Fallout

Chapter 2

The Journal of John Nolan

I almost screwed things up with Bailey. Our date was a stakeout. For some reason, she thought that would be fun. And I thought she had a good time since she ended up in my bed. But then I got the "Dear John" text. Lucy was sympathetic, or empathetic, really. She's been dumped by text herself. But Bailey and I were so good together that I couldn't let her break up with me that easily. So I showed up at the firehouse. I don't remember what they were, but I guess I said the right things. Bailey and I are back together, whatever that means.

For starters, I was hoping it would mean a regular date, in between her obligations and mine. After coming to an understanding that neither of us was into trendy L.A. hotspots, we started with dinner at a little restaurant. I got a recommendation from Grey, of all people. That alone made me nervous. But after our time in Guatemala, he seems to have finally accepted me as part of the team. And, anyway, I think he called Luna for ideas before telling me where to make a reservation. Whatever happened, he steered me in the right direction.

The place itself looked like a hole in the wall, and for a minute, I wondered if Grey punked me. But the atmosphere was warm and welcoming, and the food tasted like it came from a home where the mama could actually cook. That counts out my mother, of course. The last time she cooked for me, she could have sent me into anaphylactic shock.

Bailey confided that her mother was no Julia Child either. But she's used to the hearty meals coming out of firehouse kitchens. So old-fashioned roast beef with potatoes was perfect for her. We both ate salads too, but I don't know if that was to look good to ourselves or each other. Whatever the reason, it all worked. I barely had room for the dessert of deep-dish apple pie, but Bailey had no problem putting hers away. I suppose between capoeira and dragging around firefighting equipment, she works off the calories and then some. I made a mental note to spend more time in the gym.

I'd been planning on also taking her to a movie, but after that dinner, I was afraid I'd embarrass myself and fall asleep. She wasn't enthusiastic about seeing anything either. Instead, she seemed happy to snuggle against my shoulder and talk. She told me a little about the time she spends in the National Guard. Right now, the only other person I know who talks about being in the military is Tim Bradford. I heard a lot about it while we were in Guatemala. And what he said always had an aggressive edge on it as if he wanted to charge in shooting.

Of course, if we'd done that, it would have cost Wesley his life, and probably Angela's and the baby's as well. I'll give Tim credit, though. Even if he didn't like plan B, he went along with it. Maybe something else might have worked under the circumstances, but I can't imagine what.

Unfortunately, that brings me to Wesley's bargain with Elijah. As far as I know, he hasn't had to do anything technically illegal yet. But it's taken some maneuvering on his part. He's managed to slip me a couple of updates concerning Elijah's plans. I've passed them on to Harper, but I have no idea what happened from there.

We have to nail Elijah with something really big. Because if he ends up with any ability to communicate with his people, Wesley, Angela, and the baby could end up at the wrong end of a knife or an AR-15. After everything we went through to save them in Guatemala, I can't let that happen. So whatever Wesley needs, I'll try to give it to him.

With her eyes on the floor, Tamara waves around her room. "What do you think?"

John surveys the artwork adorning the walls. "Well, you certainly made excellent use of all the paint samples I brought in. It's unique. You're very creative. And you know what? The L.A.P.D. is sponsoring a mural competition at the community center. It's supposed to keep the taggers off the street. You ought to sign up."

"I'm not a tagger," Tamara protests.

"I know you aren't, but you put your art on walls," Nolan insists. "I think you could win."

Tamara's eyes narrow. "What's the prize?"

"A scholarship to art school. Have you ever thought about going?"

"I've been too busy thinking about how I could eat and find a place to sleep, Mr. Nolan."

"I get that, Tamara," Nolan responds gently. "But Lucy busted her butt to make sure you'll receive the help you need to look further ahead than your next meal. I'm sure she'd love to see you get a chance to use your talent. So would I."

Tamara gazes around her room at her work. "Do you really think I'm good enough to be an artist?"

"I think you'll never know if you don't try."

The young woman crosses her arms across her chest. "I'll think about it."

"Don't think too long," John warns. "The contest is next week."

Precariously balancing three glasses, Lucy joins them. "Here we go, iced matcha."

As Tamara quickly grabs a tumbler, John does his best to suppress a grimace of distaste. "I'm afraid I have to pass. I have a class tonight, and I still have to finish the reading." He nods at Lucy. "See you tomorrow. Good luck," he adds, his eyes flicking back to Tamara.

"Good luck about what?" Lucy asks her roomie as she locks the door behind John.

Tamara shrugs. "Mr. Nolan has some crazy idea that I can make it as an artist."

Lucy grabs her friend in a hug. "I don't think that's crazy at all."

Behind the podium in the roll call room, Tim raps on the wood for attention. "The fall-off of drug-related crimes we saw when La Fiera was taken out of the game is gone. Arrests, and worse, deaths from overdoses, are rising. We believe that the driving force behind that upswing is a dealer who goes by Elijah. Unfortunately, we don't have the hard evidence we need to bust him. So everyone who makes a drug-related arrest is to make sure detectives interview your suspect. We need to get to the man at the top.

We also have two foreign billionaires arriving for negotiations with the mayor on bringing their business to L.A. They'll be sending their families to see the sights, which increases the potential for kidnappings. That means we'll need extra security for the tourist attractions within our division. You'll be conducting additional patrols on Hollywood Boulevard. We also have supermodels coming in for a charity fashion gala. That event will require both security and crowd control. Some of you will be assigned accordingly. That's it for now. Dismissed."

"Grey always told us to be safe," Nolan observes as he and Lucy stow their gear. "Bradford hasn't yet."

"You shouldn't read anything into that. He cares about all of us, or he wouldn't have gone to Guatemala with you to get Angela. I think he plays the hardass because that's the way he learned to behave in the military. But that's not the real Tim."

"Lucy, you don't have a crush on teacher, do you?"

"God, John! You know what would happen if Tim and I hooked up. If anyone found out, it would be a lot worse for me than it would have been if the department found out you and I slept together. And Bradford is my superior officer. He could lose his stripes."

"You didn't answer my question."

Lucy slams the shop's hatch. "We should get on the street."