Jimmy waited a few minutes, support police and ambulance had arrived and taken the injured officer away. After conducting a brief inquiry with Jimmy, they concluded. He had been saving others and wasn't the one who caused the accident; there wasn't much to question him about.
Jimmy returned to the restaurant, where everyone was almost ready for the evening rush.
The dinner crowd was significantly busier than lunchtime, with all 10 tables nearly full. Jimmy helped Karen serve meals. Many customers seemed to be regulars, as Karen knew many of their names. The patrons smiled at the sight of a young Chinese waiter, showing no signs of racial prejudice.
As the busy hours were coming to an end, and most customers had left, Jimmy helped Karen and Annie clean the tables and sweep the floor.
Suddenly, loud motorcycle engines, probably from high-displacement bikes, could be heard outside.
Jimmy looked out the window and saw the bikers dividing into two groups, apparently in some dispute. A few were arguing in the middle, but the distance and the window glass made it impossible to hear what they were saying.
After a while, they mounted their bikes and left. Thankfully, nothing happened. Jimmy was speechless about the public safety in America; these bikers did not seem like ones to be trifled with. As long as they didn't cause trouble in the restaurant, it was none of his concern.
At 10 p.m., after having a late dinner, Jimmy finished work with everyone else and headed to his tent.
…
Walking the streets at night was probably not a good idea. Jimmy felt like someone could jump out at any moment, and he walked half the way quite jittery. Suddenly, gunshots rang out from a residential area nearby.
Jimmy hid under the wooden fence of a house by the roadside, peeking toward the source of the gunfire. There were red and blue flashing lights, most likely from a police car with its lights on but no siren blaring. It was unclear what was happening there.
No matter what, he needed to run. It had nothing to do with him. Jimmy stood up to sprint away when he heard several voices commanding, "Freeze!" "Hands up!" "Drop your weapon!" He immediately stopped and raised his hands.
Jimmy moved his feet slowly, turned around, and saw two officers around 50 meters away running towards him, their hands raised—likely pointing guns in his direction. Jimmy stood still with his hands up, waiting for the police to approach.
"Don't move," one officer said, taking out handcuffs and securing Jimmy's hands behind his back while also removing his backpack. The other officer holstered his pistol and conducted a quick frisk on Jimmy.
A voice came through the radio, "Noah, the suspect is headed your way, southeast direction, back of the house, be aware the suspect is armed with a handgun."
Officer Noah, who was searching Jimmy, immediately drew his pistol and faced the direction of the backyards, while the other officer held Jimmy against the wooden fence.
"Mason, cover me," Noah said as he approached the backyard along the side of the house. Mason stayed behind the fence, guardedly watching Noah's direction, pistol aimed toward the back of the house.
More gunshots were heard in the distance. "Stay here, don't move, wait for us to come back," Mason said before he rushed in Noah's direction. Jimmy was somewhat dumbfounded. Handcuffed and left unguarded; weren't they giving him a chance to escape? But he didn't dare. To avoid any risk, he sat obediently behind the fence, sighing deeply.
When you're out of luck, even drinking water can get stuck in your teeth. Footsteps sounded behind Jimmy, but before he could turn around, a "bang" echoed as the wooden fence was knocked down from behind, "crack," and fell on top of him. Fortunately, his attempt to turn softened the blow as he was pinned down sideways—had it been directly on his back, he might not have survived.
The fence had fallen onto Jimmy's arm, its weight on his handcuffed hands knocked him out. The person who knocked down the fence got up and dashed across the street, with several officers in pursuit, focusing solely on chasing the suspect and not noticing the person beneath the fence.
When Jimmy next awoke, he found himself in a hospital.
After surveying his surroundings, confirming he was in a hospital and safe for the time being, Jimmy focused on his own body. He gently moved his limbs and joints—arms, hands, legs, feet—there was no severe pain, and they were all mobile, indicating no serious injuries. There was no feeling of injury to the torso either.
Being cuffed wasn't a surprise, considering he had just been stopped by two policemen, but why was he getting an IV drip? The brief examination earlier hadn't revealed any injuries. With a puzzled look, Jimmy called out, "Hello, is anyone there?"
A nurse pulled back the curtain and checked the IV bag, "Wait a moment, I'll call the doctor."
Soon a doctor walked in, "How do you feel? Any pain anywhere?"
"I'm fine, no problems. What happened? Why am I in the hospital?"
"I've informed the police, they'll talk to you in detail tomorrow morning. Just wait here," said the doctor before leaving. The nurse came in, removed the IV line, tidied up, and also left.
...Jimmy waited in silence.
The next day, two policemen came to the hospital, spoke with the doctor outside for a while, and then took Jimmy and his personal belongings back to the police station.
Jimmy was taken into an interrogation room, the police uncuffed him, and gave him a bottle of water.
"Let's get started, Jimmy Yang from San Francisco, where were you between 9:30 and 10:30 last night? What were you doing?"
The two policemen sat opposite Jimmy, Officer One opened a notebook and began the questioning.
"Wolf House restaurant, I'm a server there. We close at 9 p.m. and I left at 10 p.m."
"What did you do after leaving the restaurant?"
"I walked home along Fairpark Avenue, got stopped by you guys, then two other officers went after a suspect, and I got knocked out by a falling fence, woke up in the hospital."
"Who can vouch for you?"
"Everyone at the restaurant, we left together after dinner. You can contact my boss, Jon Woolf, the owner of Wolf House."
"Go check that," the first policeman gestured to the other, who nodded and left to verify the information.
The first officer continued, "Where do you live?"
"Maryland Street."
"Alright, once my colleague checks, if there's no issue, you can go back."
"Officer, may I ask what happened yesterday?"
"A home invasion robbery, I can't tell you any more than that. Wait here, please."
Officer One closed the notebook and left the room.