NINE

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Walt lowered his voice to a sandpaper-rough bass. "I hope you're taking this studying thing seriously, Walt."

Virginia laughed and shook her head. "You've got way too much Irish in you to imitate a black man." She stopped on the sidewalk and he followed suit, turning to look at her. There was still some nagging disconnect that she couldn't quite put her finger on. "Cap's only looking out for your best interest, you know."

"I know. I'm studying, don't worry. Besides, I'm looking forward to us being equals." He nudged her with his elbow, and she forced a smile. It all seemed lighthearted on his part, but she couldn't stop that same old uneasiness from creeping back in, along with the guilt that tagged along with it.

Relax, she mentally chided. He's just being friendly.

She had taken Walt on her beat every day since their sudden pairing, introducing him to all the shopkeepers and residents she knew as they passed them on the street. They went down the list, knocking on the doors of the people she paid regular visits to. He got many comments on his red hair, which Virginia teased him about, but he kept his responses neutral and very professional. Stiff. She sensed he wasn't all that comfortable with the hands-on contact with the community.

Unlike Jack.

But he wasn't Jack. She needed to cut him some slack. It was going to take some time for him to be at ease with this new role.

They were about to turn around and head back when she spotted members of the Watts Stones, a largely Hispanic local gang, hanging near the corner bakery. Like a pack of stray dogs they spread themselves out, some lounging with their backs against the brick wall, others pacing, jostling, dancing, anything that would obstruct passage along the sidewalk. A young woman trying to make her way through the cluster was blocked and harassed, taunted with whistles and jeers as she back-stepped and moved around them, the fear visible on her face.

They needed to be dispersed.

"Okay, everyone, time to go," Virginia said as she worked her way into the middle of the group with Walt following close behind.

"Lieutenant. . ."

Virginia turned to the voice, recognizing the thick-bodied, young man ambling up to her with oversized jeans hanging low on his hips. Cortez was the current leader of the pack, a position that had fallen to him after the shooting death of the Stones founder during a turf war with a rival gang. Rumor on the street was it had actually been Cortez who had delivered the fatal shot, ensuring himself a battlefield promotion.

It had never been confirmed.

"So"—his eyes drifted over her before flashing to Walt—"I see you have a new cookie, a little gingersnap." He made a circle with one hand to lewdly thrust the index finger of his other in and out of. "How's it taste?"

Snickers and clapping surrounded them.

Walt took a step forward.

The snickering turned into a unified, mocking, "Ooooh."

Virginia put her hand on Walt's arm. Surrounded by twenty or so gang members, this was not the time to give in to a little verbal goading. "It's okay, Sergeant, not to worry. Cortez and I go way back." Her focus never veered from the man in front of her. "Don't we, Cortez? Right back to your father's incarceration."

He moved quickly, getting right up in her face to hiss, "Stepfather. That asshole is not my father."

"Oh, yeah . . . I keep forgetting."

Keeping the close proximity, he swept those dark, cynical eyes over her face. "Tell me, Lieutenant, how are you sleeping at night? I hear you have some powerful enemies."

She shrugged. "Same ol' same ol'."

"I don't think so," he drawled, stepping back. "I'd be careful if I was you." His eyes skipped to Walt.

It was the briefest of looks, but Virginia felt the goose bumps rising on her arms. Was there a threat being made against Walt? She scanned the surrounding gang members, searching for clues. Her eyes landed on a young girl she recognized. The blonde hair hung down in greasy strands and the thick eyeliner looked a few days old, but it was her. She was fidgety, alternating between dragging on a cigarette in one hand and biting the fingernails of the other.

"Jessica?"

The girl averted her gaze. She was a student at the gym, or used to be. She hadn't been to class in over a month. Knowing she was a straight-A student with a history of being responsible, Virginia had called her home. Her mother had been shocked to learn of her daughter's skipping but had brushed it off, hoping it was just a teenage phase.

Jessica was sixteen years old.

Virginia turned on Cortez. "What do you have her hooked on?"

He smiled coldly. "That little bitch is none of your business."

"She should be in school."

His arms stretched wide. "She can learn more about the real world out here in a day than she would in a year inside some stuffy building that churns out standardized morons."

She advanced on him this time, jabbing her finger in his face. "She's sixteen. If anything happens to her, I'm holding you responsible, Cortez. We'll find a nice cozy cell . . . next to your father."

She saw the rage harden his features, heard the sharp inhale as he stiffened. Walt made a move to get between them, but she brought her hand up. "No," she ordered, her stare fixed on Cortez.

Something caught Cortez's eye. With his gaze aimed behind her, he thrust his nose in the air. "What the fuck are you looking at?"

Virginia glanced over her shoulder. The bakery owner had stepped out of his shop, standing firm and still, a direct challenge to the group in front of him. Before she'd turned her head back to Cortez, two more people had stepped out of adjacent shops.

"You're scaring his customers away. He's just an honest business man trying to make a living. Leave him alone."

