“No, sir, you’re not. You have a scalp wound with an open flap, and a concussion. My guess, you’re looking at ten or twelve stitches here. We’re bringing you in.”

“I’m fine.”

Smith tried to push her away again, but abruptly threw up. He settled down after that and closed his eyes. Pike watched the paramedics work as he waited for the officers to arrive. He was in it now, so he had to stay. There was nothing else to do.

The first responding officers showed up within minutes. The lead officer was a middle-aged Latina with calm eyes and P-3 stripes who introduced herself as Officer Hydeck, the Anglo name probably coming from a marriage. Her partner was a big, tough-looking rookie named Paul McIntosh who stood with his thumbs hooked in his Sam Browne like he wanted something to happen.

Hydeck spoke quietly with Stiles for a few minutes, asked both the victim and the suspect how they were doing, then came over to Pike.

“You the one called it in?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The emergency services operator would have relayed the information Pike provided.

“Uh-huh. And your name would be?”

“Pike.”

The banger, who was being fitted with an air splint, said, “Dude broke my arm, yo? I want him arrested. I wanna press charges.”

Hydeck asked for their identification. Pike handed over his driver’s license, which McIntosh copied onto a Field Interview card along with Pike’s phone number. The suspect had none. Pike wasn’t surprised. Ninety-five percent of the people he had arrested while a police officer did not have a valid DL. The suspect identified himself as Reuben Mendoza, and claimed he had never been arrested.

Mc Intosh towered over him.

“You ganged up?”

“No way, bro. I roll clean.”

McIntosh pointed at the initials on his neck. VT, which Pike, the paramedics, and the officers all knew meant Venice Trece—Venice Thirteen, a Latin gang.

“That why you’re inked Venice Thirteen?”

“Them’s my initials.”

Hydeck said, “How you get VT out of Reuben Mendoza?”

“That’s how you spell it in European.”

Pike told them what he knew to be true, in short, declarative sentences just as he had been taught when he was a boot patrol officer, and gave Hydeck the pistol he had taken from Mendoza.

“Had this in his pocket.”

Mendoza said, “That ain’t mine, man, don’t put that on me. I never seen that gun before.”

“Was he hitting Mr. Smith with it?”

“Not that I saw. It was in his pocket.”

Mendoza said, “I’m gonna sue you, bro, way you attacked me. He did something to my neck like Mr. Spock, yo? Gonna get pain and suffering.”

McIntosh told him to shut up, then turned back to Pike.

“What about the other one? He have a gun?”