But the pursuit left the Hollywood Freeway and turned east on the Ventura Freeway and then south on Lankershim Boulevard. And now the surfer team looked at each other and Jetsam said, “Holy shit. Let’s go!”
And they did. Flotsam stepped on it and headed north on the Hollywood Freeway past Universal City and turned off in the vicinity of the Lakeside Country Club, where by now a dozen LAPD and CHP units were involved, as well as a television news helicopter, but no LAPD airship.
And it was here that the driver dumped the car on a residential street near the country club, and he was into a yard, over a fence into another yard, onto the golf course, running across fairways, and then back into a North Hollywood residential street where nearly twenty cops were out on foot, half of them armed with shotguns.
Even though a North Hollywood Division sergeant was at the abandoned stolen car, trying to inform the communications operator that there was sufficient help at the scene, cars kept coming, as happens during a long pursuit like this. Soon there were L.A. Sheriff’s Department units as well as more CHP and LAPD cars, with the TV helicopter hovering and lighting up the running cops below.
Flotsam drove two blocks west of the pandemonium and said, “Wanna get out and go hunting for a while? You never know.”
“Fucking A,” Jetsam said, and they got out of their car with flashlights extinguished and walked through a residential alley behind family homes and apartment buildings.
They could hear voices on the street to their right, where other cops were searching, and Flotsam said, “Maybe we better turn our flashlights on before somebody caps one off at us.”
Then a voice yelled, “There he is! Hey, there he is!”
They ran toward the voice and saw a young cop with ginger hair and pink complexion sitting astride an eight-foot block wall dividing an apartment complex from the alley.
He saw them, or rather, he saw two shadow figures in blue uniforms, and said, “Up there! He’s in that tree!”
Flotsam shined his light high into an old olive tree, and sure enough, there was a young Latino up there in an oversize white T-shirt, baggy khakis, and a head bandana.
The young cop yelled, “Climb down now!” And he pointed his nine at the guy with one hand while with his other hand he shined his light on the treetop.
Flotsam and Jetsam got closer, and the guy in the tree looked down at the young cop straddling the wall and said, “Fuck you. Come up and get me.”
Flotsam turned to Jetsam and said, “Tweaked. He’s fried on crystal.”
“Ain’t everybody?” Jetsam said.
The young cop, who had “probationer” written all over him, pulled out his rover but before keying it said, “What’s our location? Do you guys know the address here?”
“Naw,” Jetsam said. “We work Van Nuys Division.”
Now, that was weird, Flotsam thought. Why would his partner tell the boot that they worked Van Nuys instead of telling the truth?
Then the young cop said, “Watch him, will you? I gotta run out to the street and get the address.”
“Just go out front and start yelling,” Jetsam said. “There’s coppers all over the block.”
Flotsam also found it strange that Jetsam had turned his flashlight off and was standing in deep shadow under a second tree. Almost as though he didn’t want the kid to be able to see him clearly. But why? That they had driven a short distance out of their division wasn’t a big deal.
After the rookie ran out onto the street in front, Jetsam said, “Fucking boot doesn’t know what to do about a thief in a tree.”
They stood looking up at the guy who squinted down at their light beams, and Flotsam said, “What would you do besides wait for backup?”
Jetsam looked up and yelled, “Hey asshole, climb down here.”
The car thief said, “I’m staying here.”
“How would you like me to blow you outta that tree?” Jetsam shouted, aiming his.40 caliber Glock at him. “I feel like shooting somebody tonight.”
“You won’t shoot,” the kid said. “I’m a minor. And all I did was joyride.”
Now Jetsam was really torqued. And not for the first time he noticed that the young cop had left his Remington beanbag shotgun with the bright green fore and aft stocks propped against the wall.
“Check this out, partner,” he said to Flotsam. “That probey grabbed a beanbag gun instead of the real thing. Now he’s probably looking for a chain saw to cut the fucking tree down.”
Touching his pepper spray canister, Flotsam said, “Wish he was closer, dude. A little act-right spray would do wonders for him.” Then Flotsam looked at Jetsam and Jetsam looked at Flotsam and Flotsam said, “No. I know what you’re thinking, but no. Stay real, man!”
But Jetsam said in a quiet voice, “That boot never saw our faces, bro. There’s coppers all over the neighborhood.”
“No,” Flotsam said. “A beanbag gun is not to be used for compliance purposes. This ain’t pit bull polo, dude.”
“I wonder if it would induce some compliance here.”
Flotsam said, “I don’t wanna know.”
But Jetsam, who had never shot anyone with a beanbag or anything else, reached into his pocket, put on a pair of latex gloves so as to not leave latent prints, picked up the shotgun, pointed it up into the tree, and said, “Hey vato, get your ass down here right now or I’ll let one go and blow you outta that tree.”
The muzzle of the gun looked big enough to hold a popsicle, but it didn’t scare the car thief, who said, “You and your puto partner can just kiss my -”
And the muzzle flash and explosion shocked Flotsam more than the kid, who let out a shriek when the beanbag struck him in the belly.
“Ow ow ow, you pussy!” the kid yelled. “You shot me, you pussy! Owwwwwww!”
So Jetsam let go with another round, and this time Flotsam ran to the street in front of the apartment complex and saw no less than five shadow figures yelling and running their way while the kid howled even louder and started climbing down.
“Let’s get the fuck outta here!” Flotsam said, after running back to Jetsam and grabbing him by the arm.
“He’s coming down, bro,” Jetsam said with a dazed expression.
“Toss that tube!” Flotsam said, and Jetsam dropped the shotgun on the grass and scurried after his partner.
Both cops ran back down the alley through the darkness toward their car, and neither spoke until Flotsam said, “Man, there’ll be IA investigators all over this one, you crazy fucker! You ain’t even allowed to shoot white guys like that!”
Still running, and gradually realizing that he’d just violated a whole lot of Department regulations, if not the penal code itself, Jetsam said, “The homie never saw us, bro. The lights were always in his eyes. The little boot copper didn’t see our faces neither. Shit, he was so excited he couldn’t ID his own dick. Anyways, this is North Hollywood Division. We don’t work here.”
“The best-laid plans of mice and rats,” Flotsam said. Then he had a panicky thought. “Did you go code six?” he said, referring to the safety rule of informing communications of their location when leaving the car. “I can’t remember.”
Jetsam also panicked for a moment, then said, “No, I’m sure I didn’t. Nobody knows we’re here in North Hollywood.”
“Let’s get the fuck back to our beat!” Flotsam said when they reached their car, unlocked it, and got inside.
He drove with lights out until they were blocks from the scene and heard the PSR voice say “All units, code four. Suspect in custody. Code four.”
They didn’t talk at all until they were safely back cruising Hollywood Boulevard. Then Jetsam said, “Let’s get code seven. Our adventure’s made me real hungry all of a sudden. And bro, your shit’s kinda weak lately. We gotta jack you up somehow. Why don’tcha get one of those healthy reduced-fat burritos swimming in sour cream and guacamole.” Then he added, “It musta been those two shots I gave that homie, but I feel mega-happy now.”