Things are slowly settling back down here again so I found some time to get some writing in. Thank you all for the plentiful check-ins, it means the world. And while I may have left the Streets of San Francisco temporarily to visit the Castle and A-Team fandom, you have nothing to worry about when it comes to my love for our two characters.
The somber morning had been followed by a rainbow crowning the City by the Bay, as if to set a fitting backdrop for the slew of cars making their way from the cathedral down Mission Street in a sea of red and blue strobe lights.
The funeral and internment marked the end of a difficult week in San Francisco, one that had started out with an armed robbery and ended in a police chase and eventually, a violent crash, taking the lives of the two suspects and that of one of their own, fifty-eight-year-old Russel Swanson.
The experienced Sergeant had close to thirty years on the force under his belt, an immaculate police record, as well as a wife and two teenage kids at home.
This time, the citizens had responded, sharing the grief felt by every law enforcement officer in the county, going as far as planting a sea of flowers in front of the Police Headquarters on 3rd Street.
Thousands of blue ribbons adorned street lamps, traffic lights, overpasses and mailboxes across town, paying respect to a man whose life was cut short by two thugs trying to get off with a measly two-hundred bucks.
As expected, the public outcry had been followed by an intense media investigation into the cause of the fiery crash and whether or not proper protocols were followed, protocols that could have avoided the tragic outcome.
Each unnecessary "documentary" bred more hostility from the sides of police, harboring feelings of blaming-the-victim in a case that was as cut and dried as they came.
Deep inside, Mike had felt a certain sense of relief when the funeral ended and the procession headed to the cemetery for internment, hoping that the public and media hype would eventually ease up and any undue and unsolicited attention move to newer, more pressing issues.
The army of black and whites, unmarked police cars, fire trucks and ambulances stretched for several miles and they made their way south with their lights flashing and sirens roaring, hoping to pay their last respects to one of their own.
Mike had met Russel on a few occasions, never working too closely with the Patrols Sergeant.
Nonetheless, like any death on the force, it bothered him greatly; the sheer notion of sacrificing one's life to defend the badge in their pockets something that triggered his innermost senses.
There were only so many of them, up against an unknown number of thugs, crooks, and out-and-out killers. Each time one of them died, the enemy conquered more territory, encroaching past that thin blue line that protected the good from the bad.
Worse yet, as times changed, recruitment began to dwindle, less and less people willing to pay that ultimate price to defend the laws in this city, their pool of suitable recruits shrinking with each year.
Beneath the rim of his fedora, he stole a glance over at Steve, whose eyes were hidden behind thick aviator glasses, quietly following the procession at a slow speed, his mind god-knows where.
How many more chances would there be to get excellent candidates, rather than mediocre ones? How many young men Steve's age would opt for safer occupations that paid far more than that of a police officer?
It was a daunting future, an unpleasant thought Mike was unable to get out of his mind that afternoon as they rolled along, following Olsen's car ahead, the line of vehicles shutting down all of Mission Street for more than an hour.
Russel wasn't the first one to lose his life in the line of duty, and unfortunately, he wouldn't be the last.
But as violent crime became more and more attractive to young people without a role model or a plan in life, the decreasing number in police officers would be faced with the challenging task to herd more and more sheep every day, the pay staying the same while the risks grew exponentially.
As they turned the corner, Mike looked ahead at the hearse carrying Russel's body, wondering how much longer he had before a chance encounter with death finally ended his career.