There are five levels of force. Depending on the circumstances, an officer may progress from one level to another in the process of restoring order. To defuse a situation, the first step is simple command presence. Looking confident and in control is important. An officer who appears squared away and who always look people directly in the eye is more than likely going to secure a subject. Verbal commands are the next step, but they also go hand-in-hand with presence. "Tactical talking" on the part of the officer – when used correctly – can bring an end to a situation before it escalates further. An officer must look like he is ready to back up his words with action. If a subject continues to be resistant, controlling force may be used. This is not fighting, but restraint. The officer who is at this level of escalation may be either restraining an out-of-control person or pushing away a persistent drunk. Touching an agitated person can result in that person lashing out. If causing bodily harm to the officer or bystanders is clearly the intent of the person, the officer is entitled to use impact weapons to subdue him or her. Normally, the impact weapon of choice is the baton, but officers may choose to utilise pepper spray first. (Chemical agents like pepper spray are considered to be controlling force by some departments.) Impact force is reserved for assault situations. The next and final level is deadly force. This is the last resort. If a subject is attempting to inflict great bodily harm on the officer or somebody in the officer's immediate presence, the officer is entitled to use deadly force. All other options must be exhausted before reaching this point, or the actions of the subject may dictate a jump from simple verbal commands to deadly force. Officers who know the levels of escalation and use them properly will nearly always gain the upper hand in a tense situation.

This chapter won't focus entirely on Bosco and Faith. There will be a couple of new characters in this one. Just a head's up.

The two detectives in the interrogation room exchanged weary glances, ignoring for the moment the expressionless Marine across the table from them. For all intents and purposes, he was completely guilty of the assaults on two drug-heads, but that wasn't what bothered them. The Marine's casual dismissal of getting a lawyer and his calm acknowledgement of the acts was unnerving. Didn't he care that he was in trouble?

"Sir, I don't know if you understand the ramifications of what you're admitting to. You picked a fight with three men for no reason."

"They had information that I needed. That's reason enough."

"You put one man in the hospital and you don't give a damn?"

"No." The Marine tilted his head slightly to the side. "What does it matter, anyway? Those guys are known drug-dealers. Why not take them off the street for awhile?"

"That's not the way we operate, sir. We do things legally. This isn't about dungaree justice."

"What's being done about my brother?"

"We're investigating. It would be appropriate if you refrained from scaring off or hospitalising any more potential sources of information."

"I'll think about it."

"No, sir, that's not good enough. Either you back off, or you spend some time in lockup. It's your choice."

"Look, Detective…"

"Wickes."

"Detective Wickes. I won't make any promises. Whatever happens, happens."

The two detectives looked at one another again, and Wickes sighed. "Have it your way, sir." They stood up and exited the room, leaving the Marine at the mercy of the guard who appeared to take him back to lockup.

"So what's the word on our gung-ho Marine?"

"He's gonna spend some time in lockup and cool off. Detectives don't think he's going to keep from singling out dealers."

Bosco laughed. "Aw, why not let him out? He shakes 'em up enough, maybe they'll move along to another area."

"Yeah right, Bos. It's a nice thought, though." Faith brought the RMP to a stop at a red light. "He sure got those two guys talking fast, though. They spilled to the detectives the first chance they got."

"Ha. A little retribution from the guy's brother broke 'em down? Sounds like a good tactic."

"No way, Bosco. We're not going around and beating on dealers for information."

"Aw, come on. It worked for our buddy Staples."

"No."

"You're no fun."

Faith smiled. "I do my best. Hey, what d'you say we go look for J.J.? He gets around. Maybe he knows something."

"J.J., huh? Yeah, we haven't seen him in awhile. Let's go pay him a visit."

Wickes and his partner ducked under the crime scene tape still tied across the alley where Keith Staples had been found. They were searching for something, anything, that would give them a line on whoever had killed the drug dealer. As unlikely as the prospect was that the CS guys had missed anything, the two detectives went back over the scene carefully anyway. There was always a chance.

Wickes' partner crouched by what was left of the dried puddle of blood, his white-gloved hands probing a pile of trash against the brick wall. "There's nothing here, Dave. CS cleaned up pretty good."

"Keep looking." Wickes hauled himself up onto a Dumpster and peered inside. Nothing inside but garbage. Smelly garbage at that. The detective wrinkled his nose. The only thing worse than the stench of dead bodies was rotting garbage. "Whew! Good thing I haven't eaten in awhile."

