Heroes and Men in the City of Angels

“Pop quiz hot shot!”

“Don’t got time for this, Travers.”

Detective Travers laughed, a very inappropriate time for laughter. Sweat dripped down Paul Harmon’s face. The timer on the explosive device continued to count down. Paul needed to concentrate, but for the life of him, Travers decided it was time to be that asshole.

“There is a bomb in a skyscraper. The scumbag has told you that if one person leaves, he blows the entire building. It is also the building in which Detective Harmon’s sister works in. What do you do? What do you do?”

“Shit, Dave, I disarm the fucking bomb,” he blew out a breath to clear out the drop of sweat on the tip of his nose, “I got five minutes and thirty seconds to finish this. Do you mind?”

Travers stood up straight, and put his hands on his hips. “I do mind, Detective. Your mind needs to be loose, and what better way to do that than to talk about the greatest member of the LAPD, Jack Traven.”

Travers loved that movie. He saw himself as cool as Keanu Reeves was in that movie. Unfortunately, he ate one too many bear claws, and rocked a comb over that rivaled Roy Munson. His looks were closer to Harrelson’s than Reeves as well. As his best friend, Paul would never say this to Travers. “Sure, well, what would Jack do in this situation?”

Travers scratched his chin. “Probably shoot me.” He started laughing again.

Okay, brown wire. Cut, exhale. Still alive. Paul squeezed his hand into a fist to get the shake out of it. “And after that?”

“Well I don’t know. Of course he is going to get the scumbag. And probably get the girl too. Man, don’t you think Elle is a spitting image of Bullock?”

The front desk Sergeant certainly looked a little like Bullock, but with larger tits. Personality wise, not even close. Elle Griegerson had a sultry voice, and you couldn’t be sure if she was flirting with you or not. Paul was certain that Sandra’s Annie wouldn’t be fucking the Captain to get desk duty. “She is definitely a wildcat.”

Travers’s grin got wide. “Wildcat indeed. Say, how is that bomb coming?”

The bomb had five minutes and five seconds left. “Its ticking.”

Travers’s laughed again, “That good. You gotta worry when it stops ticking.”

Another brown wire. This one heading to a D battery. Paul stripped a bit of the wire, and felt the charge running through it. Can’t cut that one just yet. There were five more wires that all looked like they went to the pile of charges affixed to the pillars in the sub basement. Unfortunately, one of them was cased in hard plastic, and contained at least twenty smaller wires. “You are right, Dave. You are always right.”

Only a few short weeks ago, Travers was universally considered to be amongst the LAPD’s finest bomb disposal guys. Paul put that in his mind as Travers prattled on. “I know. That's why you let me pick the movies.” Travers remained quiet for a moment, letting the heartbeat of ticks to ring in his ears.

“You still alive up there?”

“Yeah, Paul, I am. I was wondering.”

“On which wire I should cut next?”

“No, on is Traven really Reeves best cop role? Maybe its Johnny Utah?”

Travers always pulled this shit. He would dangle an alternative to the Truth Known To Dave, and when you bit, would slam you and make you look like an asshole for ever thinking it, even though he asked the question himself not five minutes before. “Its not Utah. The scumbag level isn’t the same. No way a bunch of stoned out surfer bums compare with the mad ex-cop bomber.”

“You're right Paul. Its a lot more realistic.” The pause after could have drawn child support, cut short by a snip. Yellow wire.

Four minutes, thirty two seconds.

“You remember that big shootout a few months back?”

Kind of a loaded question. Of course he remembered. The entire department, whether they were there or not, remembered the North Hollywood Bank of America. “Yeah, why do you ask?”

“You ever think about leaving the force after that?”

“Why?”

“I did. I’d always figured we were the good guys, the heroes, and by the end of the day, the good guys were gonna win. It was the rules Paul. LA has always been that City of Angels, and I know that sometimes we had to do what needed to be done. But I never thought that the bad guys would over power us. That doesn’t happen to heroes.”

Paul split open the hard plastic wire, to find a bunch of green wires with some red mixed in. “But those assholes died. We got em.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t the same after that. The scumbags started to escalate after that. The guns got bigger, the crimes got wilder, and stakes got higher. Why do you think that we are in this basement?”

Paul shifted on the ground, getting a little more comfortable. “Because I was the asshole who picked up the phone and answered the call.”

Travers chuckled. “Nah, you didn’t have to. You needed to be the hero. You needed to get out there and get the bad guys. You couldn’t let them win.”

Paul crinkled his brow. “Wait a sec. I’m not fucking Vincent Hanna. Do you never stop thinking about movies?”

“Now there were some real scumbags. Really, the finest cops and robbers movie ever.”

Paul pulled out two blue wires and clipped them. No boom. Three minutes and three seconds. Travers wasn’t wrong. Heat was amazing. “Well if it had been us at Bank of America, there would have just been two rounds fired, two head shots for the bad guys.”

Travers didn’t laugh at that one. “You never had that good of aim.”

“I guess not. Should have spent more time at the range.”

“Kind of late now. And that does nothing for stopping a bomb.”

Paul chuckled at that one. “I guess not. Not everyone can be the best cop like you.”

Travers knelt down, “Best cop? C'mon, if you are going to quote a movie, do it right. You’re the best cop now!”

Paul opened his mouth to correct him, but stopped. Travers was right. They had watched Striking Distance with a VHS not two months ago at Travers’s house. His wife Debbie made a great meatloaf that night. She had such a big smile on her face all night. He didn’t know it until a couple weeks ago that she had that look every night when Dave got home safely.

