En una intersección, Ethan ralentizó su automóvil cuando la luz se puso roja.
Un rugiente Dodge Challenger, pintado de rojo vibrante, se detuvo a su lado, con su música baja sacudiendo ligeramente las ventanas.
Ethan frunció el ceño y bajó la ventana, permitiendo que el sonido se inundara.
El hombre blanco con rastas que conducía al Challenger notó la mirada de Ethan. Sonriendo, aceleró el motor provocativamente.
—Hola, hombre, buen pedazo de basura que conduces! —el conductor se burló en voz alta.
La chica rubia en el asiento del pasajero le disparó a Ethan un guiño descarado.
Ethan respiró hondo, manteniendo la calma. No estaba a punto de comprometerse con estas tonterías. En cambio, metió la mano en el bolsillo y sacó suavemente su placa. Con una sonrisa tranquila, lo sostuvo hasta la ventana y comenzó a girar de brazos cruzados entre sus dedos.
La música en el Dodge se detuvo abruptamente. Una ráfaga de viento de la tarde pasó, enfriando al par que alguna vez fue seguro. La tensión se disolvió en un instante.
Cuando la luz se volvió verde, Ethan echó un vistazo a los adolescentes ahora silenciosos y presionó su acelerador. Su auto rugió a la vida, con neumáticos chillando mientras dejaba al Challenger muy atrás.
Unos minutos más tarde, Ethan sabía que había llegado cuando vio varios vehículos policiales estacionados afuera de una casa. Estacionando su auto cerca, agarró la botella de vino tinto del asiento del pasajero y se acercó a la casa.
Tocó el timbre, y después de un momento, Siobhan abrió la puerta, sosteniendo un par de pinzas de barbacoa.
—¡Ethan! Tiempo perfecto. Espero que tengas hambre —ella lo saludó con una cálida sonrisa.
—Absolutamente —Ethan respondió, entregándole la botella de vino.
—Entra. Emmett y los demás ya están aquí.
El cielo aún no se había oscurecido por completo, pero el patio trasero estaba bañado por el resplandor de las cálidas luces de cuerda. Una mujer blanca se sentó en la mesa de comedor al aire libre, bebiendo una bebida.
Brock se paró a la parrilla, volteando frenéticamente filetes y salchichas, sus jugos chisporroteando sobre las brasas calientes. El aroma irresistible de la carne asada llenó el aire.
—How's that meat coming along, Brock? —Ethan asked as he approached the grill.
—Looking good, my man —Brock replied, clearly proud of his work.
Ethan greeted Brock before finding a seat at the table.
—Ethan, this is my wife, Meg —Emmett introduced, smiling happily.
—A pleasure, Ethan —Meg said warmly.
—The pleasure's mine, Meg. Emmett's a lucky man —Ethan replied, nodding politely.
After some light conversation, Brock brought over a tray piled high with perfectly grilled meats.
—Alright, everyone, dig in! Hope you're hungry —Brock announced proudly, placing the tray on the table.
Ethan loaded his plate with ribs and sausages, savoring every bite of the tender, smoky meat. The camaraderie around the table made him feel unexpectedly at home, a brief respite from the challenges of his new life.
A few days later, Ethan's training period ended, and the department issued him a patrol car—a sturdy Ford Crown Victoria. Its body bore the standard police colors and the Banshee Police Department emblem.
After Siobhan's reminder, he learned that only the front doors of the police car were equipped with bulletproof steel plates.
If a shooting occurs, it is best to use the front door as cover for protection. The vehicle itself, in addition to the engine and wheels, can be easily penetrated by firearms of slightly larger calibers.
To back up the firepower, he chose a shotgun, the police version Remington M870. With its dark body, simple lines, and enormous power, he fell in love with it at first sight, an extremely practical weapon and also the first choice among many police support firearms.
He loaded the Remington M870 into the trunk's gun box, drove away from the precinct, and began patrolling. On his first day of patrolling alone, he was in a good mood and even let some fines go, giving only warnings to the drivers.
At noon, he took a break for lunch and smoked a cigarette while waiting to catch an unsuspecting driver in a remote corner, when the radio he carried on his shoulder rang.
-Ethan, we received a 10-16. A woman called, claiming she was threatened by her ex-husband. Siobhan is on her way... - he said, indicating the address and the situation so she could come to provide support.
After putting out the cigarette, Ethan pressed the radio.
-10-4, on my way Alma, I'll be there right now.-Turning on the police lights.
Ethan quickly arrived at the caller's address.
Siobhan had arrived at the scene and was banging on the door with her shoulder.
Ethan got out of the car and heard the screams coming from the house, but no one was responding to the officer's shouts. He opened the trunk of the car without hesitation, took out the shotgun, and approached the door.
"Siobhan, get out of the way." After gesturing with his hand for Siobhan to move aside, Ethan aimed the gun at the door lock and pulled the trigger.
With a loud "bang," the door lock broke straight off.
When he cocked the gun, Siobhan drew her weapon, kicked the door open, and rushed inside.
Ethan also pulled the shotgun's stock, removed the shell, and reloaded the weapon, then entered the house with the Remington, senses heightened and adrenaline coursing through his veins. The atmosphere inside the house was tense, almost suffocating. The living room was in complete disarray, furniture overturned, a broken vase on the floor, and papers scattered everywhere.
The man lifted his head slightly, trying to assess the situation, but before he could react, Ethan lunged at him. With a quick and efficient movement, he grabbed the intruder by the collar of his shirt and dragged him into a submissive position, twisting his arm behind his back. The intruder tried to resist, but Ethan, with relentless strength, pushed him to the ground, keeping his knee firmly on the man's back.
"I said not to move!" Ethan repeated, pressing harder to ensure the intruder couldn't make any sudden movements.
"Siobhan, how about you go check on that lady?" Siobhan didn't look back.
She used her free hand to pull the handcuffs from her belt. Siobhan stayed close, taking the shotgun, covering them with her weapon held high.
A surprised woman dressed in white collapsed next to the sofa, blood slowly dripping from her forehead.
"Ma'am, how do you feel?"
-I'm fine. Can you help me inform my family? - The woman in white was choked with sobs.
-No problem, wait a moment. First, I'll call an ambulance to take care of her.
Feeling that there were no major emotional issues, Ethan pressed the radio.
"Alma, call an ambulance to report that there is someone injured at the scene."
Ethan terminó de someter al intruso, comprobando por última vez que las esposas estaban bien apretadas, y luego lo empujó hacia la puerta, mientras que Siobhan lo siguió de cerca.
"Lo llevaremos a la estación." Quiero averiguar qué estaba buscando—, dijo Ethan con determinación.