Chapter Two: Skipping The Tutorial
SCPD Central Station, Seacrest City, CA
11/23/2016 - 05:52:33am
Only suffering minor injuries, Jack returns to work merely two days after his encounter with the 5-10's. Although his brief brush with the PIU left a bad taste in his mouth, he prepares to launch his own mission against them, starting with the man in custody.
Jack closed the door of his locker, letting out a sigh as he racked his handgun and locked it into its holster. He grabbed his duty bag and the AMP energy drink on the bench, and began to make his way through the open hallway of the station. He passed the main lobby, glancing over at the desk sergeant who was having a grand day handling a multitude of pissed off citizens wondering why they received citations on the eve of Thanksgiving. Jack simply continued, glad he wasn't on desk. His head still ached, the acetaminophen prescribed to him barely having any effect. He was offered heavier pain medicine, but he didn't take it, knowing that it could have a bad effect on his work, and he had a feeling that the sentence "Hey sarge, just so you know I'm on hydrocodone." would send him to the clerk's desk to file the cited parties' court dates and take the mostly false complaints about the horrific conduct of the officer who stopped them. He entered the briefing room, and caught his spot, grinning at the others inside. He glanced at his watch. 5 minutes till 6AM, morning shift. He was actually rather excited. He had planned to visit Central Holding to speak with the 5-10 gang member he'd caught the other day, to maybe build up his own investigation on their activity in Seacrest… or at least try, before CHP could come in and snatch it. Sergeant Holloway stepped inside, carrying a notepad and a Starbucks cup. Jack didn't take the sarge for a Starbucks drinker, having always seen him using the ancient machine in the break room, so today must be special. Regardless, he assumed that the coffee inside the cup wasn't some form of Frappuccino, but instead had the color and taste of old motor oil. Holloway dropped his pad on the end of the table, looking over the whiteboard, contemplating his existence a moment, before turning towards the others.
"Alright kids. First off, I'd like to welcome Officer Crowley back to the team, after an entire 48 hours of not getting in a police chase and catching a lug nut to the back of the dome." he said. Scattered laughter among the officers rang out, and Jack felt a few pats on the back from some nearby guys. He grinned.
"Alright, calm down. Now, as you know, the incident that involved Officer Crowley has attracted the attention of the Seacrest County Board of Supervisors. The school board, PTA, and numerous other neighborhood watch groups have set a date with Captain Gomez about what we're doing to leash the increasing 5-10 presence. With us today is Investigator Hutchens with the Seacrest County Sheriff's Department, Organized Crime Unit. She has some intel on the current operations of the Cobras. Shut your mouths and listen." Holloway said, taking a sip of his motor oil and sitting down. A blonde woman in her 40's stood up, smiling at them, a fat folder in her hands. She opened it up, and began to adjust the papers.
"Good morning officers. My name is Investigator Sarah Hutchens, and as Sergeant Holloway said, I'm with Sheriff's OCU. We've been compiling reports with numerous agencies throughout the state regarding the activities of the 5-10 motor club. The big brass wants me to give you a basic overview, regardless if you know them or not." she said, picking up a sheet and unfolding it, clipping it onto the whiteboard. The picture was of a group of males, all Hispanic, with numerous tattoos, posing in front of a bright red Porsche 911. Although they varied in appearance, there was one similarity: A tattoo of the numbers "5-10" on their necks.
