In the night breeze, Old Man George drove his patrol car slowly down the street. He cherished every moment of it—this was his last day on duty. After tonight, he would officially retire, leaving behind the police force he had served for over thirty years to begin the next chapter of his life.
He was full of emotion, uncertain how to describe the feeling in his heart. Reluctance, perhaps even regret. There were so many things he hadn't yet finished, but he had run out of time. Those tasks would now be left to the younger officers who came after him.
"Buddy, I'm gonna call you Dumb Dog from now on. How's that? Not a fan? I think it suits you just fine~~"
He murmured to himself, talking as if to the stray dog beside him—or perhaps to no one in particular.
His life had been nothing but work. He never married, never had children, and spent his days buried in the precinct. In his career, he had arrested countless criminals and solved an untold number of cases.
He started out as just another patrol officer. Purely by chance, he once stumbled upon a drug deal in progress and single-handedly took down three armed traffickers, seizing two kilos of heroin in the process. Overnight, he became a hero cop and was quickly promoted.
He joined the major crimes division, solving case after case and climbing the ranks. His partners came and went—most of them never made it. The unit handled the worst of the worst, and many of his fellow officers lost their lives. George always made it out alive. Some said he had luck, others whispered about a curse.
Each death broke his heart. Each time, a family was shattered—children left without a father, wives without husbands. And yet George, who had no one waiting for him at home, somehow always survived.
Eventually, no one wanted to partner with him. He started going on calls alone, and still came back victorious, unscathed. He became a legend in the department. His reputation spread beyond West Hollywood to the entire L.A. police community. But with the fame came the whispers—some began calling him the jinxed man, the cursed one. No matter how skilled he was, no one wanted to ride with him.
The only person who ever truly believed in him was Javier. Javier had been his commanding officer for years, and he championed George every step of the way. Back then, he wasn't "Old Man George." He was just George—a young, tenacious cop with something to prove.
With Javier's backing, George made chief of the major crimes division. And somehow, the curse broke. His subordinates stopped dying. In fact, they flourished under his leadership, solving cases left and right. For the first time, people stopped looking at him with suspicion and started treating him with true respect. But time didn't stop. George became Old Man George.
Now, as he sat in his patrol car, the memories of a lifetime in uniform played out in his mind. The precinct was his home, the department his family. And tomorrow, he would leave it all behind.
He pulled into the station's parking lot. Most of the vehicles were already there—he was one of the last to return. Looking around at the darkness surrounding the brightly lit building, he was overcome by a wave of emotion. He slowly removed his cap and carefully polished the badge on it.
It was all coming to an end.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the tears wouldn't stop. Choking back a sob, he reached for the radio one last time. The stray dog in the back seat seemed to sense his mood and nudged its nose gently against his shoulder.
George wiped his eyes and, in a low, gravelly voice, made the final radio call of his career: "Dispatch, this is officer 1-5-2. Badge number 5233. As of today, I've served 37 years and 3 weeks. It's been a long journey, and I want to thank you all for being there with me. Tonight is my last shift. After this, I'll be turning in the uniform. I've been honored to serve beside you. Good luck out there…"
He put down the radio, tears streaming freely now.
"Officer George, thank you for your years of service. We wish you a glorious retirement!!!"
The dispatcher's voice came through, steady but tinged with emotion.
Suddenly, floodlights flicked on from all directions. The high beams mounted on the precinct's walls bathed the entire parking lot in brilliant white.
Startled, the stray dog barked wildly in the back seat. George sat upright, confused, then looked out through the windshield—only to see a crowd of people standing right in front of his car. Applause began to rise.
Leading the group was Chief Javier, followed by George's old team from major crimes and his colleagues from patrol. Everyone was there.
George soothed the stray dog, then stepped out of the car, his heart pounding with emotion. Among the crowd were his fellow veterans—those who had come up through the force with him. Officers from other precincts had shown up too. Everyone was smiling, clapping. Faces appeared at the windows of the building as well—officers on duty who couldn't leave their posts, applauding from above.
The applause lasted half a minute. Then, as it faded, Chief Javier stepped forward and spoke solemnly: "Officer George, you have served with the West Hollywood Division for 37 years, 3 weeks, and one day. In that time, you were hospitalized 8 times, sustained 16 minor injuries, solved 152 cases, and took down 51 dangerous criminals. On behalf of the West Hollywood Division, I thank you for your dedication and sacrifice. You are the pride of this department. Every scar on your body is a badge of honor. The peace and safety of this community owe much to you. Tonight is your final shift, and we honor you. Congratulations on your retirement."
Thunderous applause erupted again. Javier personally pinned a custom-made medal to George's chest—a one-of-a-kind award created by the precinct to recognize his decades of service.
Camera flashes lit up the scene. Reporters from local outlets had been invited to capture the moment. George, once slightly hunched, now stood a little taller.
In the crowd, Owen and Carlos watched with teary eyes. They had been mentored by this man. For them, he was more than a boss—he was family. They were proud.
People surged forward to hug him and offer their congratulations. George's arms quickly filled with bouquets. The cameras snapped it all up.
"Congratulations, old man! You're the best!"
Finally, it was Owen's turn. He stepped up and gave George a bear hug. George was like a second father to him—their bond went far beyond duty.
"Steve, you little punk," George muttered near Owen's ear, laughing. "Don't forget, I let you off with a warning on my last day. You owe me a ticket."
Owen laughed heartily. "Alright, I'll trade that ticket for a few bottles of scotch. We'll drink tomorrow at your place."
"It's a deal."
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