By the afternoon, Felix had dealt with two speeding drivers, one red-light runner, and three illegal parkers—quite a haul for the day. He could feel his handling of such cases improving fast.
Americans, he thought, weren't exactly paragons of civility. Otherwise, they wouldn't have racked up 920,000 citations in six months—a number he'd confirmed over lunch with Mark.
Mark had lectured him about wasting money, reminding him the department's partner diners offered subsidies and discounts. Felix kept quiet. Then Mark remembered the kind of car Felix drove and realised he'd just wasted his breath.
That little moment of irritating Mark took some weight off Felix's day. The job was proving more tiring than he'd imagined—not just the long hours behind the wheel, but the constant readiness for potential threats. The mental strain was heavier than the physical.
If his place had a bathtub, he'd have soaked. He considered buying one, then gave up—the time to fill and heat it would kill the mood.
He lay down and was asleep in minutes.
The next morning, he was already geared up when dispatch came through:
"Adam 388, Adam 56, 32000 Alipas Street, San Gabriel—domestic disturbance. Respond."
Arguing before seven. If they couldn't keep a marriage together, maybe it was time to end it.
Felix drove to the scene and met up with Adam 56—Senior Deputy Rick.
The moment they stepped into the yard, Felix frowned. Blood on the ground. The front door stood ajar.
A look passed between them. Both drew their sidearms. Rick took point, Felix covering him, advancing in measured steps.
Through the open doorway, more blood on the floor.
Rick slowed his pace, stepping inside. Felix followed, muzzle sweeping every possible hiding spot.
No one lying in wait.
They found two elderly victims—both over seventy—and a Chihuahua, all stabbed to death.
Killing the old and even the dog. Utterly depraved.
This was homicide territory. Rick called it in, while Felix retrieved crime-scene tape from the car and sealed the street.
The homicide team arrived quickly—they were already busy. The previous week's senior-Asian case had been solved via a stolen getaway car. No such lead here—the suspect hadn't taken a vehicle.
Photographers worked. Detectives canvassed. Felix's part was done. He gave a nod and left.
Two blocks out, the radio cracked again:
"Adam 388—report of a male suspect covered in blood, armed with a knife, chasing a worker on the Arroyo Street bike path. Respond immediately."
Covered in blood. Knife. Not far away. A thought formed.
Felix acknowledged and accelerated.
On arrival, he saw him: a Mexican male, about forty, drenched in blood, walking aimlessly down the lane. Above his head, the marker was black.
No sign of the worker—either gone or down somewhere. In any case, not Felix's concern right now. The job was to take the suspect. If the worker was dead, bad luck.
Felix stopped, drew his Glock, and shouted, "Sheriff's Department! Drop the knife!"
The man looked him over and yelled, "Come here! I'm not afraid of you!"
Fine. Felix advanced, weapon up. "Drop the knife now. I am authorised to shoot. Knife down, face on the ground!"
The man faltered—Felix had actually closed the distance. That wasn't the reaction he'd expected.
"You put your gun down!"
Not a chance.
Another unit rolled up—Rick again, closest backup. His cruiser barely stopped before he was out, aiming from a distance.
"Drop the knife! I will shoot!"
Felix's pulse kicked. No way was he letting Rick take this one. He stepped closer. "You're surrounded. You can't fight your way out. Two elderly victims on Alipas Street—was that you?"
The man's eyes went red. He roared and charged, knife up.
Bang! Rick fired first from range—missed.
Felix's mind steadied. He sighted in, backpedalling, and fired—nine rounds in a controlled rhythm, a few deliberately wide. Somewhere in the back of his head, he hoped no bystander had been stupid enough to stand in the line of fire.
With Rick's follow-up shots, the suspect's body was soon punched through in over ten places. He dropped hard.
Felix was still wondering whose round had finished him when the system chimed:
[Target eliminated. Reward: $200. Free Attribute Point +1.]
He used it speed.
Strength: 11 (Avg. male: 10)
Constitution: 9 (Avg. male: 10, +1 Reserve Stamina Training)
Reflex: 10 (Avg. male: 10)
Speed: 9 (Avg. male: 10, +1 System Reward)
Skills:
Handgun Proficiency Lv. 2Tactical Driving Lv. 0Hand-to-Hand Lv. 0Police Procedures Lv. 1
Tactical Driving and Hand-to-Hand were new unlocks from this point gain.
Not exactly elite, but enough for standard patrol.
"You good, partner?" Rick called as he moved in, weapon still up. He glanced at the downed suspect, then back at Felix.
"I'm fine," Felix said, smoothly unloading his sidearm and handing it over with his belt.
Rick hesitated. "That's number three for you, right?"
"Yeah. You know me?"
Rick nodded. "Soon, the whole San Gabriel Valley station will."
Felix shrugged. It wasn't like he could ignore missions. As long as he stayed within the rules, nobody could touch him. So what if the body count climbed? Every one of them had been lawful kills.
The homicide detectives arrived. The dead man was identified as the victims' forty-one-year-old son—long history of fights with his father.
Felix couldn't help thinking of yesterday's knife-waver. The difference was simple: that one had been bluff. This one wasn't, and now the whole family was gone.