"The 5-10 motor club is a national, soon to be international, organized crime faction specializing in the theft, modification, and racing of high end performance vehicles, as well as robberies of armored cars and convoys. These guys are complete car nuts, souping up hypercars like they've been working on them since birth. Their ranking system is actually based off of engine systems, if you can believe that. Local enforcers are V2s, regional lieutenants are V4, captains are V6, and the big boss is the V8. They are highly secretive of their higher operations, and yet they have one of the highest reputations due to the nature of their activities. In 2015, we've had 89 fatalities related to 5-10 attacks on vehicles. These people were ordinary civilians, driving home from work, and happened to cross an intersection at the wrong time." she said somberly. A few of the officers stared, their jaws cracked. Jack clenched his fist a bit, recalling the pursuit the other day. The Cobras drove recklessly, with no regard for the innocents stuck on the freeway. Hutchens continued, "The motor club is comprised of a multitude of street level gangs, many of which cover large cities and counties. We have very little intel on the heads of the motor club, although some of our informants and witnesses keep mentioning that a Brooklyn based gang known as the Grim Reapers are the current heads of power." she said, pointing up. "Although there are a vast number of gangs within the organization, all of their sworn members bear this ink, typically on the neck or chest. Many of these guys wear similar ink, like a sort of trophy, indicating their rank and skill within the organization. Due to the secretive nature of the organization, we don't have much intel on their numbers, but a recent estimate from the FBI told us that they might have upwards of 45,000 inked members, and countless prospects, waiting to prove themselves as worthy of the ink." she said, before pointing at the picture on the whiteboard. "This is an image pulled off of Facebook of the 'Caballos De Fuego', a Hispanic street gang turned 5-10 MC member, who were based in Los Angeles. They were drug runners for the organization, which in turn fueled their wallets for bigger ops and upgrades, and after a few rides, they were given an offer: Hit an armored convoy for the right to wear the numbers. They successfully took down a Bank of America transport truck, and made off with about five million. All three guards on the truck suffered critical injuries, and one civilian was killed when the truck was forced to swing out, and it rolled into his car. His six year old daughter lived though." she said, looking up at them seriously. Some of them shifted nervously, waiting for her to continue. Sergeant Holloway cleared his throat, eager to end the briefing and go back to sitting in his office. "The Caballos ended up attracting the attention of the LAPD and the LA County Sheriff's Department. Detectives noticed that there was a growing beef between the Caballos and the 5-10's current bosses, something regarding money that they kept from the truck hit. LAPD responded to a shots fired call at their main warehouse, and the entirity of the Caballos with 5-10 ink were found dead inside. It was then discovered that one of their lieutenants, pissed about being ordered around, threatened to snitch. The 5-10's didn't like that." she said, taking the picture down and slipping it back into the folder. She cleared her throat, and looked at each officer at the table. "The 5-10 MC is EXTREMELY thorough, ladies and gentlemen. These guys have zero regard for the lives of others, including law enforcement. They have access to anti-pursuit measures, including spikestrips, radar jammers, and EMP devices. They will ram, shunt, and attempt to go over whatever is in their path. And since we now have one of their guys in custody, we need to be on high alert for these guys." she said, putting a few other photos up on the wall. There were several mugshots, the Cobra logo, and some pictures of various cars.
"The Cobras… Seacrest County's 5-10 chapter. These guys specialize in rapid robberies, both vehicular and commercial. One of their most recent thefts was of a Lamborghini Huracan from a well known TV personality from his alarmed underground garage in his secured home, in a gated community in Seacrest City. And he didn't even know about it until the morning after. Just recently, they managed to breach the HCM Corporation's outlet, and boosted high value EMP technology from the main warehouse." Hutchens said. "We have very few information on their members. They refer to themselves via codenames, and come from all over. The man we have in custody is Kevin "Prancer" Larson, original San Francisco resident and 5-10 ink bearer. Small criminal records, registration violation, barfights, failures to appear… the usual. But he's clammed up hard. Given the reputation of the organization, we have all security measures in place to make sure we can respond to any attempts to break him out. The local V2, a guy nicknamed Bruiser, a big guy. I think one of you actually had a run-in with him. Anyone dodge a wrench lately?" she asked, glancing over at Jack a moment. Her attention returned to her report. "OCU will be operating here at Central for the duration of the case against the Cobras, and any information you might have or find, is welcome. We will also be coordinating with the Pursuit Intervention Unit to determine the next steps towards taking them down, and ending the organization's influence on Seacrest County. While they do that, we need you all to work hard at enforcing traffic regulations… These kids racing their cars, driving like idiots up and down, they need to be curbed so that PIU can focus on the 5-10s. Be safe out there, all." She said, taking her pictures and exiting the room. Holloway grumbled and stood, tossing his coffee cup towards the trash can. It missed.
"Alright kids, given the information presented to us by our friendly neighborhood detectives, I'm mandating hard plates." Sarge said. Many of the officers groaned and voiced their negative opinions on that. Although they wore kevlar vests under their uniforms, they all carried hard steel plate armor in their cars, for use in tactical situations. During times of emergency or heightened threats to officers, the supervisor on duty was able to order them to wear them during their shifts. An example of this was during the Chris Dorner situation in 2013, where officers statewide went on a heightened alert. The complaints from the officer in briefing fell on deaf ears, however.
"Oh shut up, you'll end up thanking me when you catch a nine mil to the chest and end up able to walk it off." he said in annoyance. "So, we're gonna go off of yesterday's deployment schedules. Highway Patrol, I want eyes on any tryhard in a ricer that goes over the speed limit. If they have registration issues, tow them. Some of these idiots' dreams is to become an ink bearer with the organization. Let's choke that dream up a bit, yeah? Alright, get your gear set, get loaded, get out, and get back here safe at shift change. Dismissed… oh, and Crowley, my office please." Holloway said, stepping out. Jack frowned, wondering what he did this time, before standing up and walking out after the sergeant. He walked into his office, and sat down.
