Police in America

By the fourth day, everyone's mood had become increasingly tense. Even the usually composed Hotchner and Rossi looked visibly strained.

Everyone knew the killers couldn't stay hidden much longer, but as long as they remained at large, the threat of more gruesome murders on the streets loomed over the city. This palpable sense of urgency and frustration gnawed at every police officer's nerves.

It wasn't just the BAU or Boyte and his intelligence team feeling the pressure. The patrol officers from the 21st District were also on edge. When they went out on patrol, their eyes were bloodshot, and everyone they saw looked like a suspect.

This kind of tension was dangerous. Everyone knew it, and it kept their nerves taut. It was the kind of situation where a slight misstep could lead to a shooting incident—what this country often refers to as "excessive force."

Jack and Reid were still buried in the case files, going over them repeatedly, trying to find any overlooked clues. But it felt like there was an invisible barrier, blocking that flash of inspiration from coming through.

Emily joked that her legs were getting skinny from all the walking, but Jack and Reid just scoffed at her. She and JJ were the kind of women who could spend an entire day shopping on Rodeo Drive in Los Angeles—a terrifying experience even Garcia shuddered to recall.

By the afternoon, it was clear that yet another day was slipping away without progress. Jack glanced around, hoping to find someone who could tell him where the gym in the 21st District was. He was thinking of finding a treadmill to clear his head.

Suddenly, Hotchner burst through the door, holding his phone.

"Garcia found a post on a local online community. Someone is inciting people to gather near Hyde Park at 9 PM tonight to loot stores and burn cars."

"The post has already garnered thousands of views, with many teenagers replying to it. It's currently graduation season for the local high schools, and we all know what that means."

Reid was taken aback. "Hyde Park isn't within the killers' usual hunting grounds. It's far from the new development."

Rossi was also puzzled. "This doesn't seem like their style. The killers derive pleasure from the violence within their group. A public riot like this doesn't serve their purpose."

"It does have meaning," Jack thought out loud, "Think about JJ's media strategy over the past few days."

"Recently, the media coverage of their crimes has been lukewarm—no headlines, no in-depth follow-ups. It's like scratching an itch through a shoe."

Jack took a few seconds to translate the idiom "scratching an itch through a shoe."

"If the riot happens tonight, the area will be swarming with reporters and TV stations. This isn't Los Angeles; we can't suppress all the Chicago media. Imagine the killers' reaction when they see tomorrow's headlines."

"They might not be involved in the riot, but they'll definitely be provoked. Another more brutal crime could be right around the corner."

"We need to catch them before they strike again," Hotchner said, his brow furrowed so deeply that it could crush a fly.

"So we know when it will happen and the general area, but we still can't find where the killers are hiding?" Emily asked, frustrated.

"Forget that for now. Send this information to Detective Boyte, and let's head out immediately," Hotchner ordered decisively.

——

When the BAU team arrived at the scene, the riot was already underway. It was the first time Jack had witnessed a scene like this—a "zero-dollar purchase" event, as some might call it.

The scene wasn't grand, just four to five hundred teenagers, with a few in their twenties mixed in.

But they were clearly prepared, equipped with umbrellas, motorcycle helmets, protective gear, and even makeshift "shields" made from trash can lids.

The street was in chaos. Some shop windows had been shattered, cars and cardboard boxes were set ablaze, and broken glass bottles littered the ground. Opposite them, Chicago police officers were fully armed, holding riot shields and blocking both ends of the street.

As soon as Jack got out of the car, he saw Detective Boyte, wearing a bulletproof vest with his hands tucked inside, standing with a mocking expression as he watched the crowd in the middle of the street.

"What's the situation?" Hotchner asked as he followed Jack out of the car.

"As you can see, the on-site commander has already called for reinforcements. Now we're just waiting for the water cannon trucks and mounted police to arrive," Boyte replied calmly before asking about their case.

"Are you sure the killers aren't among this bunch?"

Before Rossi or Hotchner could respond, Emily jumped in. "Almost certainly not."

"Our suspects specialize in small-scale crimes. They're older, able to quickly and effectively control their victims, and prefer hands-on violence."

"This is a completely different kind of violence."

"Exactly. Look at these poor kids. If those damn killers were among them, then what have we been doing these past few days?"

Boyte hadn't finished speaking when the blaring sound of a loudspeaker filled the air. A water cannon truck slowly rolled in, followed by a squad of mounted police.

Jack had never learned to ride a horse. The last time he was in Texas, he bought a cowboy hat but never had the chance to use it. He was too busy at the time to even think about it.

But now, he gazed longingly at the mounted police, not for any practical reason, but simply because they looked so cool. Dressed in "heavy armor," wielding long batons, they advanced slowly and steadily like ancient cavalry.

The officers were fully decked out in riot gear, and even the horses were fully equipped. These tall horses, all over 1.6 meters at the shoulder, had custom-made protective gear.

Not only were their vulnerable legs protected, but even their eyes were covered with special leather guards to prevent them from being spooked by the flames.

The Chicago police had plenty of experience dealing with street riots. As the officers blocking the street parted to create an opening, the water cannon truck moved forward and unleashed its power.

Umbrellas and makeshift "shields" made from trash can lids were no match for the high-pressure water cannon. Accompanied by the continuous loop of warnings from the loudspeaker, the front line of rioters was quickly scattered.

As the water cannon's spray extended toward the rear of the crowd, the mounted police led the charge, followed by officers with riot shields, advancing step by step toward the center of the street.

Jack felt like something was missing from the scene. Then it hit him—this would be perfect with the rhythmic chants from a Maori haka dance. 

Just as he was eagerly anticipating the next exciting moment, his phone inconveniently started vibrating.

________________________

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