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EOD AGENT

My name is Nick Kang. I guess I should tell you more about myself since, you probably don't know me. Don't worry if you don't, you're not on my shit list and even if you were you really don't wanna know me then.

I'm half-Chinese with dark hair and dark eyes, and, I guess, tan skin. Usually, I'll be hitting the streets in dark cargo pants, dark shoes, a green shirt, and a black jacket that I had tricked out for good reasons (ya know, extra pockets for guns and ammo, a bulletproof vest also sewn inside, things like that). I hope that gives you a good enough picture of myself. Oh yeah, I'm also a cop in the homicide devision (George probably told you that though) well, actually, I'm an ex-cop. Yeah, I got suspended. Why?

Well, some people say I'm bang-bang crazy, that I'm a psychopath, that I can't stand without shootin' or blowin' shit up at least once in a case. They're probably right. But it's their problem not mine, my arrest record was the highest in LA. Until the police force said that I was too violent (I didn't start fights, I finished 'em) and caused too much property damage (If you were the owner of that black Honda on my last case I swear I'm so sorry, but at least you got that compact you always wanted).

But anyway, this story isn't about my past, but my first EOD case. One that went personal.

Since, as George said, this is my story.

It all started when I got a call from one of the best detectives in all of LA, Wanda Parks. It was a job offering for a new police department that she had become the chief of.

I told her I'd think about it.

I guess I was thinking about it when I found myself the next day walking into the LAPD firing range.

On my way to the gunlock and desk I passed Johnson. A fellow cop who I've delt with more than once. One of those guys whose a real dick, if you know what I mean.

"Ah," He said smugly as I passed him. "The prodigal son returns, eh?"

I turned to Johnson and sized him up and down like I was judging if I could take him. I noticed he had a gun now. Great.

This is what happens, I thought as I saw the gun, you leave for a few months and they give morons firearms.

"Hey, Johnson," I said easily, not caring if what I said got me into trouble. "Since when does LAPD issue weapons to meter maids?"

That got him.

Johnson's face turned a nice color of pink like it usually did when he was angry. An interesting clash with sandy-blonde hair. I could see his blue eye burn behind his shades.

"Always quick to pick a fight, huh, Kang?" Johnson snapped, angrily.

When it come to you, you bet your ass, I couldn't help but think.

I went to say a witty comeback when a familiar voice called. "Hey Johnson!"

I turned to see George. On of the older cops who had become an uncle to me (he was old enough to be my uncle anyway). His light brown eyes shown with anger. His hair was a slivery-white and balding along, something that was instantly noticable with his LAPD uniform on him.

"How about that time a stray bit you in the wiener, huh?"

I looked to Johnson, eyebrow cocked trying not to smile at that. I almost laughed at the pissed off look on Johnson's face.

"Shut up your mouth you old loser!" He said before he stalked off.

"Up-yours pal!" George was calling to him as I went to the desk, shaking my head.

George looked at me from behind his glasses. One of those grins on his face.

"I gotta tell you Nick," he said with a smile. "It's great having you back."

"Whoa, George!" I said, knowing he was talking about the job (he called shortly after I got it). "You're jumping the gun. I haven't agreed to anything just yet."

"You should," George insisted, with that smile still on his face, turning to the lockers behind him. "It would of made your old man proud."

Would it? I wondered. I suddenly felt that normal tug when I thought about my dad. But I did as I usually did for the past few years, shoved it aside. Trying not to notice I had been doing that more and more ever since my suspencion.

George went to the back of the to the locker that I still had reserved here and pulled out two I.M.I. 50 Desert Eagles. My specialty.

"If you were my boy and you didn't take this opportunity," George said as he came back to the desk. "I'd beat the living crap outta ya until you said 'Sure I'll take the opportunity.' Otherwise, cry like a one legged man in an ass-kicking contest."

"Easy there, old timer," I said, with a chuckle, taking the guns. "I just came here to brush up. It's been awhile."

George grinned.

"Aim for the paper," George advised. "Oh, and kid, why don't you try firing one piece at a time. It saves an arm for the señoritas, ya know what I mean."

I shook my head.

"Naw," I said, gently hitting the handles together. "Double the pleasure, double the fun. If you got enough ammo that is."

I turned the firing range behind me, cocked my guns.

George laughed.

"That's what Viagria's for sonny boy," he said.

I shook my head. Well, that's George for you. What else can I say?

As I stepped up, suddenly a black target appeared. I shot it once, twice, three times. Feeling that adrenaline rush that I always had when the guns were in my hands.

