Thirty days passed since international crime lord Alex Montel unleashed his monetary venom on the earthquake prone streets of Los Angeles. Funerals for excellent police officers were held. Tears were shed. Lives were destroyed and completely transformed all in the span of a couple of days, and all for the sake of tainted dollars.

Those so prominently affected by the tragedies and chaos of that day were the members of Sergeant "Hondo" Harrison's S.W.A.T. unit. Two of his best were scarred for life, but one committed suicide for no apparent reason. Hondo pondered that the entire week following the Montel Fiasco, as the newspapers have labeled the day.

Hondo sat in civilian attire behind his precinct desk on his rare Sunday off. Captain Thomas Fuller, also in street clothes, darted in carrying a thick case file.

"Good morning, Captain. You're siphoning my tee time on this beautiful afternoon." Hondo harshly greeted him.

"It's my tee time as well," Fuller displayed the file as if it was the Liberty Torch. "It's important for you to read this A.S.A.P. Everything they investigated stays confidential, understand?"

Once Fuller rapidly departed, Hondo read the back story of Thomas James McCabe, who ended his own life, He was in gambling debt for two hundred thousand American dollars. Football, hockey, baseball, the horses, even jai alai were among the many sports that he lost bets on. It was no small wonder that even after Gamble divided up that one hundred million bounty, T.J. would break even and have enough left to high tail it overseas.

Hondo exhaled and slumped back into his swivel chair. The piteous expression on his rugged face would coerce anyone walking by to ask what was wrong. Fuller was right. No one should know why. The positive spin of T.J. getting killed in the line of duty made it to media and satisfied the brass.

It mattered excessively to Hondo. T.J. risked civilian and officer lives to attain his own safety. T.J. was a bad seed in a S.W.A.T. team that was not supposed to err. Now he was a ghost. Hondo saw enough ghosts since he was a rookie. At this moment he felt obligated to never make the same misjudgment again. He fervently searched his desktop.

"Where's the damn file for that veggie-dog-wheat-bread- eating-Dudley-do-right?" he muttered, and finally found it. "Officer David Burns, we're going to have another chat."

Officer Michael Boxer laid in L.A. County Medical in his final recovery day from his gunshot neck wound. The early diagnosis was no nerve damage and the chance to return to active duty. While he was cheerful during each family visit, he was secretly devastated how he was helpless to defend the city with his team, because of a meaningless injury. Boxer remained strong for them.

Today he tried to consume a white bread cheese sandwich and milk. His wife's cooking was bad but preferable to the flavorless mush of the long stay. Suddenly, his baby sister Lara Boxer peeked through the door, holding up a Burger King pouch.

"Hey, big brother," the slender brunette cheerfully greeted him.

"Hi, Lara. Did you bring me food with actual flavor?" he asked, and discarded the white bread and one cheese slice.

"Oh, knock it off. You incessantly bitch about the hospital food, so I cleared this with your doctor. It's a one time thing, though, so savor it." Lara couldn't help but giggle at his anxious reaction as she handed it over.

Boxer removed the Whopper and took a hearty bite. The look of ecstasy on his face would scare most children. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. How are you feeling?"

"I'm addicted to the morphine."

"No you're not."

"We'll see." Boxer dipped greasy, salty fries into ketchup, "Have you and Jim spoken lately?'

"We're talking as friends." Lara rolled her eyes. "Same question every visit, what's your deal?"

"Okay, yes, I freely admit I hated the idea of you and Jim together." He napkin-cleaned the extra ketchup off his mouth. "But he's still a good man and my friend, and I've seen the jerks you dated since your split.

"It's been one man from just one, sole date," she said with a smile. "I'm flattered how you're protective, Mike, but I've been a grown-ass woman for years. Focus that energy more on my sister-in-law and my niece and nephew."

Lara was a virtuous, charitable young woman, and his only sibling. She worked with mentally impaired children and was useful to society. It was one of the reasons Boxer cared as much as he does, but she was correct. The words that Lara spoke were more inspirational than he had ever expected, r. He stared at the partially eaten sandwich for a moment and then grinned at her.

"Look's like the shoe is on the other foot. You protecting me?" he declared.

"Who would've thought." She playfully tousled his hair.

