Chapter 1

A white and black Chevrolet Caprice sat idle while the police scanner barked out another call. The familiar female voice of the dispatcher said, "One Adam-16, 211 in progress at 1400 Normandale and Second Street, handle Code 3." The driver put the car in gear and headed toward the address listed as fast as possible without getting unwanted attention. As he approached the scene, he slowed to a crawl and pulled the Chevy to the curb across the street from the gas station where he could see Adam-16 parked with both doors flung open. The two officers had already apprehended the suspect and were walking the man toward their unit. Just then a second squad car drove up and two officers got out. The observer recognized the two latest arrivals as his favorite Los Angeles Police Officers to watch. After loading the suspect, the four officers had a bit of a powwow, and then disbanded and departed from the scene.

Later that day after a lull in the calls, Jim and Pete took seven at one of their favorite establishments, Joe's Drive-In. The two climbed out of their squad car and meandered over to one of the outside red picnic tables with a large umbrella placed through the center of the table. It was early evening and both officers were starving. One of the regular servers showed up to take their order. "What can I get for you officers tonight?"

Pete glanced up from the small one-sided menu, "I'd like a cheeseburger and fries and a coffee."

Jim added, "Make that two, except make mine a double cheeseburger, Kevin. Thanks." Smiling as he ordered.

"Two cheeseburger meals coming right up." Kevin hustled over to the window to put in the order.

"Hey Pete, I'm buying. I still owe you for picking up the tab last week."

"Now you tell me, Jim. I would have ordered more."

"I was thinking of you, partner. You know how you get when you eat too much. We still have four more hours to go in our shift."

"That's OK, Jim. I'll let you do any foot pursuits if it's necessary."

"Pete, how did Jennings Thornton's court case go with the charge of carrying a concealed weapon?"

"He was charged with a misdemeanor since he had no priors. Knowing him, he'll probably get little to no jail time and he'll be back on the street trying to save the day again soon."

"I don't get it. Why would someone with any business savvy desire to be a wannabe police officer?"

"Come on, Jim. The guy just wants to boost his own ego."

"Maybe, he has a hero complex."

"Too bad he doesn't realize that police aren't seen as heroes. Sadly, we're called a lot of other things."

The food was promptly delivered to the table and both officers began to chow down.

"Excuse me, officers, did you need anything else tonight?"

With his mouth full, Pete gave a quick head nod and then Jim spoke up. "No, we're good."

Kevin ripped off the top sheet from his pad. "Here is your bill."

Jim took out his wallet and pulled out the few bucks needed and handed it over to the server. "Keep the change."

"Thank you, Officer Reed."

The officer's discussion turned to a different subject. Jim asked, "So, do you want to come over for dinner tomorrow night for a little celebration?"

"What's the celebration?"

"I'm throwing a party for my friend, Al Porter, for making it as a Reserve Officer. He gets bonus points for surviving Ed Wells as a first partner."

"Did you include Ed in the gathering?" A big smirk crossed Pete's face.

"No, I thought Al would be more comfortable if it was just us." Jim took his last bite of burger then swigged his coffee to wash it all down.

"Sure, I can make it. Do you want me to bring anything?"

"Could you bring some beer?"

"Consider it done." Pete finished up his coffee. "Let's get rolling." Both men gathered up their trash and carried it over to the garbage bin. Pete took one misstep, but quickly corrected himself.

As Jim closed his car door, the radio burst to life. "Any units in the vicinity of 1300 block of North Broadway and Lincoln Park Avenue for a possible 459."

"That's just a couple blocks away from here." Pete stated as he put the key in the ignition.

Jim grabbed the mike, "This is 1-Adam 12, we'll handle the 459 at North Broadway and Lincoln Park." The dispatcher responded, "1-Adam 12, handle Code 3." A few moments later the dispatcher advised, "Be aware no other units are able to assist at this time."

Pete flipped off the lights and siren as they neared the warehouse location, so as not to alert any burglar of their presence. Jim radioed in that they were Code 6 at 1300 North Broadway. It was dusk and the limited light would not help the officers survey the area without risk. The building was at least two stories high with few windows. Crates of all sizes lined one side of the property, and multiple loading docks for semi-trucks, ran along the other side. The two got out of the squad and donned their hats and un-holstered their guns. "Jim, you take the right side and look for any point of entry. I'll take the left."

"You got it."