Four more black targets appeared in the range. I fired two targets at a time until those where nothing but splintered wood before I started on the other two. Suddenly a red target appeared. A civilian target. Suddenly a black target appeared behind it. It focused enough to hit only the black target behind the civilian target.

Yes!

I got it. Suddenly two more black targets appeared, moving towards me.

Ah great! Moving targets!

I shot both of them like before. When another black target appeared, in the farthest part of the range. I focused, and made a shot. It hit the target square right between the eyes.

I grinned to myself.

Yeah, I still got it. I thought sastisfied.

I know it was very old school, but I had to blow out the smoke at the end of the gun barrel. Just for the hell of it.

"Nice shooting, Nick," said a feminine voice behind me. "I'd hate to be in your crosshairs."

I turned to see a middle-set black women. She had to have been a few years older than myself, near around George's age. She was a head shorter than myself, wearing tan pants, a sweater with brown and tan zigzags on it, and a tan jacket that matched. In her hand was a copy of the Los Angeles Times. It was Chief Parks, the newly appointed Chief of the division that had offered me a job.

"Chief," I replied, cocking an eyebrow. "I wonder how you found me here."

I glanced up to the desk to see George looking intently at the Chief and me but as soon as I met his eyes, he looked down at the desk.

"Hey George," I said, taking a step forward

But the Chief stepped in front of me blocking my way.

"Leave George out of this," She said in a final type of way. "Here, I'm sure you've seen this."

She handed me a newspaper. Its front headline screaming BOMBING ROCKS CHINATOWN. The article went on to talk about the latest bombings in LA that have been happening the past few days.

"Five bombings this month," the Chief told me. "Nine dead. All big Momma, Poppa outfits in Chinatown."

I looked at her I could tell she was thinking the same thing I was.

"You know it's the Triad," I said.

These explosions had the words Chinese Mafia practically written all over it (not really but you know what I mean, I'd hope). Especilly with the Triad's reputation.

"Exactly," the Chief nodded. "No one's talking. No one wants to touch it. Now it's gotten worse."

She shook her head as if she couldn't stand the idea of a riseing crime wave.

"I need an answer Nick, now," the Chief said.

Although, I did really want to get back into the police force. Hell, I might as well have grown up there, it was like home. But deep down, I knew the hard truth that brought this fact crashing down.

"Come on, Chief, I'm suspended," I said turning my back to her, reloading my guns. "Remember?"

"Nick," the Chief said in a business like tone.

I could tell from that tone that turning to her, and making eye contact would be for the best. So I did.

"This is EOD, Elite Operations Division," the Chief told me. "A special unit with jurisdiction over the entire city."

Really? I thought. Special jurisdiction, huh? Now, maybe I was still interested. The Chief must have noticed this.

"The badge is yours, just say the word," She said.

Coming back, pleading redemption did sound good, but I couldn't help but have second thoughts on this. And after my last case on the LAPD that got me suspended, I had good reason. Besides, I had this strange feeling in my gut that usually ment I had either made a good choice or one I would later regret.

"I don't know, Chief," I said unsure, walking past her.

"Nick," She said, "you and I both know that you are the only one who can get closer to these guys than anybody else."

That did it.

"Okay, okay," I finally caved in, turning to her, giving my only term.

"But I gonna do it my way."

The Chief smiled.

"I wouldn't want it any other way," the Chief replied, satisfied that I finally made my choice. "Meet me at the station ASAP."

"Alright, Chief, I'll be there," I said.

Thc Chief nodded, still smiling, and went out the door. I turned to George who also had a big smile on his face.

"Well, George," I said, shaking my head, "I sure as hell hope you're happy."

"You needed that push anyway, kid," He said.

"I'll see you later, George," I said putting the guns into the pockets I had sewed inside my jacket.

"Take care! And don't blow up too much shit, we don't need another lawsuit!" George called to me.

"Very funny!" I called back to him as I went out the door.

I went outside to my car. A shiny brown 66 Cadillac convertible that, thanks to my pals in a few auto shops, I had rigged with NOS (a speed booster for you people out there who know jack about cars and street racing, I also recommend Fast and the Furious and 2 Fast 2 Furious, as well as a healthy dose of Spike TV) a hemi, hydraulics, a banging stereo, and the works along with the standard police siren and radio along with all the other things I had. The California license plate read WHUPASS, and if you haven't noticed, it's that for a reason.

At least two minutes later, (maybe less), I found my self parked before, a tan giant granite building. Anyone passing by may of thought it a library if it wasn't for the words carved above the door. The words read:

EOD

ELITE OPERATIONS DIVISION

PROTECTING THE CITIZENS AND THE CITY OF LOS ANGELES

AT ALL COSTS.

I pushed open the door and went in.