Cortez paid no heed, his attention now drawn to the street. Virginia risked another look. People seemed to be appearing out of nowhere, some crossing the street to get closer while others stood in place, arm-in-arm, watching. Most looked apprehensive, others confused, and a few, helpless.

But not one of them was walking away.

"That group of do-gooders you've started is no different from any of us," Cortez hissed. His hand swept around to indicate his current membership, but his eyes remained on the growing crowd behind her. "When their numbers get strong enough, there will be infighting. Those who want the power will jostle for control. Money will be offered. Deals will be made . . . They'll turn on you, one way or another."

"Really?" She shifted to catch his stare. "If you know so much about them, why not stop by? We train the third Saturday of the month."

His eyes widened, and she wondered if Cortez had ever been offered another path besides the one of destruction he was currently on. Dead silence surrounded them until he threw out a hearty laugh. "That's funny." He nodded his head at his followers to encourage the uncertain chuckles that had scattered among them. "She's funny."

His smile slid away when he lifted his arm and snapped his fingers. Jessica jumped up from her squat against the wall and ended up pressed into his side, keeping her eyes glued to the ground.

"I'll give you two days, Jessica. If you don't come see me by then, I'll be forced to go to your parents," Virginia said softly to the girl.

"Two days?" Cortez's tone was thick with sarcasm. "A lot can happen in two days, Lieutenant. Don't say I didn't warn you." He turned away, pulling Jessica with him, his hand resting just above the scorpion tattoo covering her right shoulder blade.

Feeling helpless, Virginia watched their retreating figures as the rest of the gang fell into step behind them. When Jessica glanced back over Cortez's shoulder, making eye contact, Virginia felt a glimmer of hope . . . until Cortez barked something in the girl's ear and the connection was broken, Jessica dropping her head once again.

Turning to the crowd of bystanders, Virginia was shocked to see at least twenty people standing shoulder-to-shoulder behind the baker. She now noticed the makeshift green armbands on a few.

The baker, an Asian man of many years, brought a knobby-knuckled finger up to point at the green bandana tied around his upper arm. "My grandson." The deep lines on his face grew even deeper with his smile. "He's a good boy." That same finger moved to wag at the retreating Watts Stones. "Not like those pieces of shit."

There was a muttering of agreement from the small crowd. Nothing else was said. With the threat gone, so too was the common bond that united them, and they drifted apart to carry on with their day.

"Well"—Walt removed his cap and wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve—"I can see what has Cortez's knickers in a knot."

"Yeah," Virginia breathed as she watched the group disperse. "Maybe." She'd been around Cortez long enough to know he wasn't a blowhard. His comments weren't just about territorial possessiveness. She needed to take him seriously. Something was being talked about on the streets. The question was what.

The do-gooders Cortez had referred to were now called the Green Soldiers—a joke started by the neighborhood kids that had stuck thanks to the toy's starring role in the Pixar films. Stores in the area were happy, selling out of those little green army men faster than they could restock them. Virginia wasn't as thrilled, however, worried that the war connotation would only make them a bigger target.

The group had been back in the news over the last few weeks, but thankfully, it was all-good. A human interest story had been written about them being out on patrol. A few days later, a local television station had reported on them breaking up a fight outside of a neighborhood bar. And, on their own initiative, a handful of members had volunteered at a local school's winter fair, becoming the talk of the community for days. Most recently, there had been some photos taken of a few members helping to direct traffic around a serious accident on Highway 110.

None of that would cause this kind of reaction, though.

But she'd been proven wrong before.

Just never quite so quickly.

On their way back to the station, Walt was chatting on about his plans for the weekend when they turned a corner and she spotted four young men about a block away, all wearing the telltale green armbands. Two men in suits had the soldiers' full attention . . . and it didn't appear friendly. The four started backing up. Dominique's description of Darnell's attackers came back to her—Big white guys, older, well-dressed.

"Walt!" His name came out more sharply than she'd intended, but she needed his attention and now was not the time to be tactful. "Let's go!" She started to run.

Up ahead, one of the soldiers raised his arms. The bigger of the two men advanced, forcing the soldiers further into the alleyway behind them. The man turned and made a motion with his hand.

That was when Virginia saw what he was holding.

She grabbed her radio as she ran. "18-Lincoln-23, two officers on foot. We have a subject with a gun at the alleyway near 103rd and Wilmington Avenue."

"Copy that 18-Lincoln-23, sending backup," was the immediate response.

A shot rang out when she was halfway to them. Virginia pulled her own gun, hearing Walt close behind her doing the same. The two suits bolted out of the alley and turned away from her to run down the sidewalk, the back panels of their jackets kicking out behind them.

"Police, freeze!" she yelled.

They ignored her. She first signaled for Walt to continue on without her before coming to a halt with a wide stance and arms extended. Holding her breath to steady her aim, she brought her finger to the—

A young woman carrying a bag stepped out of a store up ahead and was nearly knocked over by the two men on the run. "Hey! Watch it!" she hollered at their backs.

