Under Arrest

At an intersection, Ethan slowed his car as the light turned red.

A roaring Dodge Challenger, painted in vibrant red, pulled up beside him, its low music slightly shaking the windows.

Ethan frowned and rolled down his window, letting the sound flood in.

The white man with dreadlocks driving the Challenger noticed Ethan's gaze. Smiling, he revved the engine provocatively.

—Hey, man, nice piece of junk you're driving!— the driver called out loudly.

The blonde girl in the passenger seat shot Ethan a cheeky wink.

Ethan took a deep breath, staying calm. He wasn't about to engage in this nonsense. Instead, he reached into his pocket and casually pulled out his badge. With a calm smile, he held it up to the window and began twirling it nonchalantly between his fingers.

The music in the Dodge abruptly stopped. A gust of evening wind swept through, cooling the once-confident pair. The tension dissolved in an instant.

As the light turned green, Ethan glanced at the now-silent teens and pressed the accelerator. His car roared to life, tires screeching as he left the Challenger far behind.

A few minutes later, Ethan knew he had arrived when he saw several police vehicles parked outside a house. Pulling up nearby, he grabbed the bottle of red wine from the passenger seat and walked toward the house.

He rang the doorbell, and after a moment, Siobhan opened it, holding a pair of barbecue tongs.

—Ethan! Right on time. I hope you're hungry,— she greeted him with a warm smile.

—Of course,— Ethan replied, smiling as he placed the bottle of wine in her hands.

—Come in. Emmett and the others are already here.—

The sky hadn't fully darkened yet, but the backyard was bathed in the glow of warm string lights. A white woman sat at the outdoor dining table, sipping a drink.

Brock stood by the grill, frantically flipping steaks and sausages, their juices sizzling over the hot coals. The irresistible aroma of grilled meat filled the air.

—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 occurred, it was best to use the front door as cover for protection. The vehicle itself, aside from the engine and wheels, could be easily penetrated by firearms of slightly larger calibers.

To back up the firepower, he chose a shotgun—the police version of the 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 the first choice among many police officers.

He loaded the Remington M870 into the trunk's gun box, drove away from the precinct, and began patrolling. On his first day 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 on his shoulder crackled to life.

—Ethan, we received a 10-16. A woman called, claiming she was threatened by her ex-husband. Siobhan is on her way...— Alma said, giving him the address and details so she could provide backup.

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 already arrived and was banging on the door with her shoulder.

Ethan got out of the car and heard screams coming from inside, but no one was responding to the officer's shouts. Without hesitation, he opened the trunk, took out the shotgun, and approached the door.

—Siobhan, get out of the way.—

After gesturing for her to move aside, Ethan aimed the gun at the door lock and pulled the trigger.

With a loud bang, the lock shattered completely.

As he cocked the gun, Siobhan drew her weapon, kicked the door open, and rushed inside.

Ethan pulled the shotgun's stock, ejected the shell, reloaded the weapon, and entered the house, senses heightened, adrenaline coursing through his veins. The atmosphere inside was tense, almost suffocating. The living room was in complete disarray—furniture overturned, a broken vase on the floor, and scattered papers everywhere.

A man lifted his head slightly, trying to assess the situation, but before he could react, Ethan lunged at him. With a swift, efficient movement, he grabbed the intruder by the collar and twisted his arm behind his back. The man tried to resist, but Ethan, with relentless strength, pushed him to the ground, keeping his knee firmly on his back.

—I said, don't move!— Ethan repeated, pressing harder to ensure the man couldn't make any sudden movements.

—Siobhan, how about you go check on the lady?—

Siobhan didn't look back. Using her free hand, she pulled the handcuffs from her belt and stayed close, taking the shotgun while keeping her weapon raised.

A woman dressed in white sat 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's voice was choked with sobs.

—No problem. Wait a moment. First, I'll call an ambulance to take care of you.—

Sensing that she was stable, Ethan pressed the radio.

—Alma, call an ambulance. We have an injured person on the scene.—

After making sure the handcuffs were secure, Ethan pulled the intruder to his feet and pushed him toward the door, with Siobhan closely following.

—We'll take him to the station. I want to find out what he was looking for,— Ethan said with determination.