His partner chuckled. "That'll teach you to play in the Dumpster."

Wickes hopped down from the Dumpster, shaking his head. "Ugh. Some people are real wasteful. Hey, what's this?" He knelt to pick up a small brown paper bag nestled, almost out of sight, against the Dumpster.

"Whatcha got?" Asheby, his partner, asked as he ambled over. The two detectives stared at the contents of the bag, which Wickes had dumped into his hand. Over half a dozen little packets of white powder rested in the detective's gloved palm. Asheby whistled. "Well! How did we miss you, beautiful?"

Wickes stuffed the packets back into the paper bag. "I think we ought to go have a chat with the boys at the lab. They'll want to have a look at this."

"It's Ecstasy, all right." The lab tech said tiredly, handing over the print out to the two detectives. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a pile of other work to get back to."

"Thanks." Wickes and Asheby nodded at the tech's back. "Nice guy."

"Hey, we made him bump this stuff up his priority list. I can't blame him for being irritated."

"They really need more techs down here."

"You think? C'mon, we've got some fingerprints to run by our buddy Don." Asheby smiled at a dark-haired man who watched them approach his computer station with understandable wariness.

"I've got a list of prints to run longer than my arm, fellas. It'll be awhile before I get to yours."

"Take your time, Don. Thanks." Wickes placed the evidence bag on top of the stack of folders on the tech's desk. "Let us know when you get a match."

"Hey, Benny!"

One look out the car window was sufficient to convince the detective to hop out onto the pavement. His partner was already gone, putting his overly-long legs to good use. Their quarry had nearly a half a block's lead on them, but there was no chance of the man getting away today. Asheby was too fast and too determined to catch him. People on the sidewalk jumped to get out of the way of the two running men, some calling out their disgust as they tumbled into someone else. Wickes panted after his partner, yelling uselessly after him. He staggered to a halt on the curb and bent over, bracing his palms on his knees. He wasn't cut out for the whole running thing.

"You gonna make it, sir?"

Wickes managed to nod a response, wheezing painfully.

"You sure?"

"Yeah." He gathered his wind enough to glance up at his interrogator. "I'm fine."

The officer nodded once. "If you say so." He started to walk away.

"Officer, you on a foot beat?"

"Yeah. Have been for a couple of years."

"Oh." Wickes felt disappointed. Having an RMP nearby would be a tremendous boon. He wasn't thrilled about walking three blocks back to get the unmarked he and Asheby were using.

"Is there a problem, sir?" The officer asked again, studying Wickes' reddened cheeks curiously. The attention of experience, the detective thought.

"No problem."

"C'mon, you scumbag. Let's move it." Asheby shoved his prisoner onto the sidewalk, ignoring the blaring horns that marked his passage across the busy street. His eyes danced as he jerked the handcuffed man to a stop. "Not a bad run for a junkie like you, Benny. You been keepin' in shape in Rikers, huh?"

The dealer he addressed glared down at his sneakers and didn't respond. Wickes shook his head. "Hey, Benny, you miss us? It hasn't been the same without you around."

"Up yours, man."

"Take it easy, cowboy. It's a long walk back to our car."

"Are you sure this fine gentleman should have to walk? There's a horse and carriage right around the corner that would be more suited to his status." The officer said with a grin. Wickes laughed.

"And there's tea waiting, too."

Asheby smirked at the unfortunate dealer. "See what you missed when you were away, Benny? How could you not want to be back?"

"I'll call up an RMP." The officer turned away to make the call.

"This must be your lucky day, Benny boy. You won't have to walk after all."

"Man, what you want me for, anyway? I ain't been doin' nothing."

"Uh-huh, sure thing. We just picked you outta the crowd 'cause we don't have anything better to do." Asheby leaned against a streetlight pole. "You're the news man. You know what goes down out here. So tell us something. What happened three days ago?"

"Nothin' happened."

"Come on, Benny. Something went down Friday, and you know what it was. You might as well spill now."

"I don't know nothin'."

The two detectives looked at each other. "Okay. Have it your way. We'll leave you with Keith Staples' brother down in lockup for a couple of hours and see how you fare. Come on." Wickes grabbed Benny's arm and guided him over to the RMP that had pulled up to the curb.

