by Justin Bell
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Gary Irizarry's eyes clouded with rage, a feeling somewhat alien to him. The large and imposing man looked like a brutish linebacker. He was actually a calculating tactician who had helped develop assault plans for the NYPD ESU Team for fifteen years. Irizarry took great pride in what he had done with ESU in New York City, and the barriers he had broken down due to his race had paved the way for many to come in behind him. Feeling like he had to put in two-hundred percent of the effort to get the same result as white officers of lesser skills had formed a chip on his shoulder, and he worked hard to maintain his own expectations. Strickland had made them look like rank amateurs. That would not happen again. Not on his watch.
Instead of going back to the motel, Irizarry went straight to the local YMCA, currently making use of the free weights and punching bag, hoping to focus some of this anger on something constructive. Typically, that constructive element would be operational planning or tactical maneuvers, but today he needed to sweat. He was also somewhat concerned about his team. The men had come face-to-face with that monster Strickland. Thankfully, most of the injuries had been minor, but Kolb had three broken ribs, and Hartline, a fractured jaw. They would both be out of service for a long time. His brow furrowed and he acknowledged two more reasons to get some payback on this Strickland guy. He suspected he would get his chance soon.