Chapter 23: Failure

Jimmy parked his patrol car and picked up his water bottle, taking a slow sip. He made sure not to drink too much; these little tricks were taught to him by Noah Mason and his team to avoid any accidents during emergencies—techniques that were personal tips, not part of official police training.

Jimmy waited by the roadside, bored. Playing the waiting game didn't always yield results, and besides, he couldn't be bothered with vehicles that were only slightly over the speed limit. Writing tickets for such minor offenses brought no real benefit, and he was too lazy to stir up trouble.

After waiting for over half an hour, Jimmy decided to give up. Just as he started the engine, he heard the roar of a large-displacement motorcycle exhaust. In the blink of an eye, a motorcycle sped past him. Arkansas rural roads had a speed limit of 35 or 45 mph, but the motorcycle was definitely traveling at no less than 80 mph.

Jimmy flicked on his lights and siren and pulled out to give chase. Seeing the police cruiser, the motorcyclist accelerated, weaving through traffic to get away.

The impact of lights and sirens was significant; as other drivers noticed the cruiser, they shifted to the right, clearing the center of the lane. Jimmy accelerated through the traffic, hitting 50, then 70, and eventually 100 mph to catch up, trailing the motorcycle from a distance of several dozen meters.

The POST Commission’s police manual strictly forbade high-speed stops of motorcycles in motion, and PIT maneuvers were absolutely prohibited. They were far too likely to result in irreparable loss of life and would trigger a deluge of investigations and lawsuits. Every department imposed the same strict requirement on its officers: never attempt a PIT maneuver on a moving motorcycle.

Jimmy followed the bike, radioing in the pursuit and requesting that dispatch run a check on the motorcycle’s registration.

Realizing he couldn't shake the cruiser, the rider slowed down at the next intersection and turned onto a rural path. Jimmy followed him to the turn, only to find himself stumped. The path was clearly a makeshift trail worn down by local residents; it was barely a meter wide. While the motorcycle could handle it, there was no way a patrol car could drive down it.

Watching the motorcycle vanish from sight, Jimmy sighed in frustration. He grabbed his radio, reported the situation, and called off the pursuit.

Jimmy turned off his lights and siren and pulled out the map he kept in the car—a precaution since he wasn't yet fully familiar with the surrounding routes. After checking the area and pinpointing his location, he realized that if the path didn't wind further, it likely led to the small town of Carmack. He figured that even if he took the long way around, the local town police would handle it; he was just a bystander now.

Jimmy straightened up and turned the car around. It had been a truly frustrating day. It was supposed to be a happy payday, but that was ruined by the sudden realization of the tax pitfalls associated with his new identity, followed by the failed chase. A sense of bad luck seemed to radiate from him.

Checking the time, he saw it was nearly the end of his shift. Jimmy prepared to head back to the precinct, intending to see if Amy had any good ideas for resolving his personal crisis.

As he neared the station, a sudden notification came through from dispatch: "All units, be advised: active shooting in progress. Carmack Town Police requesting assistance. Nearby units, provide support immediately."

"Adam 28, copy."

Jimmy hit his lights and sirens and changed direction, speeding toward Carmack. Having studied the map earlier, he remembered the route clearly. About 15 minutes later, he arrived at Carmack and saw three patrol cars parked outside the town limits.

Jimmy pulled his cruiser up and saw an officer standing by the road. He stepped out, walked over, and glanced at the badge—it was the town’s Chief of Police. Like a county sheriff, a town police chief was an elected official.

"Chief, Deputy Jimmy, Pulaski County Sheriff's Office. What's the situation? Where do you need me?"

"A biker gang member assaulted someone at a bar. When my men tried to make an arrest, he opened fire. My boys have him surrounded; we should have it resolved shortly."

"The bar up ahead?" Jimmy pointed to the Red Roof Bar a short distance away.

"Yes, that's the one. The guy is cornered inside." The Chief didn't assign Jimmy any specific task, and Jimmy didn't intend to overstep. He walked back to his cruiser, turned off the siren while leaving the lights flashing, and grabbed his water bottle, resting while he drank.

*Bang!* Several shots rang out from inside the bar. The Chief’s radio crackled with urgent voices: officers had been hit, and the suspect had escaped through the back.

"I'll check the back," Jimmy told the Chief. He capped his water bottle, tossed it onto the seat, drew his pistol and flashlight, and slammed the door, heading into the narrow alley beside the bar to investigate.

Jimmy approached the corner of the building, carefully peeking around and scanning the area with his flashlight. It was clear. He approached the back door and called out, "Pulaski County Sheriff's Office! Is the suspect still inside?"

"No, he ran out the back door! The suspect is armed. I've been hit—be careful," a town officer shouted back from inside.

Jimmy began checking the alley behind the house. It was nearly 8:00 PM, and the town lacked the streetlights of a city, leaving everything in deep shadow. Jimmy had to rely on his flashlight to scan for the suspect, which made his search painfully slow.

After checking five or six houses with no success, he realized the environment was working against him. The area was filled with wooden fences and hedges between properties, which severely obstructed his view. His flashlight’s range was too limited; if it were daytime, finding someone would be easy, but at night, a solo search was far too dangerous.

Jimmy decided to give up; he couldn't conduct a wide-scale search in the dark on his own.

He returned to the front of the bar. An ambulance had arrived, and the two wounded officers were being loaded inside. The Chief stood by, his face dark with gloom.

"Sorry, I couldn't find him. It's too dark back there," Jimmy said, holstering his weapon and turning off his flashlight.

"It's fine. I'll catch him. This is an insult to us," the Chief replied, then turned and climbed into his cruiser, presumably returning to the station.

Jimmy got back into his patrol car and radioed in his status. Since the case was under the jurisdiction of the town police and he was merely there to support, there was no need for him to stay involved.

Jimmy turned off his lights and drove away, heading back to the county sheriff's station.