Chapter 34: Misunderstanding

Jimmy resumed his patrol. The daytime highway was busy, and he drove along with the flow of traffic, easily gauging whether surrounding vehicles were speeding based on his own pace. Because the police cruiser’s paint job and light bar were highly conspicuous, other drivers were generally cautious, making sure not to give him any reason to pull them over.

As Jimmy drove, he suddenly felt a jolt from behind. Checking the rearview mirror, he realized he had been rear-ended.

He activated his lights and siren, pulled over to the shoulder, and stepped out of the cruiser, gritting his teeth as he approached the other vehicle. He inspected his rear bumper; the damage was minor—a slight dent, but the paint was largely intact. He figured a little bodywork and a touch of paint at the shop would fix it right up.

Approaching the car, he saw a man clutching his forehead and groaning. Jimmy knocked on the window. "Sir, are you alright?"

He tried the door, but it was locked. "Sir, please open the door." He continued to knock.

The driver finally reached over and unlocked it. Jimmy leaned in near the door. "Do you need an ambulance?" The man shook his head. "Please show me your driver's license, registration, and proof of insurance. Thank you."

Jimmy returned to his cruiser, contacted dispatch to run the license and vehicle information, jotted down the insurance details and the driver's personal info, and then took photos of both vehicles from every angle with a camera from his trunk.

He returned the documents to the driver. "Sir, I’ve recorded your information. You can handle this through your insurance company. You’re free to go."

In minor traffic incidents like this, people often prefer to settle privately, but this guy was unlucky—he’d hit a police cruiser. Jimmy had no intention of taking cash; if he were caught, the consequences would be endless.

Having dealt with the annoying fender-bender, Jimmy continued his patrol. Such minor damage was a daily occurrence for a police cruiser and didn’t require an immediate trip to the shop; it was better to wait and have it all repaired at once later.

After a while, Jimmy noticed something off about two cars ahead. The lead car seemed to be driving normally, but the car behind it was acting erratically, switching lanes and occasionally tailing behind other vehicles without ever attempting to pass.

Jimmy followed for a few minutes, convinced the second car was tailing the first. He flipped on his lights and siren, signaling the driver to pull over.

As he walked up to the car, he brushed his hand against the taillight. Looking through the window, he saw the driver had both hands placed visibly on top of the steering wheel—empty-handed. He was clearly experienced.

"Sir, please present your driver's license and registration." The driver used his left hand to pull down the visor for the registration, while his right hand retrieved his wallet from his pocket to hand over the license.

Jimmy noticed a badge on the wallet, but the driver had flipped it shut too quickly for him to identify the agency.

"Please wait a moment."

Jimmy returned to his cruiser and ran the check through dispatch. The identity was clear, but the license plate was registered to a chemical company.

"Sir, please step out of the vehicle and place your hands on the roof. Do you have any weapons on you?"

Jimmy followed protocol, ordering the driver out for a quick pat-down.

"I’m an FBI agent. I have a gun on my right hip. Please be careful, don't touch it. My wallet and credentials are in my right pocket. May I take them out?"

"Stay still. You are being briefly detained. Hands behind your back." Upon hearing about the gun, Jimmy had already drawn his own weapon; safety first. As for whether the man was truly an FBI agent, that could be verified. He handcuffed the agent and retrieved the wallet from his pocket. Opening it, he saw an FBI eagle badge alongside the identification card.

"I won’t touch your firearm, but I need to verify your identity with my superior. Please face the car."

With the agent’s credentials in hand, Jimmy called the Sheriff on his cell phone.

"Sheriff James, I’ve stopped a vehicle on the highway. He was tailing another car. The driver claims to be an FBI agent. I have his credentials; could you verify them?"

"Hold on, let me get a pen. Give me the badge number; I’ll have someone check it."

Jimmy read off the name and number. A few minutes later, Sheriff James called back.

"Jimmy, the credentials are confirmed." "Understood, I’ll release him immediately."

"My apologies, sir. Everything has been verified. I’m taking the cuffs off now," Jimmy said while unlocking them. "I saw you tailing the car ahead, and in the interest of crime prevention, I pulled you over. Since the car wasn't registered to you personally, I had to conduct a search. Here are your credentials, please take them."

The agent took his ID back without a word, got into his car, and drove off.

Jimmy felt a bit helpless. Nobody wants to have an awkward run-in like this, but he had the bad luck to encounter one. He hoped the agent wouldn't hold a grudge.

Although federal agents and county sheriffs are not in a chain of command, meaning he didn't have to worry about being targeted, there was always inter-departmental cooperation. Generally, everyone remained friendly, provided they weren't competing over a case.

Unfortunately, he didn't have a dashcam. The target the FBI agent was tailing was likely no small fry. Now that the agent had been delayed for a few minutes, the suspect was probably long gone.

Jimmy returned to town for lunch and a short break before resuming his patrol in the afternoon. He had just gotten back on the highway when he received a call from dispatch.

"Adam 28, shots fired, abandoned factory north of Ady Town. Town police are on the scene. Switch to Channel 8 upon arrival."

"Adam 28, copy."

Jimmy turned his cruiser around and sped toward the destination. He had been to Ady Town just a few days ago, though that incident had fizzled out. He wondered if this shootout was related.

Upon arriving at Ady Town, he switched his radio to the designated channel. He stepped out, grabbed his shotgun from the trunk—he hadn't requested an M16 due to his poor marksmanship, so the shotgun was his only long gun.

"Pulaski County Sheriff’s Deputy Jimmy on site. Who is in command?" Jimmy radioed in, putting on his headset and walking toward the derelict factory.

It was an old lumber mill. The perimeter walls were still standing, and the yard was cluttered with scattered equipment and piles of timber. The visibility was poor, and there were plenty of places for someone to hide.

"Jimmy, this is Sam. I’m the only one on duty today. A 'drug dog' crashed into a utility pole while fleeing and ran in here to hide. I’m watching the perimeter to make sure he doesn't escape."

"Sam, did the suspect fire back? Dispatch said there was a shootout."

"Yes, I fired, but I missed. He’s got a handgun."

"Copy, I’m going in to search." Jimmy slung the shotgun over his shoulder and drew his sidearm, moving along the wall. The lumber mill wasn't large—about an acre—but with so many obstacles, Jimmy began clearing the area methodically from the main gate.