S.W.A.T. Headquarters, Los Angeles: the same classroom where a over a month ago, Sergeant Dan "Hondo" Harrison and his new team were lectured and trained to be the most resilient 911 answer in the vast city. The gruff Sergeant was reluctant to trust anyone new since he ascertained knowledge of the late Officer T.J. McCabe's gambling indiscretion. Then he recalled an interview with a young, seasoned officer who had not only a questionably immaculate performance record but also questionably nutritional eating regime.
Officer David Burns, a tall, chiseled, yet stiff as a board man sat at the first desk in the classroom. His uniform was pressed and starched. His badge and shoes were glistening due to excessive polishing. A notepad and pencils were neatly arranged and ready to be utilized. Hondo, clad in training gear, stormed into the room, not even glancing at Burns. David darted to attention.
"Officer David Burns reporting for duty, Sergeant," he said with alacrity.
"Sit the fuck down," Hondo barked, still not looking at him. David immediately sat with a spine chill.
Hondo tossed a duffel bag and small paper bag onto his desk. He leaned against his desk, silently staring at Burns for ten seconds. "Are you aware a member of my unit was killed?"
"Yes, firmly aware," Burns answered without the superhero-like inflection he was known for.
"I've the daunting task of searching for a fitting replacement. I despise this process but still, my team isn't whole." Hondo said
"I understand," David said.
"You really don't, David. Now, as you recall, I interviewed you for a position on my team a while back. What you're unaware of is I crossed your name off my list because I can't trust someone who wouldn't eat a hot dog." Hondo was truly embarrassed to say that.
"Permission to speak freely, Sergeant." Burns was visibly surprised, but not angered.
"Oh, Christ, yes, it ain't the military." Hondo rolled his eyes.
"I'm perfectly willing and able to aid this city as a member of your team, but it's ludicrous to dismiss me because I dislike meat by-products."
Hondo was amazed at what David Burns asked and how he spoke. This audacity was a character trait he ached to hear at that previous sidewalk interview. Ironically, David was also correct. Hondo had to acknowledge it.
"It was an inappropriate remark to Officer Street, whom you've met. I sincerely apologize."
"Apology accepted. But why have you called me here today," Burns asked.
"You have a spotless performance record with no complaints registered against you. You're also very impressive at shooting drills. We really need someone with your integrity and skill."
"Thank you, Sergeant," he said.
"There's something I must ask you. It's crucial that you answer honestly. Do you gamble?"
"No, I don't," he responded.
"Not even slot machines? Scratch cards? Nickel and dime poker games with your buddies?" Hondo desperately searched for a loophole in his career.
"None of the above. I do bowl in the precinct league for fun. I often stay at home with my wife to watch movies." David was disconcerted by his questions.
The Sergeant took the word of this squeaky clean, tailored officer. He was too good to be true, but at least Hondo was not likely to see another McCabe or Brian Gamble. He would still need to keep a third eye on David, but at least that eye can wander from time to time.
"Welcome to S.W.A.T." He declared, and walked over to him to shake hands.
"Wow, thank you, Sergeant!" The beaming officer answered joyously.
"You can call me Hondo, and I have something else for you." He placed an object wrapped in aluminum foil in front of Burns
"Okay, what is it?" Burns asked.
"That's your initiation. My team enjoys the finer things in life." Hondo answered.
David slowly pried open the foil, then stared in shock at an all-beef hot dog. "Sergeant, Hondo, I'm a vegetarian, unless this is a tofu dog?"
"You'll also join us in recreational activities, which commonly entails devouring things that used to walk around."
"Is this a legitimate initiation?" He stammered, and stared at the frankfurter.
"If you require incentive, that's onions and sauerkraut on it."
Fortune shone upon Officer Christina Sanchez on this lovely Friday evening. She found a babysitter. She had a date with a man she actually likes. For over an hour Chris tried multiple outfits in front of her eight year-old daughter Eliza, who loved every single one. Finally, the young officer settled on a form-fitting, black dress that displayed a little cleavage. Within the Sanchez domicile, their door rang.
"Ay, Dios mio! Can you get that, Rosa?" Chris exclaimed.
Rosa was Chris' aunt and the babysitter. She ceased preparing dinner to walk the hall to the front door. Upon opening, Jim Street stood at the door with a small bouquet of Pumpkin Orange roses. Rosa was impressed by his suit jacket and well pressed slacks, even more so that he shaved.
"Hi, Rosa," Jim greeted her with a smile.
"Come on in, Jim," she answered.
He entered and Eliza was already halfway down the hall to see him. "Hi, Jim!"
"Hey munchkin, good day at school?" It was a genuinely standard question. He knew Eliza liked him, but he knew little about children to handle that aspect.
"It's school," she quipped.
"Enough said, I guess. Where's your mom?"
"Upstairs, trying to look pretty for you." Eliza teased before Rosa stepped in.
"Go wash up for dinner, Eliza," Rosa said.
No sooner than they left the foyer did the striking Chris appear at the top of the stairs.
"Holy shit, Chris," he stammered, and very rarely had he in front of a woman. He never even did for Lara. Jim Street was never one to faint, but at this sight he had to maintain composure.
"I knew it! I look awful, don't I?" She bent the words in disappointment and self consciously descended the stairs.
"No. I just never saw you in anything but pants since we met," Jim was accustomed to seeing her in her work gear, or jeans, or in basically nothing like the black dress he saw at the moment.
They met at the bottom and kissed, the same as their first chaste one.
"I never thought we'd be able to pull this off," she said with a tone of happiness. Hondo's team had to contend with sixteen hostage crises in three days, but Jim asked her to dinner at the first one.
"Same here. Eliza mentioned this particular overtime you put in." He gestured to her outerwear.
Sanchez grinned and gently rubbed her hand over her face. "Did she, now?"
"Yeah. Thank you," he assured her.
"You better be worth the ridiculous trouble," she purred, staring directly into his blue eyes. She took the roses from his hands. "These are so beautiful. Let me put them in water, then we'll go."
Chris departed the hallway and Jim remained. He had no idea what to expect. Their working together was the ink pen. Their time after Deke's restaurant was the writer's block. That stroll on the beach between them was the first paragraph. This date was not only another move towards a relationship that their stressful career of law enforcement may harm, but also could be the signature of the letter.
To be continued