“I guess Dave. I gotta focus on what I’m doing. This building is gonna explode, killing us and a thousand others, including my sister Susie. I’m not going to fail her.”

“You’re right Paul. Having any luck with the bomb?”

“Yeah, it hasn’t gone off yet,” Damn, that one was too obvious. But Travers let him get away with it, taking one of his lines.

Two minutes and fifteen seconds.

Two more wires clipped, a green one and a blue one. The clock still ticked, which was a good thing. To be honest, at this moment, his life wasn’t that far off from Jack Traven’s. It wasn’t a coincidence that this bomb was here.

Jimenez called him as he was just outside the building, going to visit his sister for lunch. The scumbag told him what today’s game was going to be, and what the stakes were. It took all of ten minutes for the perimeter to be set up, and the building sealed. The search, another fifteen minutes ended quickly after Jimenez talked about friends in low places. That led to Paul on his back, sweating it out underneath this bomb.

As to how that bastard got his phone, he didn’t know. Paul and Travers had been chasing this scumbag for over a year. From a small bomb in a post office, to a bomb on a subway train that ended in a hostage situation, Paul felt they were getting close. It hadn’t been personal until the last time, when Paul actually saw and shot Jimenez. Unfortunately, his hostage died in that same shooting.

“Big plans for the afternoon, Paul?”

“I don’t know Dave. I’m probably going to take Susie to Saugus. Or I might just go home. Kind of stressful day so far. You?”

“Oh, I’m going to watch Speed again. See if I missed anything.”

Paul shook his head. “Missed anything?”

Travers scratched his cheek. “Yeah, missed anything. Its pretty obvious that this Jimenez guy is a fan of the movie. There might be something there that will allow you to catch him.”

“That's ridiculous Dave. This asshole hasn’t put up anything resembling a ransom demand, ever. In fact, this most recent one is the only time we ever got communication from this prick.”

“Yeah, and just like in the movie, the bomber is pissed at the cop for thwarting his big plans. Yeah, yeah he isn’t after money, but he’s got a beef. And nine times out of ten, you got a bomb, you got a message.”

One minute. Thirty seconds.

“Doesn’t really help me now.”

“I know. You regret what happened on that platform?”

Paul held his breath for a moment. “Why do you ask about this now?”

Travers looked concerned for the first time since Paul got down to the basement. “Because you could have stopped him then if you aimed better.”

“I aimed well. I aimed center mass, just like we are trained. It isn’t my fault that he spun around just before I pulled the trigger and put my dumb-ass partner in front of the bullet.”

Travers’s breathing answered Paul back. There were three possible wires left, red, blue and black. One was a decoy, one was the last one to disarm, and the other would set the bomb off. Just what he needed right now. Trying the first one, the red one, the snip of the wire cutters echoed in the room.

“Was that the right call?”

“The wire or the shot?”

“The shot. The bomb didn’t go off, so the wire wasn’t a bad call.”

Fifty three seconds.

“Are you mad at me?” asked Paul.

“For what, shooting me?”

Paul smiled. “Yes, for pulling the trigger, trying to be that hero.”

Travers thought for a moment. “No. Not really. You know, if our positions were reversed, I would have just shot Jimenez.”

Paul smiled. “And I would have worn my vest.”

Travers belly laughed. “Now its my fault.”

Paul shook his head, “Nope, I pulled the trigger.” Paul inhaled. “Perfect aim in the movies, don’t they?”

“Yes they do. And never run out of ammo. I should be pissed. I’ll never got to throw some euro-trash scumbag off a downtown building now.”

“You always wanted to do that. I’m sorry.”

Thirty five seconds.

“Not your finest moment Paul. Debbie cried. But I think a small part of her was relieved.”

“Relieved? You mean that?”

“I do. She no longer had to worry. Now its your turn.”

Paul snorted. Twenty six seconds. “What?”

“You don’t have to worry anymore. Just be a cop. Not a hero. There’s no chance of that now. Heroes in the movies don’t kill their partners and let the bad guy get away. You aren’t even supposed to be here right now. You are suspended.”

“Doesn’t that make me heroic? Putting my life on the line?”

“Yes, but you aren’t the hero. Onscreen the heroes kill the bad guys, get the girl, and live happily ever after. Here, they just die. Those left behind aren’t heroes. Just people. Sometimes they are heroic.”

Fifteen seconds.

“Is that what this movie talk has been all about? Trying to show how much I don’t measure up to the badge in Hollywood. Shit, I know that.”

“No. I just figured our last conversation should be about those movies we love. We should strive to be like those guys, even though we won’t get there,” Travers swallowed, “You never could keep a steady hand, so I needed to distract you. You better clip that last wire.”

Snip. Paul cut the black wire. No boom. Zero zero seven seconds. He exhaled.

“So what was the point?”

“You never would have gotten through this without me. Just because I’m dead doesn’t me we aren’t partners.”

“Really?”

Travers stood up. “Yeah. You don’t get to be rid of me that easily. I suppose some shrink is gonna say that you are seeing me because you feel guilty over killing me. And you should, you bastard. I’m gonna miss the premier of L.A. Confidential. I really wanted to see that movie.”

Paul pulled himself up. “I’ll try not to spoil it for you.”

Travers extended his hand, grin on his face. “Pop quiz, hot shot.”