Pedal Patrol

[Veronica]

Officer Hu was part of the Mutant Crimes Unit, a strange subdivision of the LAPD, an organization with a long history of bigotry against anything that wasn't pale and European looking, although woe to that individual if they didn't speak American English without an accent. Since Rodney King, things hadn't changed as much as anyone liked, but it was somewhat better. Most stations took racial sensitivity seriously now. After 20 years, you would hope so.

Veronica wasn't a student of history. She had been in the shittiest part of New York City's Chinatown when Rodney King happened, but she was aware of it's existence. These things came to be known. Veronica had learned that if you kept your mouth shut, nobody could find out what you knew. Being a Police Officer in Los Angeles was a strange thing. From block to block, neighborhood, reactions changed. There was one unifying theme: money. The less there was, the less the police were liked.

The police were not well regarded in Los Santos, which is why there were objections on safety grounds when Veronica Hu requested to patrol the area on bicycle. She'd pitched it on "community outreach" and some other bullshit buzzwords. Truth was, she mainly wanted to be out of the car. Veronica hated cars. Big, clumsy stupid hulks of metal complete with their own source of explosive. Powered by explosions, even. Sheesh.

Stern signed the paperwork, though. It only took the filament-haired head of the MCU a week, which was some kind of record. Stern really needed to delegate, Veronica figured.

Veronica was much happier to be out of the battleship-sized Charger patrol car. She knew how to use a bike. At this slower pace, she could really make the most of her abilities and her eyes.

For the first time ever, someone in the LAPD was going to patrol Los Santos on a bicycle. She pushed down on the pedal, and it felt like a bit of freedom.

[Veronica]

What the hell was some crazy police bitch doing on a pedal bike through Los Santos? Some shook their heads, worried. Some shook their heads, amused. Veronica could see the hard stares through the Aviators. She might be on a pedal bike, but the sun still glinted off her Beretta 92. If she had been allowed, Veronica would have put an AR-15 on a sling across her back, but Stern had vetoed that after a degree of hesitation. It would have undermined the image they wanted to project.

After 30 minutes in the sun, all seemed to be quiet. Sure, there were some sketchy games of dice, some mid-morning alchohol, but no real... crime. Veronica wasn't going to waste anyone's time for dime bags of pot. She turned onto Banyon Street and stopped in front of Redención House for a drink. She was less likely to be shot at here, she reasoned.