The Watchman by Robert Crais

approval, then closed it. He turned back to Pike again, seemed to be thinking, and Pike wondered if Flynn was trying to read him.
    Flynn said, “Now I have a question. When you said why you became an officer, you quoted the LAPD motto, to protect and to serve. Which is it?”
    “Some people can’t protect themselves. They need help.”
    “And that would be you, Officer Pike, with all that karate and stuff?”
    Pike nodded.
    “You like to fight?”
    “I don’t like it or not like it. If I have to, I can.”
    Flynn nodded, but the way he sucked at his lips told Pike he was still being read.
    Flynn said, “Our job isn’t to get in fights, Officer Pike. We don’t always have a choice, but you get in enough fights, you’ll get your ass kicked for sure. You ever had your ass kicked?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Pike would not mention his father.
    Flynn still sucked at his lips, reading him.
    “We get in a fight, we’ve failed. We pull the trigger, it means we’ve failed. Do you believe that, Officer Pike?”
    “No, sir.”
    “I do. What do you think it means?”
    “We had no other way.”
    Flynn grunted, but this time Pike couldn’t tell if his grunt was approving or not.
    “So why is it you want to protect people, Officer Pike? You get your ass kicked so much you’re overcompensating?”
    Pike knew Flynn was testing him. Flynn was probing and reading Pike’s reactions, so Pike met Flynn’s gaze with empty blue eyes.
    “I don’t like bullies.”
    “Making you the guy who kicks the bully’s ass.”
    “Yes.”
    “Just so long as we stay within the rule of law.”
    Flynn considered him for another moment, then his calm eyes crinkled gently at the corners.
    “Me being your training officer, I read your file, son. I think you have what it takes to make a fine police officer.”
    Pike nodded.
    “You don’t say much, do you?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Good. I’ll do enough talking for both of us. Now get in the car. Let’s go protect people.”
     
     
    Their first hour together was light on protecting people. Each basic radio car normally patrolled a specific area within the division, but Flynn started off by giving Pike a tour of the entire division. During this time, Flynn reviewed radio procedures, let Pike practice exchanges with the dispatchers, and pointed out well-known dirtbag gathering points.
    Easing into their second hour, Flynn let Pike write two traffic citations.
    After the second citation, which was to an elderly woman who was angry and resentful at having been tagged for running a red light, Flynn painted Pike with a large smile.
    “Well, how do you like the job so far?”
    “A little slow.”
    “You did fine with that lady. Didn’t punch her out or anything.”
    “Maybe next time.”
    Flynn laughed, then told the dispatchers to begin pitching them calls. Over the next two hours, Pike took a stolen car report from a sobbing teenage girl (the car belonged to her brother, who was going to kill her for getting his car stolen), interviewed a pet shop owner who had made a public drunkenness complaint (a drunk had entered her store, let the dogs and cats out of their cages, then left), took a shoplifting report from the manager of a convenience store (the shoplifter was long gone), took a report from a man who had returned home from work to find his house burglarized (the burglar was long gone), took a stolen bicycle report (no suspects), took a stolen motorcycle report (also no suspects), and checked out a report from a woman who believed her elderly neighbor was dead in an upstairs apartment (the elderly neighbor had gone to her daughter’s cabin at Big Bear Lake).
    At every criminal call they answered, the suspect or perpetrator was long gone or never present, though Pike dutifully and under Flynn’s direction logged the complainant’s statement, filled out the necessary form, and performed all communications.
    They were proceeding east on Beverly Boulevard when the dispatcher said,