Simple strolls on the beach don't happen everyday for Officer Jim Street. Usually it was a morning run with his dog, Arnie. On a beautiful afternoon such as this one, it helped to have human company. Officer Christina Sanchez provided that company. Every day since McCabe's funeral, Hondo's team cleaned up the Montel mess. Every day Jim and Chris worked together, hoping for this third chance after her daughter's birthday party was interrupted.

The sun shone steadily on Redondo Beach. Jim and Chris, clad in shorts and t-shirts, agreed to meet at the beach. The conversation had not immediately begun. They were neither uneasy, nor inhibited, nor tongue-tied. For these two young police officers, their topics varied so much that they had to pinpoint where to start. The stroll went on for a few more minutes before Chris flashed a smile that Jim had not been blessed to witness since the night their team hung out at Deke's restaurant.

"You're the palest Caucasian," she joked.

"Irishmen aren't known for deep tans, Chris. "He laughed while staring at his forearms.

"Irish? 'Street' is an Irish surname?" She was genuinely interested.

"My surname is O'Street, if you can believe that," Jim answered. "My dad isn't too thrilled I drop the 'o.'"

"What do your folks think about your career?" Chris asked.

"Dad's a retired officer of thirty-five years. Mom's sensitive since I chose his ex-profession. They bring to my attention every Thanksgiving that I'm their only child." Jim halted their stroll, facing her. "Mom is a strong woman and she makes a damn fine corned beef and cabbage!"

Chris had no clue as to why that comment was funny but laughed out loud. The young woman sensed that he was pleasant company since the day he joined her for a drink after training. She never expected to feel so at ease. After a bout of laughter, she took on a more serious tone. "I'm sure you're worried as much as she is."

"It can be scary, but police work is exactly what I want to do," he declared. "And how about you? How did you get here?"

She'd always been picky about telling anyone her personal business, but she felt so right with Street that her privacy was not pertinent at the moment. "We should sit."

They both sat on a towel that they carried along. She sat with her legs crossed facing him, and he faced her. Her mouth opened but for a few seconds, words never came out. "I was a sixteen year old dating a handsome, charming twenty five-year old. Not long into our relationship, he got me pregnant and he left me. When told my mom that she was going to be a grandmother, she had him arrested. Turns out that he had an uncle who worked for the force, so he was never charged. So I had Eliza, but stayed in school, studied, worked plenty of odd jobs here and there to feed her and and keep her in warm clothes. I finally realized what I needed to do, but my motivation was the whole shit that went down with Carlos. I wanted to bring justice to the force. Does that sound corny?"

"Of course not," Jim was attentively listening.

"I signed on to the Academy, and never looked back. I'm a better woman and a better mother since."

Jim smiled widely. "I have no doubt that she's proud of you. And for what it's worth, I'm proud of you."

Having just received this unprovoked, unsolicited compliment from Jim, for the first time in her life, she felt shy. But her mood suddenly shifted due to an unpleasant memory. "But I was shot on my first day, Street. I got fucking careless and Eliza almost lost me. Where would that pride have been focused then?"

"You're too hard on yourself. You had your vest on, which isn't careless. You did your job as the rest of us were doing on that horrible day." Jim said with steadfastness, and leaned towards her.

Chris couldn't find any more words. At first Jim seemed like a cute little thug who she could flirt with, maybe even screw around with. But then she sensed more, which is why she invited him to her only child's birthday party. It turns out he was deferential, harmless and intelligent.

In an out of character move, Chris leaned forward and gently kissed his lips. It was brief and pleasurable for both of them. Chris could not even remember the last guy she kissed, especially as spontaneously as she did for him. Jim had not kissed anyone since Lara. The difference between this kiss and his last was that Chris was someone who relates.

"Nice," Jim exclaimed.

"Is that the best adjective you could think of?" she retorted.

"I can download a thesaurus app," he answered.

"You dumbass." She said with a smile.

They both stood up and embraced to kiss longer, deeper, more sensually. Jim and Chris released all those months of tension into this current moment. The seagulls cried, and the ocean crashed into the beach with fervor, and as far as they were concerned, the only two on the sunny, breezy beach were James Street and Christina Sanchez.

To be continued