Chapter 10: Everyone Has Their First Time

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On the way back, Jimmy learned some details about the AP training from Jacob. Sixteen weeks sounded long, but it was actually quite simple because APs are volunteers. Most people had jobs and only attended training during their off hours, making it very flexible and not too difficult.

“Jimmy, I never asked you—why do you want to be an AP? I heard from Jon that you’re just doing temporary work and don’t even have a fixed place to live.”

“Before yesterday, I never really thought about what security meant. Before yesterday, no one ever pointed a gun at me, no one handcuffed me and took me to jail, and I never imagined I could die in a shootout. Even when I was homeless, I didn’t encounter so many terrible things.”

Jimmy raised his hands slightly, his hands trembling a bit as he spoke.

“I need some sense of security. Yesterday, when you mentioned AP, it made me think maybe I need to have some connection with the police and learn some self-defense skills. In a way, APs are a kind of police, right?”

“Haha, Jimmy, don’t be so nervous. This is Arkansas, not California. There isn’t that much crime. Of course, you might still need a gun.”

“Maybe, but right now I can’t even get a gun permit.”

“Well then, good luck.”

As usual, the restaurant’s daily routine was dull, monotonous, and busy. Jimmy moved his tent to a green space park near the restaurant, settling in a remote corner. At least he didn’t have to spend two hours commuting every day.

The day after signing up, he received a notice from the police station to start his 16-week training. Although it sounded long, it only required accumulating enough training hours. Jimmy was very diligent, focusing mainly on legal training and field response training. He had learned first aid before, and physical fitness wasn’t an issue for a 19-year-old. Working at the restaurant recently, with plenty of food, he had mostly recovered from the physical depletion caused by his previous homelessness. Coupled with his regular exercise, he had become a robust young man.

Originally planning to do temporary work, he was now a formal employee at the restaurant, and his salary had increased a bit. After more than two months, both Jon and others were very satisfied with him. Jon was even willing to vouch for him to rent an apartment about two blocks from the restaurant, though it was somewhat expensive. For someone like Jimmy, a native Chinese without money, it was terrifying to live without financial security. Living in a tent, with the restaurant providing two meals a day, his expenses were minimal—just a few clothes and a thick sleeping bag.

Most of the wages Jon paid him had already been deposited in the bank. For someone like Jimmy who lacked a sense of security, poverty was even more frightening—far more so. Meanwhile, he had obtained his first credit card.

...

As December approached, Jon gave everyone time off for Thanksgiving but left the restaurant under Jimmy’s care, allowing him to cook for himself.

Thanksgiving didn’t really mean anything to Jimmy. Alone in the kitchen, he rummaged through the fridge and managed to prepare a dish of braised pork and tomato beef. Very good. He turned on the restaurant’s music, humming the songs he had recently learned, while making dinner for himself.

The restaurant phone rang. Jimmy ran to the cash register to answer.

“Hi, Jimmy, this is Amy.”

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“Hi, Amy. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Happy Thanksgiving. Jimmy, do you have time tonight? We need backup.”

“Today? Now? Oh my, is my first backup assignment going to be on a holiday when everyone else is celebrating?”

“I’m sorry, yes, today. You’re the only single person registered as an AP. On a day like this, others can’t make it.”

“All right, give me an hour. Tonight, I’m yours.”

Jimmy fired up a second pressure cooker, tossing all the ingredients in and setting it for 40 minutes. Then he cooked rice in another pot and prepared a large vegetable salad while waiting. When the time was up, the tomato beef was acceptable, but the braised pork had essentially become water-boiled meat with seasoning. No big deal. Using the restaurant’s food containers, he packed rice and dishes for himself. After waiting at the restaurant entrance for a while, he got into the booked taxi and headed to the police station.

“Hi, Noah.” “Hi, Jimmy.”

Jimmy entered the police station. It was Thanksgiving, so there were few people around. It wasn’t shift change time, and over half the officers were patrolling various areas.

“Hi, Amy, want to try my cooking? I was just making dinner when you called.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re so kind.” Amy smiled and accepted the offer.

Amy was the police chief’s assistant, mainly responsible for paperwork and personnel management. To avoid any misunderstanding, it should be noted that Amy was already in her fifties and had worked at the police station for over twenty years.

Jimmy opened the food containers on an empty table, took out some paper lunch boxes, and prepared a portion each for Amy and himself. Judging from the amount, there were probably three extra portions.

“Amy, there’s extra—about three portions. Who else is on duty tonight? Want to share?”

“No problem.” Amy took the three portions and left her office, returning shortly after.

“Tastes good. I like this beef dish.”

“Thanks for the compliment. What’s the assignment tonight?”

“Patrol with Noah for about three to four hours.”

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“Okay.”

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Jimmy donned the full gear for the first time. The uniform was the county police’s, featuring the AP badge. He carried handcuffs, a baton, a flashlight, a pen, and a notebook—very basic.

Because APs have no law enforcement authority and serve only in a supporting role—such as accompanying patrols, securing large events, assisting investigations—they were not issued firearms or lethal weapons. Even if an AP had a gun permit personally, they could not carry or use their own weapon while on duty. The only force available was the baton.

At 8 p.m., Jimmy got into Noah’s car to begin his first AP patrol.

Noah noticed Jimmy still gripping the baton in the passenger seat and laughed, “Don’t be nervous. It’s just routine patrol. When something happens, just keep an eye out on the road. You don’t need to chase suspects or enter buildings. Basically, you’re very safe.”

“Okay, I’ll try to relax. No problem.”

Jimmy put the baton back in its holster and tried to slump as comfortably as possible in the seat. Police patrols in the U.S. were very different from firefighting in his home country. Firefighting focused on rescue and extinguishing fires, whereas here the priority was to avoid putting oneself in danger.

“Noah, how long have you been a cop?”

“Eight or nine years, I guess. Don’t worry, I’ll look out for you. No need to be concerned.”

“Oh, I wanted to ask—is it generally more dangerous during the day or at night?”

“Definitely at night. Before 10 p.m., it’s usually okay. But after midnight, the chances of a shootout increase a lot. This is the South—guns mean life. So normally, we don’t assign APs for night support. Today’s just a hassle because several colleagues are off, and staffing got messed up.”

“Looks like this first patrol isn’t at the best time.”

“Adam47, vandalism of public property, West 11th Street. Multiple reports say someone is spray-painting the walls of the municipal square.”

“Adam47, copy that.”

Noah turned on the sirens and headed toward the location.