Pete had just made his way around the side of the building when his vision blurred for a moment and caused him to trip. He caught himself, and then shook his head, trying to clear it. Jim, on the opposite side of the warehouse, discovered a door standing ajar between two large docks. It looked like someone had jimmied the door and left pry marks. He pulled out his flashlight and cautiously stepped inside to explore. With the two officers now separated, it wasn't surprising that Jim didn't hear what happened next. Pete continued to wander through tall stacks of wooded crates on the perimeter of the property. His steps turned to staggers and then he found himself leaning against one crate, and then another, before an overwhelming weakness struck. He finally collapsed to the ground and a couple of the crates tumbled down on top of him. His gun flew out of his hand and slid across the pavement. As Malloy lost his battle with consciousness, someone else appeared on the scene.

A couple hours later, Pete Malloy stirred. As he came back into the conscious world he struggled with a foggy mind. He felt like a bear waking from a deep sleep or winter hibernation. He cracked open his eyes to pure darkness. The air was muggy and stale and his clothes damp with sweat. He tried to move, then felt the restraint of handcuffs at his wrists. He twisted his body around then pushed himself up into a sitting position. This movement created a rattling sound that soon led to a new discovery. Unable to see what made the noise, he reached down his leg and felt a thick metal shackle attached at his left ankle. He mumbled out loud to himself, "What the heck?"

His hands continued to run over the three-inch wide iron band then onto the connected chain. With both hands he gripped the chain and gave a strong tug to quickly learn he was anchored to something. The word "trapped" became all too real at that very moment.

With his head clearing, a list of questions started flying through his mind. "Where am I? How did I get here? What was I doing last? " As he thought, he tried to check off the answers to all of his own questions. He felt essentially blind in this unknown space. He could hear very little to help him discern the location. His last real memory had him searching a shipping warehouse with his partner. "Where's Jim?"

Suddenly, he shouted out, "Jim!" He paused and hoped for a quick response. The echo of his call resonated in the empty darkness. Nothing…. He tried again. "Jim are you there?" He still couldn't see a thing, but he sensed he was alone. The one possible good thing was that Jim might be safe and sound. At least he could hope for this.

His next thought was to find a way to escape. Still dressed in his summer uniform, Pete could tell that his utility belt and weapon were missing. He repositioned himself onto his hands and knees trying to explore the void where he was trapped. He slowly felt his way over to a wall. He ran his bound hands along the wooden floor and then up the largely flat metal wall. He stood up and raised his hands, and still couldn't touch the ceiling. The three feet of chain limited the area he could test. In this space he found nothing to give him hope of escape like a window, door, or even a crack. At this point, he switched his focus to getting free from the bonds. He slid down the wall into a sitting position. He unhooked his nametag from his uniform shirt and proceeded to use the straight pin to work at the handcuff lock. He wasn't very confident that this method would work, but he had little else he could try. His first efforts only rewarded him with a few painful pokes to his hand and forearm while blindly stabbing the pin at the keyhole. After several minutes, his wrists ached from both the effort and the twisted position that his hands were in to reach the metal cuff lock.

He leaned his head back against the hard wall and let out a sigh. His chest heaved up and down as he took a few deep breaths and tried to calm his frayed nerves. After a few more minutes had passed, he set down his nametag. Next, he leaned down toward his feet trying to untie his left shoe and awkwardly pulled it off with one hand. Accomplishing this task, he moved onto the job of sliding his foot out of the leg iron. He jockeyed into a position in which he could wiggle his foot back and forth, in hopes of pulling his leg out of the hold. But his efforts were fruitless with the diameter of the shackle being too small for his ankle to fit through. Now he had a sore ankle along with still being trapped.

Pete hated to be out of options. He felt helpless, like the time he crashed the squad car in Griffith Park, which left his police radio inoperative. At least this time, he wasn't really injured. He deliberately closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on who would put him here and for what purpose. Time ticked away slowly with minutes turning into hours.

A distant clattering noise awakened Pete from his unplanned snooze. He opened his eyes and the dark space finally had a hint of light coming from a crack along the far wall. Pete's vision adjusted slowly to the scant light and then he looked around his confines. It appeared to be an empty boxcar. An involuntary tremble rippled through his body from the chill of the cool night. He glanced down at his watch and realized it was morning. The chain restricted him from getting to the side doors on the car, but he had a resurgence of hope. He pulled himself up, and started banging on the wall next to him using the shoe he had pulled off earlier, and then yelled for help. This went on for more than an hour before he gave up on being heard. In his restlessness, he paced up and down, but was limited to what his three-foot chain would allow.

As the next few hours passed the temperature in the boxcar rose. It was late August with summer temperatures rising into the 80's. Being trapped in a metal box was similar to being left inside a car. The heat and the lack of food and water started to take a toll on Pete. He sat quietly, leaned against the wall, and slowly unbuttoned his uniform shirt from the top down. His undershirt became drenched with sweat, his breathing slowed, and his heart rate increased. He wondered to himself, 'Can Jim find me? He did it once in Griffith Park, but does he even know where to start?'