The two Moresby City Police Officers drove calmly through an intersection at Green and Bosch Avenues. When the light turned green, Officer Aaron hit the gas and went into Bosch avenue in a moderate pace. They have not heard anything from the radio in the last twenty minutes, as if the radio operator had called it a day. 

"So have you checked out that new club downtown?" Asked Rick. He had Indonesian parents who decided to move to the growing Moresby City just miles off the west coast. He can easily be described as having olive skin, average height, and a built body. Aside from that, Rick is a second-generation Indonesian-American. His family moved in during the 90s.

Rick had grown up as the first of four children. Before becoming a police officer, Peck had served in Iraq with the National Guard, and easily qualified for the police academy once his time was up. Holding a Bachelor of Science in Criminal Justice, it is Rick's third year as a police officer. 

"You mean Lucy? You've been there?" Said Luis 'San' Santana. "You didn't ask me out? Fuck it, homie, you know being a cop ain't the best job to pick up chicks." Santana was a tall and skinny 

"Bro, bro, calm the fuck down. I asked you out and you said you were going out with that Anna girl!"

Santana, one arm on the window, turned his head and swore. "Fuck.. you're right. That where you met the bitch you told me about?"

"Hey, hey, she has a name and she ain't a bitch." Rick said. He had a southern accent that didn't quite fit the way he looked. He looked more Israeli than Texan, the latter being the state where he grew up. 

"First time you've defended any girl, Rick. Seems like a story I wanna hear, dawg!"

Rick grinned and looked outside. "She's my ex. Too damn smart for me. Went to Brown and has a really good job at some office based in Commerce."

"Sounds like a jackpot, dawg."

"We hooked up and shit but... fuck." Rick said, eyes on the road and one hand on the steering wheel. 

"But what, man?"

"She has a boyfriend, and he's pretty damned rich, too. A fucking lawyer."

"Dang, son."

"I kno-"

Their conversation was cut quick as the radio crackled. A soft but firm female voice came over the radio, relaying protocls. "311, 311, this is Vaughan Station. We have a domestic dispute reported being at 23 Green Avenue. We need officers on the spot. How copy?"

Rick took the handset and put it on his mouth. "This is 311, Station. 10-4. Oscar-Mike. Out."

Rick hit the brakes and did an illegal u-turn, turning on the flashing sirene reminiscent of police cars, and sped up to reach 23 Green Avenue.

Green Avenue, located in Vaughan in the South part of Moresby City, was a suburban neighborhood known for high crime rates, only being slightly lower in the rankings than Little Cuba, located just southeast of Vaughan. 

"Finally some action." Said Santana. The Dodge Charger raced through the empty suburban streets until they encountered the house, which showed obvious signs of a domestic dispute as the silhouettes of two people - a man and a female - could be seen fighting through the kitchen window. The two could not distinguish their features, since there was a curtain over the window. But it was clear that a dispute was taking place, as the two were shouting at each other. Rick put the car to a stop and suddenly he could hear a pan dropping, followed by the smashing of glass. 

"Shit!" Santana said, and, taking his night stick, he went out of the car with his hand on his holstered Glock 19. 

Rick turned the siren off and went out of the cruiser. The two walked calmly towards the door. Santana knocked the door three times. They could now hear a woman crying. Rick looked at Santana, able to do nothing. "Makes me want to beat up the motherfucker." 

"Let's just hope he pulls up on us first. Then we can do whatever we want."

"Shit, San." Rick grinned.

They waited for a couple of minutes when there was no response from inside. Rick knocked it again. "What was his name again?" He whispered to Santana.

"Mr. Thomas."

"Mr. Thomas, this is the police, we have reports of a domestic dispute within your household. If you do not open this door we will have to kick it down."

Still, there was no response. Rick knocked it again and did the same thing with the same words two more times, and there was no reply. When Rick was about to knock the fourth time, Santana held his shoulder. Barrel-chested and sporting a crew cut, Santana looked real smart in his khakis. "That's enough, man."

Rick stepped away from the door and unholstered his Glock 19, turning on the tactical light attached under the barrel. He held his radio, which was hooked on a shoulder strap. "Vaughan Station, this is 311. We can confirm a domestic dispute taking place and we've knocked on the door several times without response. We're breaking in."

"Roger that, 311. Do you need backup, over?"

Rick looked at Santana and paused. Santana nodded. "Affirmative. I think a single patrol would suffice. Over."

"Roger that, dispatching a patrol to your position."

He took his hand off the radio and looked to the door, pistol held barrel-down with both hands. Santana got ready, waiting for Rick's que. 

Rick sighed. "OK. Let's do this." 

Santana strengthened his feet and prepared to brace. Rick counted. "3... 2... 1... Go! Go! Go!"

As adrenaline burnt, training took the situation over. Santana charged the door down and kicked it down with his right foot, prompting the door's lock to break open and the door smashing to the other side. Rick walked in, calmly, the barrel of his Glock 19 leading his footsteps. After going a couple steps forward, Santana went behind him, weapon trained ahead of Rick. If Rick went down he had to pull the trigger. 