"How're you feeling?" Holloway asked, leaning back in his chair.
"Good, sarge. Honestly, I'm shocked. Doc said it could've been bad, but… I feel great."
"Good. So, you're probably shitting yourself, wondering why I called you in here."
"Well… that's a… colorful way of putting it… but yeah, I'm kind of confused here."
"Heh, trust me… you'll get used to that. It happens to me all the time. When I go to Starbucks and they asked me how to spell 'Dre', I get confused. When I get a call in the middle of the night from Deputy Chief Briggs complaining because a bunch of pissed off soccer moms are blowing him up, I get confused. When I get a transfer form requesting that you be placed in the Pursuit Intervention Unit, while maintaining your position in my squad, WITHOUT running the PIU's vehicle test, I get REAL fucking confused." he said, tossing a few papers on the desk. Jack widened his eyes. It actually was a transfer request… for him to be placed in the Pursuit Intervention Unit immediately. Holloway was still listed as his commanding officer. He looked it over, his jaw dropping a bit, before looking up at Holloway, raising a brow. Holloway foresaw his question.
"I don't know why, Crowley." Holloway said. "Apparently Captain Gomez liked the balls you swung around when you took down an active 5-10 ink bearer and went toe to toe with the local V2. That or she thinks you're cute, which I would have to say is the least likely of those two. Either way, you're to report to their main office… provided you want to. PIU is a one in a lifetime opportunity. We have less applications for SWAT then for PIU. We have detectives high up in rank that are willing to take a pay cut to get back in uniform if it meant getting on the unit. If you refuse, I will shove a four cell Maglite up your ass, and then make you sit at the front desk until you make Lieutenant."
"Well, on THAT note, how could I refuse?" Jack said, a grin forming.
"Now don't get all hard just yet. Until you undergo the full training and all your certifications, you're still under my command, so if you head over there and talk shit, and it gets back to me, I'll have you writing parking tickets outside of Walmart…"
"...until I make lieutenant… I got it, sarge." Jack said, gathering the papers and standing up. He picked his drink up from the desk, and let out a sigh. Pursuit Intervention… but why? Outside of a three year career on the highways, and the recent takedown of this Prancer guy, his history in the department was rather bland. He looked it over, then looked back up at Holloway, who met his gaze with a textbook 'Get-the-fuck-out" look. He complied, leaving and moving down the halls, and to the elevator. He knew the PIU's office was down in the second level of the underground garage, so he set the elevator to head there. Once it landed, the doors opened, and he was greeted by a small lobbyway, with a few desks and cubicles set up. There was an open doorway that headed to the main garage, and there was a good amount of tools visible through it, as well as a car under a tarp and some toolcarts. Jack looked around, getting a feel for his surroundings. The walls were covered in newspaper articles of famed takedowns throughout the years, as well as large posters of various supercars, like Ferraris and Porsches. Jack took a step closer, looking them over, and cracked open his AMP, when he heard some voices approaching the door.
"...it's the lightbar. I keep telling Latimore that the angular bar is much better then the damn solid strobes he keeps ordering in. Shit cuts seconds off of our lap time."
"I dunno, Hollywood… maybe you're just losing your edge."
"Oh fuck off." Hollywood said, rolling his eyes. "You know it, I know it, Latimore knows it. He's just being a little bitc… oh, hey." he stopped, looking at Jack curiously. Jack offered a nod and a smile, marveling a bit at the uniforms of the two. They were what looked like SCPD uniform jumpsuits, almost resembling those of racecar drivers. Their duty belts were relatively simple, with their handguns holstered on their legs, and a few spare magazines on their belts. The one called Hollywood was a Hispanic male, with jet black hair. The other officer was a younger guy, with brown hair, and glasses. Both of them held vape in their hands, and the younger one took a quick rip of his, before exhaling a large cloud. Crowley wrinkled his nose, the fruity smell invading his senses.
"Jack Crowley… I'm a new transfer… as of… today." he said, extending a hand.
Hollywood returned his handshake, grinning, "Gio Hollywood, welcome aboard. I didn't know we had an entry coming in. Normally Sergeant Latimore's pretty good at letting us know when we have a prospect applying for a slot, let alone a transfer. This is Matt Lennon, former rookie… at least now he is."
Matt laughed, shaking Crowley's hand, and smiled as well. "Ignore this dude… he's one of the vets here. Years of having your own head up your ass and your dick in a new woman every ten minutes does that to you. Sucks about the itch, huh?"
