It's too early for this (Elliot)

As groggy as he felt, as cold as the bathroom floor stung his bare feet, Elliot could not get himself to admit, even secretly, that he hated the early morning shifts. Of course they were awful, it was still dark outside when he woke at 4:30 in the morning, and he was forced to be extra quiet as he went about his morning routine (to wake his wife would be an absolute sin). But needs must, and so he met them.

Being a deputy chief brought the needs, and it also brought perks. Instead of a squad car, he had finally gained enough pull to take a personal vehicle on his morning commute—a flip-open wallet with a badge tucked carefully into the glove compartment, and his concealed-carry handgun in the console, just in case. He hadn't had to use them for any real criminal pursuits, but it was better safe than sorry. Too many cops learned that the hard way. This morning, the commute took him through the bad end of town, no thanks to a pile-up accident on the other route. At least there was little traffic this morning, especially this early. Elliot sighed as he switched the radio reception to an FM station. The scanners were quiet. Too quiet. Something was probably jamming it, but he couldn't do anything about it in his car. Not my fucking job.

It was his fucking job, however, to protect and serve. Elliot had lowered the driver's and passenger's windows the slightest bit, and as he pulled up to yet another red light, the hair bristled on the back of his neck as a man's voice cracked through the air. And a dog barking. That was even worse. Given the part of town he was in, the officer wasn't about to ignore it. He found the nearest sidewalk to park alongside, grabbed his badge and pistol, scrambled out of the car and followed the yelling on foot. He took off down the sidewalk at a light jog, holding the pistol in both hands, pointed at the ground, safety off.

He had only just rounded the next street corner when he saw the dog, barking like crazy into the alley where the skirmish must be going on. Elliot went faster, then halted to a stop some five yards from the dog. He was crazy getting so close to an angry animal he knew nothing about. Chalk one up to the adrenaline rush. But the dog did not approach him. Instead, it stood its ground outside the alley, turned in the officer's direction and stopped barking, just for a moment before backing up. That was highly unusual, but promising and Elliot snapped around the corner of the alley, pistol at the ready. What he found there set him on high alert.

"Chicago Police!" he yelled, and almost immediately the assailant froze like the fear of God had struck him. "Drop the knife and back the fuck off! Hands behind your head!"

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Hell. No.

Not only did Elliot hate getting sidetracked with petty criminal offenses like muggings, a knife against the throat meant this had turned into a fucking hostage situation! The guilty in question was ballsy, that was for sure. The officer opened his mouth to say something, to try and deescalate the tension in the atmosphere, but he was cut short...

...by the dog. The German shepherd lunged and Elliot had half a notion to fire a warning shot into the air. Fuck, his walkie... He patted the small of his back, around his belt, for the damn walkie talkie. Cuffs, holster... no walkie. Still in the car? You stupid piece of shit! He was going to lose his job over a purse-snatcher, he just knew it. Elliot would never admit it aloud, but he had an awfully sharp trigger finger for getting right into the action of the job. It beat shuffling witness accounts and boring interrogations of practically teenagers caught spraying graffiti. He could fire a warning shot to some kind of advantage, seeing as he was in a bad part of town, but by the time someone heard the shot and the team had been dispatched it might be too late for anything useful to be done.

As soon as the dog latched on to the guy's leg, Elliot's jaw dropped. That dog did not have normal house training, obviously. A curse, or a blessing? Physically harming a criminal was an inexcusable offense (though Elliot may have given out a few bruises or cracked ribs in his time). Thank god the dog was doing it for him. A blessing. But animal bites could require emergency medical attention. A curse. Oh, this was getting to be just a perfect storm.

How long had he even been standing there, at the front of the alley? Couldn't have been more than five minutes. The mugger yowled and curled himself into a ball to proverbially lick his wounds, but Elliot never took any inkling of focus off the girl and her dog. He made haste for the perpetrator, pistol in the bent-elbow sky-pointed warning shot position. His voice was sharp and authoritative as he gave orders.

"I said, drop the fucking knife. You are under arrest. Hands behind your back. Now."

The injured man obeyed. He was swiftly cuffed (thankfully they hadn't been left behind) and given his Mirandas. Elliot holstered the nine-mil and pulled the man to his feet, where the guilty party now stood with a limp.

"Stay here," Elliot gave the young woman a pointed look. Something told him she wasn't likely to disobey.

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