Andrew O'Shea watched the RMP slide back into traffic, its lone prisoner looking sullen. He felt no pity or remorse for the unlucky devil. If he was dumb enough to run from the two detectives waving after the cruiser, then he deserved the seat behind the cage. The officer adjusted his gunbelt on his narrow hips, shifting the weight more comfortably. There was enough crap on the belt to weigh anyone down. Back when he first joined the force, officers were given a badge, a gun, a nightstick, handcuffs, and maybe a blackjack. That was it. Nowadays, you had to carry those things – except the blackjack, which he missed from time to time – plus pepper spray, a radio, extra magazines, and a flashlight. He had never used the pepper spray and only rarely drew his gun. There weren't many situations he couldn't resolve with just his wit, his mouth, and his baton.

"Thanks for your help, Officer."

O'Shea nodded. "Not a problem, boys. I'm gettin' too old to be chasing these lads down anyway."

The detectives chuckled and went on their way. O'Shea gave his gunbelt one final tug before turning back to his interrupted patrol. There were plenty of things to do out here. He couldn't afford to be standing around.

His radio squawked with alert tones, and he grimaced. MVA at an intersection two blocks over. Just his luck to be the closest officer. "Five-Five Edward Foot, en route." He drawled in his light accent, forcing himself to run.

"Oh crap."

The RMP that had been carrying the captured dealer had its hood buried under a large truck. Horns were blaring all around at this unexpected delay, drivers clearly not aware that two officers were pinned inside their cruiser. O'Shea sprinted the last few yards and leaped onto the trunk of the vehicle to get around to the driver's side.

"Talk to me, lads! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." The driver said, shaking his head. "Check my partner."

O'Shea glanced across the seats. "What about you?"

"My leg's stuck."

"Can you feel it?"

The officer winced. "Yeah."

"Good." O'Shea stepped back and reached for his radio. "Five-Five Edward Footto Central, 10-13, request EMS and Fire to this location for assistance. Officer trapped in the vehicle."

The dispatcher's voice sounded tight. "Ten-four,Eddie Foot.EMS and Fire rolling."

"Help's comin'."

"Did you ask 'em to bring coffee?" The trapped officer asked through gritted teeth. "I haven't had a cup yet today."

O'Shea chuckled uneasily. "I'll get you one myself once you're outta there." He reached through the open window to turn off the engine.

"Hey, what about me?"

"What about you?"

The dealer in the backseat shot him a surly look. "I'm in here too!"

"Aye, and unharmed. We'll worry about you later." O'Shea replied. "What happened, anyway?"

"Truck ran the red light. I didn't see him until we were right underneath him." The driver rested his head back against the seat. "Man, my neck hurts."

"Don't move it. I hear the bus comin' anyway."

"Can I get out?"

"Shut up," O'Shea snapped. "You're not goin' anywhere until another unit gets here."

Benny the dealer scowled and flopped onto his back. He lashed out at the window with both feet, kicking as hard as he could. The glass cracked, buckled, then gave way. "I ain't goin' back to jail!"

"Hey, knock it off!" O'Shea grabbed for Benny's feet and received a kick in the face for his pains. Stunned and on the ground, he squeezed his eyes shut to block out the stars from his vision. Benny twisted himself around on the seat and somehow slithered through the broken window. He fell out onto his back amid the pieces of broken glass.

"Andy!" The driver cried, as Benny rolled onto his knees.

O'Shea lurched to his feet just seconds after the dealer, his cheek and forehead smarting. "C'mere!" He grabbed the back of Benny's sweatshirt and threw him down. The dealer swore as his manacled hands were squashed underneath him. O'Shea hit him once, then twice, before dragging him back to his feet and flinging the would-be escapee back against the cruiser. "Get up there."

Paramedics and firefighters were on-scene, sizing up the situation and gathering equipment. Another RMP arrived, allowing O'Shea to offload his prisoner. Benny spat on the ground, earning him a solid cuff around the ear. "Get in the bloody car and behave yourself, ya worthless trash."

"Back again, Benny?" Once of the newly-arrived officers asked, as the cruiser backed up and turned around. O'Shea grinned and then winced. He realised that his whole face felt like it was on fire. It was probably a good idea to grab one of the paramedics before they all disappeared.

He was getting too old for this.