Chapter 73: Drive-by Shooting (Please Keep Reading)

Aoxi reluctantly took the keys to the Interceptor, handed the keys to the Dodge Charger Pursuit to Carles, and found his own gear bag beside Susan. This bag had been through a lot, dragged back and forth through various ordeals. He put away his things, changed into his police uniform, and went to an internal review in a conference room. He knocked and entered, only to see—well—Chief Mesa and Internal Affairs’ Sam.

There was no one from the District Attorney’s office, which didn’t bode well. As he expected, the two shooting reports he’d filed last night had been thoroughly polished; now, he looked like a model officer on paper. The two men just asked a few routine questions and quickly let him go.

After all that, night had already fallen. He was starting to feel like Wally, working night shifts every day—what a life. Aoxi headed out to find Carles. Entering his office, he opened the mini fridge on impulse, only to find it empty—not even a bottle of cold Coke.

“Your fridge’s empty. Time to restock.”

Carles had been grinning mischievously, but at those words, his smile vanished. “Coke’s not good for you—it affects fertility. From now on, we’ll just drink mineral water.”

“I’m young, I don’t worry about that. But you, with three kids already, still concerned? Want me to share a home remedy? Goji berries in a thermos—said to cure kidney deficiency.”

“Are you here for something or not? If not, get out!” With that, he shielded the maca root floating in his own cup.

Aoxi turned and left. No cold Coke, nothing to talk about. He left Carles’ office, got into his new patrol car, and hit the road. The Interceptor’s performance was wild, but it still didn’t quite have the edge of the Pursuit.

“Los Angeles Newsflash: Yesterday, three young Black men were shot in the community—one died on the scene, two were sent to the hospital and are now stable. The shooter fled quickly in a car, and police are tracking the suspect.

It’s notable that these three young men have gang ties—they belong to a branch of the Bloods. During the recent Boyle Heights music warehouse shooting, suspects were heard shouting Bloods slogans and rival gang insults.

Was this attack on Bloods members an extension of the Boyle Heights music warehouse shooting? That remains unclear. Police have declined to comment. We’ll keep following the story.”

“Breaking news: Last night, a police shootout took place at the Siesta Motel. Over 500 rounds were fired—like a war zone. Our reporters found the shootout began when a suspect called in, claiming a stabbing at the motel, then ambushed responding officers, killing one and wounding another.

Police sent in reinforcements, engaged the suspect, who killed another officer and wounded two more before being shot dead. Injured officers were treated at the hospital; none are in life-threatening condition.

The suspect killed was Patrick Voss, a former Army serviceman, recipient of the National Defense Service Medal, Army Service Ribbon, and Rifle Sharpshooter Badge—a model soldier, reportedly.

Sources reveal Patrick Voss fought police because his brother, Luca Voss, was involved in a drug case. Luca was killed by police while fleeing arrest, and Patrick returned for revenge.

The FBI and military have made no comment on the incident. We will continue to follow the story.”

How does this reporter know so much—more than I do, and I’m a cop, Aoxi thought, tongue clicking in disbelief. Suddenly, the radio crackled.

“Adam388, Adam61, a drive-by shooting just occurred at the Forest Road gas station. Please respond immediately.”

“Copy, heading there now.”

Barely on the clock and already a shooting—this job is underpaid. Even pre-tax, it’s just over five grand a month. Five grand to risk your life.

Grumbling aside, Aoxi swung the wheel and sped over. When he arrived, the gas station employees had all run outside, hiding by the roadside. Apparently, they knew about the last shootout here, when a gas attendant got hit, and had decided to flee first, ask questions later.

He got out, drew his gun, and approached the station slowly. By a fuel pump lay a toppled motorcycle, pinning two Black men underneath. One was struggling and calling for help; the other was motionless.

The struggling man saw Aoxi approach and shouted, “Help me! Help me! I’ve been shot!”

“Alright, I’ll call an ambulance for you.”

“No! I can’t afford it!”

No money? Maybe your motorcycle can cover it… though that junk bike probably won’t. Or maybe your mother… but you'll have to figure it out yourself.

“Adam388 reporting—two shooting victims at the gas station, ambulance needed.”

“Dispatch received.”

Adam61 arrived, and together they questioned the gas station staff about what happened.

“I’m the shift manager,” the woman said, pointing at the two men still pinned under the bike. “Those two rode up together for gas. As soon as they stopped, another motorcycle pulled up behind, and the rider started shooting at them—fired a few shots, then sped off. That’s when we called the police.”

“Can we review the station’s surveillance footage?”

“Of course. Follow me.”

They went inside, and the woman brought up the footage. It clearly showed the two Black men riding up to the pump, barely stopping before another motorcycle arrived. Two riders: the driver in a white jacket, helmet, and backpack; the passenger, the shooter, wore a red t-shirt, baseball cap, and mask. He fired five shots as soon as they pulled up. The rear passenger was hit four times, collapsing instantly.

The driver was hit once, fell forward onto the other man—proof that riding pillion is a bad idea.

“Adam388 reporting—gas station shooting suspect description as above. Please alert nearby units to be on the lookout.”

“Dispatch understood.”

Aoxi copied the footage and took it with him. The ambulance soon arrived and took the two victims away; the motorcycle would be towed later.

After handing the scene over to forensics, he and Adam61 left, driving the area to see if they could spot the motorcycle shooter.

After searching for a while, no one reported locating the suspect. Aoxi resigned himself—the motorcycle was too nimble, easy to hide somewhere out of sight.

He was about to give up when the radio crackled: “Adam388, be advised: Officer Adam53 has spotted the suspect on the Arroyo Freeway west of Santa Fe Forest Park. Please respond for backup.”

“Adam388, copy.”

So they went to the park after all—no wonder they hadn’t been found. He’d expected them to slip through alleyways, but they’d done the opposite.

Aoxi quickly reached the park area. The walkie-talkie sounded again: “Adam53 reporting—suspect has abandoned motorcycle and is fleeing into the park on foot. I am in pursuit!”

“Don’t chase! Green, don’t chase! It’s too dark, too dangerous!” another officer shouted.

“No worries, I’m about to catch up with them… uh…”

“Green! Green!”