The home was a simple one. It had two floors and it seemed like a normal house. However, they could still hear the cries of Mrs. Thomas, seemingly coming from the kitchen. The two decided to investigate. The kitchen was just a single turn ahead of them, on the right side. Rick and Santana stacked up before that vital corner. 

"San, check the living room."

"Roger, moving!" 

Santana raced ahead of Rick and went to scan the living room. Rick, his shoulder against the wall, prepared to make the corner. 

Rick took a deep breath, and went over the corner, only to be met by a shotgun barrel on the other side. BAM! the shotgun went, breaking the walls beside him. Rick went back into cover as the man lunged forward. Santana, currently scanning the living room, heard the commotion and headed for Rick's direction to assist. 

Mr. Thomas caught Santana in the open and put him in his sights. He pulled the trigger without remorse, blowing Santana away with multiple shotgun shell fragments pointed to his chest, twisting him away. He fell on a cheap wooden table, breaking it. 

"Shit! San!" Rick said. Loggin into the radio, he yelled "Shots fired! Shots fired! Officer down!". He decided to go out of cover, only to see Mr. Thomas' shotgun. He pulled the trigger and loosed multiple rounds on the large black man. He jerked away with every shot, but somehow he managed to stay on his feet. 

With no choice Rick emptied his magazine on the bastard, and, shotgun still in hand, he fell on his knees. 

He looked at Rick with his bloodshot eyes and coughed. He coughed blood, then coughing again a couple of times until he vomitted blood. Finally he fell to the ground with a thump, supposedly lifeless. 

Rick quickly went on the radio. "Vaughan Station, this is 311... officer down. Mr. Thomas is dead..." Rick turned to the kitchen and saw Mrs. Thomas on the floor in a housedress. She was still crying. Rick quickly turned around and dashed, going over to Santana. He was on the floor and was bleeding. However he wasn't bleeding from his mouth, so it wouldn't have been a critical wound.

"Shit man, you OK?"

"Fucking wrecked, man. How I look?"

He remembered a buddy in Afghanistan who got fucked up pretty bad after a firefight following an IED explosion. He lives in Colorado now as a gunsmith. 

"I've seen worse, man. You'll be OK." He pat his cheeks twice. Rick opened the man's unuform, revealing the light body armor worn under it. He took the straps off and saw the blood soaking his tank top. Good thing he wasn't bleeding profusely. He put his gloved hands over the worser wound. "You'll live, man, don't worry."

"Vaughan, where is that fucking back up?"

Then Rick heard footsteps from the door. He saw two officers, a black male and a blond female, guns drawn. Blood on his hands, he turned his head.

"Sandborn, Faye. Where are the...?"

"Paramedics are up front with an ambulance." Said Sandborn, the black man.

"Get Miss Thomas, get her out of here... shit..."

Then the paramedics in gray came in the spot. They brought a stretcher with them and a bag of medical rations. Rick stood outside as they patched him up real quick. On a stretcher going out of the house, Santana's group stopped so the two can talk.

Santana raised a hand, in which Rick took in a brotherly hand grab. "I'm gonna miss you, man." Rick said.

"Visit me man, bring that girl of yours." They talked as the paramedics brought Santana to the ambulance.

Rick smiled, holding a laugh. Seeing his friend like that, he couldn't feel anything other than sadness and regret. /I should've taken the blunt... fuck. Better feel lucky that he's still alive!/

"Stay cool, bro."

"You my bro, Ricky boy, you my bro, man." Santana then was loaded up the ambulance. He uttered a peace sign with his hands, in which Rick could see before the ambulance door closed. The ambulance then rode away, speeding away into the dark of the Vaughan streets. Rick turned around, seeing the two police cars sitting in front of the Thomas' house, parked in a hurried fashion. Officer Lynn Faye, the blond, went to comfort him. "Thomas is dead. Mrs. Thomas is with Sandborn. It's OK. You did the right thing."

"Killing a man in front of his wife. I mean, Lynn, what happened if he didn't hear us knocking and he thought we were breaking into his house for no reason?"

"Why do you even think twice like that? He was beating his wife. He pulled a gun on you and shot you. You did the right thing." Lynn said. She had her blond hair up in a ponytail, her soft features exposed by the night light. "I would've killed the bastard myself."

"Yeah. Yeah. Mind if I take a short nap in my car? I'm wasted." 

"Need some company?" She said, smiling.

"It's fine. You should keep up watch with Mike (Sandborn). Missus Thomas will also need the support."

"OK." She said. "I'll wake you up when it's all wrapped up."

"OK." Rick said. He pat Lynn on the arm and looked into her eyes, "Thanks." 

Rick had a slight stubble about his face and wavy short black hair. His hazel eyes and olive skin made him seem exotic to the average American. Especially to Lynn Faye. She smiled back, looking down. "You're welcome."

Rick, tired, walked away. He put on his jacket and POLICE cap on, and quickly fell to sleep.

Another day at work, he thought.

***