A few words from the author:
Everything about K-9s in this story comes from internet research and my imagination. I tried to be accurate, but took artistic license where it fit the story; I'm sure some of the K-9 commands are used improperly or aren't even real. Never any disrespect intended. I have nothing but admiration for those officers and their partners.
Just a side note; I did learn that most police dogs are trained to recognize commands in German. But since my character is no longer on active duty, and his dog is not an actual police dog, I stuck with English. It was easier for the story.
Also, not sure if police 10 codes vary among jurisdictions. I found one source and tried to stay consistent.
I do want to give a huge shoutout. While I wrote this, I kept thinking about
YouDidWhut
's most excellent story, '
Bandit
.'
If you have not read it, please do. Consider this an unworthy tribute.
No editors were harmed during the creation of this story.
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The pre-dawn air was chilly, as Laika and I left the townhouse. Laika was my lab mix rescue. I've had her for four years now, and she was probably - heck, definitely - my best friend. She was a little stockier than a standard Labrador, leading me to believe she was mixed with a boxer or something similar. But whatever her breeding, she was a very well-mannered dog, and we spent a lot of time training. She took to it well and was remarkably intelligent and responsive.
We were headed out for our morning walk, and hadn't gone very far at all, when she noticed something. I followed her gaze, and sitting on the curb was a small figure, knees drawn up tight to her (?) chest, and a thin hoodie pulled down over her legs, obviously trying to stay warm. Not sure why I assumed it was a girl; maybe because the hoodie was pink. At least it looked pink, in the early dawnlight. Anyway, she had her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, hands tucked inside the sleeves of the sweatshirt.
I thought maybe it was someone waiting for the school bus, but realized it was much too early. As I drew alongside, I saw that it was not a girl, but rather, a small boy who couldn't have been older than six or seven.
Great police instincts, Brody
, I thought ruefully.
He saw me, and his head jerked up, staring at me and Laika.
"Sit," I whispered to her, and she did so, gazing at the boy.
I crouched, wincing at the pain in my knee, then spoke. "Hey, it's okay, I won't hurt you. I used to be a policeman. Are you okay?"
His voice came out in a whisper. "Momma... momma said I should wun."
Oh, shit.
"Where's your momma, son?"
He pointed to the apartments across the road from mine. I lived in a sprawling complex of one-, two-, and three-bedroom units, housed in two-story buildings with four to six units per building. It was okay, not the greatest, but not bad. I had one of the three-bedroom townhomes, with a modest backyard that had a high privacy fence around it.
Where the boy was pointing, though... not so nice at all. I'd responded to more than a few calls there when I was still on the force.
But I just nodded, and asked, "What apartment do you live in, do you know?"
"I can show you," the boy whispered again.
Not wanting to leave him alone, I nodded again, and we started across the road. It was four lanes, with a narrow concrete median. Not a highway, but still, normally busy. Thankfully this early, there were few cars out and we jogged across.
As we walked, I said, "I'm Brody. What's your name?"
"Jewemiah. But Momma calls me Wemmy."
We passed a few units, and then the boy pointed up at one of them. "The gween door," he whispered. Poor kid, I hoped he eventually outgrew that speech thing.
"I see it. You stay here, okay? I'm going to leave my dog here with you to protect you. Her name is Laika." I tucked her leash into her harness so it wouldn't get caught on anything, should she need to move.
When I said her name, her ears perked up.
"Friend," I said to her, pointing at the boy. "Stay." She took up position in front of him.
I headed toward the apartment. As I drew nearer, I heard something crash. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911.
> 911, please state the nature of your emergency.
> Suspected 10-16
(the code for a domestic problem)
,
at... and I gave her the address.
10-78
(the code for 'need assistance.')
> Please stay on the line sir, a unit is responding.
> 10-4.
Leaving the connection open, I approached the door. I turned the knob slowly, and it opened. As I did so, I distinctly heard the sound of a fist hitting flesh, and a yelp. A woman's voice.
Then another voice, on the knife-edge of losing control, "Where's my shit, you fucking bitch?" Followed by the sound of a slap, and another cry of pain.
Keeping low, I stuck my head into the entryway, while whispering urgently,
> 10-31 (act in progress). Entering. 10-52 (ambulance needed).
> Negative, sir, officers are on the way, ETA four minutes.
> Don't have four minutes. I repeat, 10-52.
> Acknowledged, but please wait for the officers.
I didn't respond. Keeping low, I slid completely into the room. I didn't see anything, but could hear the sounds of cursing and whimpering coming from down the hall.
"Tell me where it is, or I'll kill your fucking brat!"
"NO!" the woman screamed, and I heard a scrabbling noise, like someone trying to get up quickly, but then I heard another thud and a crack, and a moan of agony.
I couldn't wait any longer. Hoping the guy was focused on the woman, I kicked open the door where the noise was coming from, then cursed myself as pain lanced through my knee. I kept my footing though, and swept my weapon across the room.
I scanned the room to quickly focus on a skinny, 5' 8" dude with stringy dark hair. He had a piece of something in his hand; it looked like maybe a chair leg or a broken broom handle, and he was standing over a small blond-haired woman who had on too much makeup, and her tears of pain and fear had streaked it all down her face. She was holding her forearm, and I thought it might be broken.
