After seeing Danny and Chen Hao off, Jack cleaned up the house, re-covered the furniture and sofas with dust covers, and cleared out the fridge. He cooked all the remaining fresh ingredients—courtesy of Braxton—and, before evening fell, delivered the food to Wilshire Station, just before the patrol units clocked out.
He was flying back to New York the next day, and there was no way he was going to let all that fresh food go to waste.
Having played the role of a belated Santa, Jack was about to round up a few old friends for drinks when he saw John outside the locker room with a gloomy face—an unusual sight for someone who had just played a key role in taking down a domestic bioterrorist.
On his way there, Jack had received a message from Chris confirming that Shangri-La Group would donate at least $500,000 annually to LAPD over the next few years to establish a regional public safety and mental health initiative.
"So, what happened now?"
John forced a smile at Jack's question. "It's nothing. I can handle it myself."
Jack was no fan of vague answers—he could dish out a little suspense but didn't enjoy being on the receiving end. So, curiosity piqued, he turned to Tim, who had just exited the locker room.
"Okay, here's the deal," Tim explained. "Inspector Landon Briggs—LAPD's union president—stormed into John's office not too long ago."
John handed Jack a newspaper.
"City Council to Vote on Proposal to Reallocate Portions of LAPD Budget Toward Mental Health Program," Jack read aloud. "So... he still doesn't know the funding actually came from you? He thinks you secretly contacted some city council member and pushed this proposal?"
Tim, who clearly knew the full story, chuckled. "That's not the issue. Briggs is pissed because he, as union president, was completely blindsided by this. It made him look stupid."
"Ah, so the mighty 'important man' got outmaneuvered by a lowly patrol officer and now he's throwing a tantrum?" Jack smirked, clearly enjoying the schadenfreude.
He hadn't forgotten how John had previously mentioned being brushed off by Briggs with a barrage of canned political jargon.
"You don't have to care about that kind of 'important man,' Supervisory Special Agent from the FBI," Tim said, rolling his eyes and throwing an arm around John's shoulders. "But pissing off the union president is no small matter. He'll look for ways to get you removed as union rep—and make your life a bureaucratic hell."
As the saying goes, a toad may not bite, but it can sure crawl up your leg and make your skin crawl. While John's direct superiors were Tim (Captain) and Grey (now Commander), a union president still had plenty of tricks to mess with a rank-and-file officer.
John's expression twitched. "I just wanted to do something good for everyone. This guy has successfully made me hate politics with a passion."
"Maybe you should go all in—get Briggs booted and take his spot. We all know you're a good guy. Don't let someone like him stand in your way."
Jack chuckled but didn't dwell on the matter. To him, this was a minor hiccup—nothing more. Once the Shangri-La Group and Wilshire Station held a press conference announcing the donation, they could bring John on stage and thank him publicly as the initiator.
Even someone as thick-headed as Landon Briggs would figure it out by then.
Later that night, they all headed to the old cop bar they used to frequent. Angela, Lucy, and Neela Harper—a fellow officer who had once partnered with Jack—also showed up.
The last to arrive was Wade Grey. Since being promoted to Commander and replacing Zoe as Wilshire Division's head, he'd grown noticeably... rounder. His beer belly was hard to miss.
After greeting Jack, Grey sat across from John, visibly awkward and fidgety.
"You've got something to say, don't you?" John asked, puzzled. Everyone else picked up on the tension, especially Jack and Tim, who sensed something bad was coming.
Grey sighed. "Just before I left the station tonight, I got a formal request for a temporary transfer."
"Wow. First time I've heard of a 'Hole-in-the-Wall' assignment. Sounds kinda cool," John said with his usual optimism, not yet realizing the gravity of the situation. But when he saw Grey's grim expression, his smile slowly faded.
"So... it's not cool?"
"Not at all," Grey said, rubbing his bald head. "You've been assigned to a one-week transfer—starting tomorrow. And it's to a precinct in Detroit."
"Let me guess. This is punishment from Briggs, and he just couldn't wait to pull the trigger?"
John had finally caught on.
"Hold up," Tim interjected. "That doesn't add up. Even in 'Hole-in-the-Wall' transfers—where an officer is sent to fill a staffing gap at another precinct—they're always within L.A. County. And they never last more than a day. What the hell is Detroit doing on the list? That's halfway across the country in Michigan. And for a whole week?"
Angela also frowned. "And there's nothing you can do to block such an obviously absurd request?"
"If I could, I would have already," Grey said, a note of frustration in his voice. "I don't know where Briggs dug it up, but apparently there's a decades-old LAPD-DPD mutual aid agreement—at least 20 years old and never rescinded."
He paused before adding heavily, "If you refuse the order without valid justification—and even with one—the union could accuse you of insubordination. Worst case, they strip you of your union rep title and even revoke your instructor qualifications."
Everyone fell silent, especially seeing the guilt on Grey's face for not being able to help.
This wasn't fatal, sure—but it was malicious. Detroit may be chaotic, but not a death sentence. Still, it was a clear case of pettiness—a union president throwing his weight around to humiliate a fellow cop.
"Well, what can I say?" John finally shrugged. "Guess I just unlocked a new achievement. I might not have had Jack's crazy, dangerous adventures, but maybe this'll be my turn for one."
His attempt to reassure everyone didn't quite land—most of them were still looking at him with worried eyes.
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