"You got a problem?" Hollywood said, turning to face Lennon, playfully chest bumping him away. The two laughed, before turning their attention back to Jack. "So, where you from hotshot? When'd you nail EVOC?"
"EVOC?" Jack asked, raising a brow.
"Emergency Vehicle Operations Command. The prerequisite to applying for PIU? You must've done good if you just got placed down here without so much as a ride along."
"Holloway, Lennon, cruise off a moment." came a sharp voice from the garage. A third officer, wearing sergeant stripes, entered the room. The other two walked off, and the sergeant looked Crowley up and down, before offering a hand. "Sergeant Latimore. You're Holloway's guy, right?"
"Yes sir. Reporting as requested." Jack replied, holding out the packet. Latimore swiped it and casually tossed it onto a nearby desk. "Good man. Welcome to Pursuit Intervention. Come with me, we'll talk." he said, moving to another door. Jack followed him into an office, with a desk and setup that was worlds nicer then the ones outside. Jack sat down, and watched as Latimore filled up a cup of water, and set it down on the desk. He reached into his wastebasket, and pulled out an empty Coke bottle, taking off the cap and tossing it. He pulled out a can of Copenhagen Wintergreen chewing tobacco, packed his lower lip, and began to spit into the bottle, an action that caused Jack to recoil slightly. He offered the can to Jack, who shook his head. Latimore snickered.
"Everyone down here does it. That, or that stupid vape shit. Most of these guys used to smoke like chimneys, but with command coming down here and busting my balls, I had to improvise. So long as they don't do it in the presence of the brass, they'll just think we have some wierd fruity air fresheners or something. Plus, much better for the cars." he said. Spit.
"I'm glad to hear that. I… don't really smoke or… dip. But, I really don't care. I'll do whatever."
"Good to know. Alright, Crowley… I'll be frank. This is a huge risk on me. But you had a run in with three 5-10 members, one of which is the V2. May not seem like much, but the fact that you walked away from a pursuit with that fucking truck shows me that you got spine, and THAT is something I can work with. For now, you're still working under Holloway, the fat ass, at least until you pass our exams and prove that you're an able driver. Now, that being said, tell me what you know about our humble little unit." he said. Spit. His eyes glared into Jack's soul, but he was unphased.
"Well… as much as the next guy, honestly. It's an honor to be here, for one. I know you use higher class vehicles to engage in pursuits with aggressive, professional, or extremely wanted subjects. I know you're also the frontline against the 5-10 motor club, and that you're the reason CHP hates us." Jack said simply. Latimore laughed hard, shaking his head.
"Fuckin' chippies. Yeah, you're right about that. Don't get me wrong, the CHP works hard, maybe harder then all of us. But when you put a Ford Explorer against a Koenigsegg, well, who do you think is gonna make the mark?" he said. Spit. "Here's the details: The PIU operates a fleet of sports, super, and hypercars, from Mustang Shelbys to Paganis. These cars are… through a series of high level connections and lost paperwork, purchased at a HEAVY discount by the SCPD from their respective manufacturers, in exchange for protection and favors to their dealers and resident executives… within the law, of course. Most of these companies get a FAT writeoff on taxes, as well as a tax free check per car courtesy of the PIU grant. We operate, repair, maintain, and modify these cars ourselves. We have a small crew of mechanics on hand to do whatever it is you need, right here in our happy little garage. Now, our numbers are dwindling, with a total number of ten officers, including myself and you. Throughout the county. PIU has a secondary garage in Fox Lair Pass, and that's where the others are stationed. You've already met Hollywood and Lennon. We've also got our unit lead, Corporal Aarons, who's out doing a test drive on some modifications to his car. Now, based on your driving portfolio…" he stopped, looking up and noticing the confused look Jack gave him. "...I've been reviewing some of your dashcam footage during various chases, while you were out the last few days. I've noticed that you've got some good high speed reflexes, but also know when to avoid a hit, and when to take it. Gunning it over a spikestrip and landing a good pit manuever was a damn impressive move." he said. Spit. "Given all this, I'm gonna try something new. And… well, this is definitely going out on a limb. I'm assigning you to a nice little import we just picked up from Italy. Obviously, you're going to have to take her down to the EVOC center and get acquainted with it, but I feel like you'll do okay. At least, you won't get yourself killed right off the bat."
"I'll take whatever I can get. Anything to help knock some 5-10 heads."
"Haha, alright Turbo. Let's first see how you do in an actual chase behind the wheel of a two million dollar V12 before we send you off after those wrenchheads. Now, if you'll follow me, let's get you suited up, and show you your new gas powered partner."