Midday — Mid-Wilshire Neighborhood
The Mexican food truck was small, painted a faded red, with a makeshift sign that read “Los Hermanos García.” The smell of meat sizzling on the griddle wafted through the block, mingling with the heat of the asphalt and the distant sound of traffic.
Angela Lopez leaned against the metal counter, sunglasses on her face, a can of soda in her hand.
Harry Potter stood beside her, watching the cook prepare the tacos with almost respectful attention.
“This place is dangerous,” Angela commented.
“If I come here every week, I’ll die happy… and full.”
“It’s worth it,” Harry replied.
“Some experiences justify the risk.”
She laughed.
“Funny to hear that from someone who’s faced things that would give half the department a heart attack.”
Harry shrugged.
“Bad tacos are a real threat.” They picked up their plates and stepped back a few paces, leaning against a makeshift high table.
The sun was beating down, but a partial shade helped.
Angela bit into her taco and closed her eyes.
“Okay,” she said.
“This should be a crime.”
Harry smiled discreetly.
“I agree.”
They ate in silence for a few seconds.
A comfortable silence, the kind that doesn’t need to be filled immediately.
Until Angela, as if deciding to cross an invisible line, wiped her fingers on her napkin and spoke:
“Can I ask you something… now without the radio, without the captain, without the FBI?”
Harry looked up at her.
“Sure.”
Angela took a deep breath.
“How did you win the Victoria Cross?”
The question didn’t come with morbid curiosity.
It came with respect.
Harry chewed slowly, finished swallowing, and placed his plate on the table.
“It was in 2010,” he began.
“A country in the Middle East.” Angela tilted her head slightly.
“Iraq?
Afghanistan?”
“Neither officially,” Harry replied.
“And both, in practice.”
She nodded, understanding the subtext.
“Joint mission?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“An operation that shouldn’t exist.”
The noise of the metal behind them seemed distant now.
“Our objective was to extract a high-value informant,” Harry continued.
“Someone who, if captured, would have triggered a series of coordinated attacks.
Civilians.
In several countries.”
Angela frowned.
“And it went wrong.”
“Horribly,” Harry confirmed.
He took a deep breath before continuing.
“We were compromised before the extraction,” he said.
“The team was surrounded.
Communications went down.”
Angela didn’t interrupt.
“There were wounded.
One of them…” he paused, “wouldn’t be able to move.”
Angela felt a tightness in her chest.
“You stayed,” she said.
“Yes,” Harry replied.
“Someone needed to hold the position long enough for the others to get out.”
“Alone?”
“Not at first,” he said.
“But in the end… yes.”
Angela rested her elbows on the table, completely focused now.
“What did you do?” she asked quietly.
Harry glanced at the street for a moment, as if seeing something else.
“I used everything I had,” he said.
“Training, improvisation, luck.
I kept the enemy occupied long enough for complete evacuation.”
“And survived,” Angela added.
Harry nodded.
“Bartingly.”
She was silent for a few seconds.
“That’s…” she searched for the word, “absurd.”
“No,” Harry replied.
“It was simply necessary.”
Angela exhaled slowly.
“And after that… the medal.”
“Yes,” Harry said.
“All Victoria Cross recipients receive the medal from the monarch.”
“In your case…” Angela said, “…from Queen Elizabeth II.”
Harry nodded.
“Buckingham Palace,” he said.
“Private ceremony.”
Angela smiled incredulously.
“I’m eating tacos standing up with someone who received a medal from the Queen of England.”
“She had an impressive presence,” Harry commented.
“Much more than she appeared.”
Angela laughed.
“I don’t believe it.”
Harry took his cell phone out of his pocket.
“Want to see?”
“You’re kidding me now.”
“No,” he replied.
He unlocked his phone, navigated through some protected folders, and turned the screen to her.
In the photo, a younger Harry, wearing formal attire.
In front of him, Queen Elizabeth II, a serious expression, handing him the medal.
In the background, flags, ceremonial guards.
Angela’s eyes widened.
“My… God.”
She brought her face closer to the screen.
“That’s really her.”
“Yes,” Harry said.
“And yes, she was smaller than she looks.”
Angela laughed, still shocked.
“And after that…” she continued, “you were knighted.”
“Yes,” Harry replied.
“Normally that happens some time later, but in my case it was almost immediate.”
“Because…” Angela made a sweeping gesture, “all of this.”
“Because the government needed to close a chapter,” Harry said.
She nodded slowly.
“And you…” she hesitated, “did you know the royal family before this?”
Harry made a slight grimace.
“Yes.”
“Of course I did,” Angela murmured.
“My family has long-standing ties to the monarchy,” Harry explained.
“Ceremonies, official events… I’d already worked in security on a few occasions.”
Angela rested her chin on her hand.
— So when you got there…
— They already knew who I was.
— Harry confirmed.
Angela let out a short, incredulous laugh.
— It just gets more absurd.
Harry shrugged.
— It becomes normal after a while.
She stared at him.
— You just said that with complete nonchalance.
— Because it’s just… part of life that’s behind me.
Angela pointed at him with her napkin.
— You’ve worked with the Queen, received a medal from her, been knighted… — she paused dramatically — and I bet you know someone famous.
Harry hesitated for a second.
— Depends on what you call famous.
Angela narrowed her eyes.
— Harry…
— I’m a friend of Prince William.
— he said.
Angela almost dropped her soda.
“You’re kidding.”
“No,” Harry replied calmly.
“Friend as in… hi, nice to meet you… or friend as in… shall we have a drink together?”
“Real friend,” Harry replied.
“We’ve known each other since we were young.”
Angela put her hand to her forehead.
“Of course,” she said.
“Of course.”
“I was at his wedding with Catherine Middleton,” Harry added.
“Personal guest.”
Angela was in absolute silence for a few seconds.
“I’m officially out of my depth here,” she said.
Harry laughed.
“I have been for a long time too.”
She took a deep breath, then smiled.
“You know what’s weirder?” she asked.
“What?”
“None of this changes the fact that you still prefer eating tacos in run-down food trucks.”
Harry took a bite of the last piece.
“Some things never change,” he said.
— And that’s a good thing.
Angela watched him for a longer moment, with something different in her gaze.
— Thank you for trusting me with this.
— she said.
Harry nodded.
— Trust is easier outside of closed rooms.
She smiled.
— I agree.
They paid and walked away from the trailer, heading back to the patrol car.
— You know… — Angela commented — if anyone calls you “Sir” today, I’ll laugh.
— Do it.
— Harry replied.
— I deserve it.
They got into the patrol car.
The radio crackled with a simple call.
Normal life.
And, as the car drove away, Harry realized something rare:
He no longer felt the weight of the medal.
Because there, at that moment, he was just a police officer having lunch with his partner.
And that… was still enough.
pat/SHADOWGHOST07
Full story over there