"Get down," Virginia yelled.

The surprised shopper spun around and her eyes peeled wide. Putting two and two together, the woman crouched down low, a few items spilling out of the brown paper sack and landing at her feet. She grabbed them up quick and sidestepped her way back to the doorway, but by then the men had made it to the corner and ducked around it.

That was the extent of Virginia's down time. Her legs and arms got back to their heavy pumping rhythm. Reaching the mouth of the alleyway, she saw Walt on his haunches next to three of the Green Soldiers sitting on the ground, cradling the fourth in their arms. There was blood on the young man's shirt. She sped up, a rush of anger driving her on.

"Virginia, wait," Walt shouted, followed up with a "Damn it!" when his call was ignored.

Virginia passed the woman still huddled in the entryway and turned the corner, running flat out. She spotted the men as they opened the doors of a black Cadillac and jumped inside. The engine turned over and the car lurched out of its parking space. She stopped and aimed again, this time pulling the trigger and blowing out the taillight.

The person in the rear seat whipped his head around to see who was after his two henchmen.

"Enzo Lombardi," she drawled as the car raced away. "I got you, you little slime." Getting on her radio, she sent her backup down Hawthorne Street in search of a black Caddy with a broken taillight.

Sirens wailed in the distance as Walt ran up to her. "You okay?" he asked, giving her a head-to-toe body scan for bullet holes.

She nodded. "That was me. Shot out the taillight."

"Good one."

With a curse, she holstered her gun. "Not really—I was aiming for the tire. How's the kid?"

"He's going to be fine. Ambulance is on the way."

"Well, that's a positive at least. Come on, let's go talk to them."

The soldiers were still in the same position. Virginia knelt down on the ground to check the wound, agreeing with Walt's diagnosis. The bullet had only grazed his side.

"They came at us for no reason," one of them explained, his voice shaking. "They said it was a message to all of us." He nodded his head at the injured youth. "He started running away, down the alley. That's when they shot him."

"What's your name?" she asked the injured boy.

"Robert," he gritted.

She studied his features. He looked awfully young. Dominique had them all on a rotating schedule with four of them stationed at the gym during business hours. She'd gotten pretty good at recognizing their faces, but she didn't recall ever seeing his. "How old are you, Robert?" she asked, pulling out her notepad and reaching into her pocket for a pen.

He hesitated, lowering his head. "Fifteen," he mumbled.

She sucked in a breath, exhaling through pursed lips. "You're supposed to be eighteen to join the Green Soldiers."

He fingered the hem of his bloodied shirt. "I lied about my age."

"Why would you do that, Robert?"

Favoring his injured side, only one shoulder lifted when he shrugged. "I think they're cool."

"Great, now I've got babies on the street getting into trouble."

"I'm not a baby!" he fired back, grimacing. Toning it down, he added, "And I'm not getting into trouble. I'm sick of trouble. I'm helping to get rid of it."

"And getting shot, do you think that's cool?" She knew he had been scared. He still was.

"I could get shot walking down the street simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, happens every day."

Virginia sighed. "You're too young. When the press gets wind of this, the Green Soldiers may be forced to shut down. Is that what you want?"

"No. . ."

Virginia swiped a hand down her face, wondering how many other Roberts were out there. They hadn't thought about that. Dominique needed to verify the age of all the members. "Tell you what; we'll think about setting up a youth program. You can be involved in the training and some volunteer work but no patrols until you're eighteen. Understood?"

He nodded, his face beaming. "Yes, ma'am."

As Virginia took their statements, the approaching sirens grew louder, and Walt walked to the mouth of the alleyway to flag down the ambulance.

The paramedics took over, checking Robert's injury and getting him ready for transport. Virginia had to turn her back and walk away from the scene, Simon's shooting still too raw and painful in her memory.

As he was being wheeled to the ambulance, Robert called out, "Lieutenant?"

"Just a second," she said to the paramedics as she made her way over.

Robert's youth was even more pronounced with the blankets tucked tightly around him, his face almost as white as the sheets he lay on. But his voice had a strength and maturity to it when he said, "Being a Green Soldier is an honor. We . . ." He looked to his three comrades standing beside him, who all nodded their agreement. "We want you to know that we're grateful for the opportunity."

She froze, feeling tightness in her throat, hoping she didn't flat out lose it in front of them. Managing to hold off all the emotion, she shook her head. "No, Robert." She patted his shoulder. "I'm the one who's grateful—grateful to know such fine young men."

END OF CHAPTER NINE

That was a bit of a long one, I know. I didn't want to split up the action, though.

It seems the Chilvatis are starting to put the pressure on. What do you think Virginia should do? What about the Green Soldiers? Should they disband before someone gets seriously hurt?

Virginia is about to receive some unwanted attention. Stay tuned ;) And don't forget that little star!


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