The real life of an American police officer: Winning over others with virtue

Chapter 3 Passionate Shooting

The caller, Rad, said he was having a barbecue in his backyard when his neighbor, Kerry, opened fire with a shotgun, nearly hitting him and his family. He hoped the police would arrive immediately.

After listening to the police situation report from the dispatch center from beginning to end, Eric twitched the corner of his mouth. Even though he was accustomed to the tough customs of the American people, he still couldn't help but complain.

"This is truly a free America! Shoot if you don't agree!"

He has lived in this country for so many years, how could he not understand the reason behind this.

Based on the information reported by the dispatch center alone, he could quickly figure out the cause of the incident.

"I'm afraid it's still because of the barbecue."

Eric shook his head. The houses here usually had their own yards, and most of the ordinary gatherings would involve barbecues in the yard, which meant there would be smoke and pungent smells.

These factors affected the neighbors' daily routines, so the neighbors who had been enduring this situation opened fire in anger.

The person who called the police probably had barbecued quite a few times, and the neighbor who fired the shot probably had negotiated with him many times.

Or maybe the neighbor who fired the gun took the pills and got sick!

Thinking of this, Eric picked up the walkie-talkie.

"10-L (Solo Patrol)-11, read it, map please, heading to 568 Korenko Block."

As he finished speaking, the map on the center console began to change, showing an icon representing him and the destination, No. 568, Korenko Street.

Seeing this, Eric immediately looked at the rearview mirror on the right, confirmed that the car behind had not caught up, turned the steering wheel sharply and forced his way into the gap on the right, then stepped on the accelerator again to drive the Chevrolet Caprice forward.

When you are about to reach the turning point, turn the steering wheel sharply again and quickly use the brake and accelerator in coordination with your feet.

The Chevrolet Caprice was like a Mustang that was out of control but not out of control. It turned to the right lane very smoothly and did a rapid drift.

Eric's actions made the drivers who were cut in line dumbfounded and they cursed inwardly.

"Shit! What the hell is this bastard patrolman doing?"

Unfortunately, Eric didn't hear the driver's curses. Even if he did, he wouldn't care. He has done so many bastard things.

He just controlled his speed and kept cutting in line and overtaking.

Then twist off some of the buttons on it. These are the switch buttons for the alarm and police light controller and light control. Some of these buttons can also instantly cut off the brake lights and lighting on the outside of the entire vehicle.

"Wow! Wow! Wow~" The short, crisp, and rapid sound of the sirens began to resound throughout the neighborhood like a street explosion.

While controlling the car, shifting, cutting in line, and overtaking, Eric inadvertently saw the pedestrians on the street and the surprised looks from the drivers, and the corners of his mouth rose slightly.

Why did he become addicted? Why was he different from other patrolmen?
He simply enjoys this feeling of arrogance. Thinking deeper, perhaps it's because this so-called official background allows him to fully unleash the inherent badness of humanity.
As he was rushing forward, Eric saw a new icon appear on the map on the center console.

This is the same icon as his, indicating that a colleague in charge of another patrol area arrived at the scene first.

At the same time, the police radio began to sound a notification from the dispatch center.

"10-A (two-man patrol unit)-15 has arrived at the scene and is negotiating."

Eric was not surprised by the arrangements and notifications from the dispatch center.

For shooting incidents, the dispatch center never dispatches a single patrol unit. Instead, it first notifies nearby patrol units without assignments and then makes arrangements and coordinates with them once they arrive. Even after arriving at the scene, the dispatch center switches all patrol units to the same channel.
Eric picked up the intercom and responded, "10-L (single-person patrol unit)-11, copy, arriving on scene."

No. 568, Kelunko Street.

On the side of the residential street.

Two police officers got out of an Explorer patrol car that had just arrived at the scene. One of them had a flat stomach, while the other had a slightly bloated stomach that was bulging out of his uniform.

The police ranks on their uniforms can tell the rank difference between the two police officers.

The police officer with a flat belly is a first-class police officer, which means he is a new patrolman, equivalent to a rookie.

The police officer with a bloated belly is a third-level police officer, a senior patrol officer.

The disparity in police ranks means that the old ones lead the new ones.

"Damn it!"

The senior patrolman, who was probably in his thirties, listened to the incessant gunshots, his face darkened, he cursed inwardly, and picked up the intercom on his chest.

"10-A (Two-man patrol unit)-15, Code 6-A (Exit vehicle for investigation, attention required for nearby units)"

This type of police case involving a shooting is definitely one of the police cases that experienced police officers are most reluctant to encounter.

Dispatch: "Roger! Nearby patrol units have been notified, 10-L (single-person patrol unit)-11 will be arriving on scene soon."

A notification from the dispatch center came through the intercom. The old police officer raised his eyebrows, his eyes lit up, and the dull expression on his face relaxed a lot.

This made the newcomer Benny subconsciously ask:

"Weston, is Officer Eric coming over?"

He was a newcomer who had just joined the West Canyon Police Station. Although he was a newcomer, he had heard of Eric's reputation and had witnessed with his own eyes the specialness of Officer Eric in the West Canyon Police Station.

Because he was a newcomer, he was always ridiculed and bullied by the old guys, and his seat in the briefing room was always at the front.

But this loner, Officer Eric, who looked even younger than him, occupied the best window seat at the back.

The old hands who were used to bullying and mocking newcomers had no objections to this at all, and some even tried to make friends with Officer Eric.

Weston exhaled lightly, nodded, listened to the incessant gunfire, and looked at the empty street ahead.
"If Eric comes here, this will be easy."

Having said that, ignoring the rookie's strange expression, Weston immediately pulled out his Glock 17, held it down, and turned sideways to face Benny.

"Rookie, hide behind me and keep your eyes open. If you let your guard down, the fatal bullet will hit your forehead!"

Benny was stunned for a moment, but nodded and drew his gun. He looked at Weston's serious expression and heard the gunshots, and he couldn't help but feel nervous.

"Let's go! Let's go take a look! This time, you, the rookie, will experience in advance what it means to be a patrol officer, and the danger is always around you!"

Weston said in a deep voice, and took the lead, leading the way with his trainee police officer Benny, sneaking towards the source of the gunshot.

The two of them deliberately took a detour and moved forward along the nearby houses. With the help of surrounding residents, they came to the home of the person who called the police and finally discovered what a passionate shootout was.

I saw two houses in front of me, which were adjacent to each other and about 7 or 8 meters apart. People were shooting at each other through the fences of their own yards.
(End of this chapter)