danni vividly remembered 9/11. It was the first and only time she’d ever seen her father cry. It happened when the towers collapsed, and he realized that every single cop and firefighter who’d entered the buildings to help were dead. Danni cried herself, her father’s grief sweeping over her. She also felt fear when it struck her hard: her father was like the men who died in the Twin Towers. They would run toward the danger, not away from it. Fear for him morphed into a profound pride as she grew older.

She stopped at the medal of valor wall. Her dad’s picture was one of six hanging there. She kissed her fingers and touched his photographic cheek.

“He’d have put a stop to all this nonsense.”

Danni turned to find Grant Foster standing behind her.

She nodded in agreement. Her father would have been furious with the rioting dragging on this long.

“How are you doing, Danni?” He frowned. “What a nasty scar.”

“I’m okay, I guess.”

“Coming back to work?”

“I have a meeting with Go-Go.”

“If I were you, I’d hang it up. You’re young enough to start something else. Not sure the people we’re supposed to protect are worth it anymore.” He stalked off and Danni paused. Grant Foster was a good, conscientious cop. He’d helped her catch a serial rapist. Hearing his last statement rocked her foundation a bit.

She pressed the elevator call button, noting how noisy and busy the station was. She realized it was because everyone from the east substation had been relocated here. People were doubled up in cubicles. Various PD employees popped their heads out to say hello. She received many warm Welcome backs and Glad you’re okays, yet there was still an underlying eeriness, because things were not normal here by a long shot. Everyone looked exhausted and even a little paranoid. Had to be because of the resources required to continue fighting riots every night. Her partner, Matt, was out in uniform right now, pulled from his desk to be a help for the overburdened patrol bureau, something he’d complained about bitterly the last time they spoke.

“Our caseload is languishing. This violence is affecting everything, not just what the cable news programs choose to show. Victims of crime are being victimized twice because we can’t work their cases.”

He was right but no one seemed to care, at least no one who had the power to do anything about it. Homicide handled violent assaults as well as murders. Every delay in putting violent people behind bars increased the risk that someone else would be victimized.

The elevator took her to the third floor, where she headed toward the LT’s office. Corporal Downs, the court filing officer, came her way, arms full of paperwork. She was glad she’d run into him; he’d know about the person who threw the concrete at her. Danni wanted him charged with a felony, and with all the chaos, she hadn’t heard what the disposition was. Gomez had indicated there was a huge backlog because of all the arrests being made, so she assumed, because everyone was so busy, it was on the back burner until she got back.

“Hey, Downs, what’s the word on the guy who threw the rock at me?”

Downs stopped. “Welcome back, Danni. You haven’t heard?”

“No, what?”

“Kid was a juvie. Cited and released same day. Probably back out there rioting before you were released from the hospital. Madden said there was no intent—he just threw the rock, didn’t mean to hurt anyone.” He hurried to catch the elevator before it closed. “Sorry you got hurt, Danni.”

Fury rolled through Danni like a thunderstorm. Nothing was going to happen to the person who very nearly killed her. She had a full head of steam when she marched into Gomez’s office.

“Why didn’t you tell me the rock thrower was a juvie and hewas cut loose before I got out of the hospital? When I asked you, you told me there was a backlog; arraignments were delayed.”

Gomez leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Because I knew you’d get upset. You have your father’s temper.”

“He almost killed me.”

Gomez nodded. “I know. And I’m sorry. We’re fighting two wars here: the one on the street with the rioters and the one behind the scenes with the politicians.”

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