Flynn spoke softly over his shoulder to Pike.

“Paramedics and additional units.”

Pike keyed his rover, sending a request for paramedics and additional units to the dispatcher. Pike saw Flynn reach to touch the girl and the girl jerk her arm away as her voice rose-

“I want you to get him! You have to go get him. He went to his fucking slut girlfriend-”

The girl was growing more agitated and Flynn was working to calm her, lowering his voice, sharing his calm.

“Let’s take care of that baby first, all right, hon? Nothing’s more important than your baby.”

Flynn had her arm again, and this time she let him, but her face contorted.

“He’s going to get away-”

“Shh. He won’t get away.”

Flynn was everything he had to be-a strong, comforting father figure. You would be safe if you trusted him. He would take care of you if you let him. Flynn slipped his arm around her shoulders, an arm that would protect her and make all the pain go away, murmuring-

“You have to sit down first, hon. Let’s get some ice on that nose. I’m going to take care of you.”

Flynn motioned at Pike. They had been inside less than one minute.

“I’m okay here. You good with getting the back?”

Pike nodded.

“Be careful.”

Pike moved past with no great feeling of apprehension. He glanced in the kitchen, then stepped into the hall. The bathroom door was open, showing a sink mottled with built-up soap film, a tiny tub, and a toilet. Pike turned to the bedroom. The door was half open and the light was on. Pike remembered Flynn’s caution about drawing his weapon, but he drew it anyway, then pushed the door wider. The bedroom was a minefield of shopping bags, dirty clothes, and boxes. The double bed was dingy with rumpled grey sheets. A closet door hung open on the far side of the bed. Two windows were framed in the wall, but they were closed like all the others.

Pike listened, but the girl was at it again, telling Flynn to go get the bastard, saying he and his bitch were going to Vegas.

Pike wanted to get back to the living room, but kept his eyes on the closet. He moved quickly and silently the way he had in the woods as a boy, hiding from his father. Silence was everything. Speed was life. He dropped to a knee, then jerked the tumbled sheets up and glanced under the bed. Nothing. He looked back to the closet.

Pike didn’t believe anyone would be in the closet, but he had to check. The girl was louder and even more insistent, and Pike wanted to give Flynn a hand.

The closet door was open about six inches. The bedroom was lit but inside the closet was dark and impenetrable. Pike stood as far to the side as possible, then jerked open the door, letting light flood the dark space behind. Nothing.

They had been in the apartment for less than two minutes.

In the moment Pike saw the closet was empty, a loud crash came from the living room, riding on top of the thuds of men moving hard as a voice grunted-

“Kill’m.”

Pike moved fast across the bed, into the hall, then into the doorway. The closet door off the entry had been thrown open. Candace Stanik’s boyfriend, who would later be identified as one David Lee Elish, had one arm hooked around Flynn’s neck and was holding Flynn’s gun arm to prevent Flynn from drawing his weapon. A second man, who would later be identified as Kurt Fabrocini, a parolee who had been released from custody earlier that day, was stabbing Flynn repeatedly in the chest with a Buck hunting knife. Candace Stanik was curled on the floor. Later, it would be learned that both Elish and Fabrocini had enough alcohol and crack cocaine in their systems to numb an elephant.

Over and over, Elish was grunting, “Kill’m.”

Pike brought his 9mm up without hesitation and shot Fabrocini in the head. Pike would have shot Elish, too, but the angle was bad. Pike was moving before Fabrocini’s body hit the floor.

Pike drove hard directly into Flynn, knocking both men to the floor. Pike knew exactly what he had to do and how. He kept driving, digging hard with his legs. He shoved past Flynn and hit Elish hard in the face with his pistol. Elish, trying to rise, had eyes that were wild and frenzied. Pike hit him a second time, and then Elish grew still. Pike turned him over, pinned him to the floor with a knee, and twisted Elish’s arms behind his back for the handcuffs.

Only after Elish and the knife were secure did Pike turn back to Flynn, scared the man was bleeding to death.

Pike said, “Officer Flynn-”

Flynn looked up, fingers laced through the tears in his shirt, his eyes wide and glistening, and his face white.

“Fucking vest. Fucking vest stopped the knife.”

Pike thought Flynn was laughing, but then he saw the tears.

Three hours later, they were released to leave. A shooting team had come out, along with the evening shift commander, two Rampart captains, and two use-of-force detectives from Parker Center. Pike and Flynn had been separated for questioning, but now they were back in their car.

Flynn was behind the wheel. He had started the engine, but hadn’t taken it out of park. Pike knew Flynn was shaken, but he figured it was up to Flynn whether or not he wanted to talk about it. After all, Pike was only a boot.

Flynn finally looked over, moving his head as if it weighed a thousand pounds.

“You okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

Flynn fell silent again, but now he seemed to be considering Pike in a way that left Pike feeling uncomfortable.

“Listen, I want to go over what happened in there-you saved me. Thank you for that.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I know, but there it is. I want you to know I appreciate what you did. You saw those two guys on me, you saw the knife, you made a fast call. I’m not saying you did anything wrong. I just want you to think about what you did. Sometimes we have to kill people, but our job out here isn’t to kill people.”

“Yes, sir. I know that.”

“What happened in there was my fault, not clearing that closet. I saw that damned door.”

“We were clearing the apartment when it happened. No one’s fault.”

“You’re a boot. Your first day on the job, and you sure as hell saved my butt.”

Flynn was still watching him, but his eyes had narrowed as if he was trying to make out something vague and far away, and Pike wondered what.

Flynn suddenly reached out and covered Pike’s hand.

“You’re calm as a stone. Me, I’m shaking like a leaf-”

Pike felt it in Bud Flynn’s hand-a faint humming like bees trying to escape a hive.

Bud suddenly pulled back his hand as if he had read Pike’s thoughts and was embarrassed. Officer-involved shootings were rare, but gunfights had been part of Pike’s life since he left home, and home, in those rare moments when he thought about it, had been worse-his father’s rage; fists and belts and steel-toed work boots falling like rain in a strangely painless way; his mother, screaming; Pike, screaming. Combat was nothing. Pike remembered a kind of intellectual acceptance that he had to kill other men so they couldn’t kill him. Like when he finally grew big enough to choke out his father. Once his father feared him, his father stopped beating him and his mother. Simple. Pike’s only concerns now were in following the rules of the Los Angeles Police Department. He had. He had made a clean shoot. Bud was alive. Pike was alive. Simple.

Pike touched Bud’s hand. He wanted to help.

Pike said, “We’re okay.”