They enjoy an odd but mostly not hostile relationship with cops and firefighters, who tolerate their presence as long as they don't interfere.
Without commenting directly on the Raishbrooks, Brian Humphrey, a longtime spokesman for the Los Angeles Fire Department, said freelance cameramen are a mixed bag. They help the department tell its story but also often "push the envelope to get the best shot."
Most troubling, Humphrey said, are the speeds they reach racing to scenes and their deliberate efforts to look like cops in their Crown Vics, the vehicle of choice for plainclothes officers.
The Raishbrooks profess not to spend much time deliberating over the moral qualms that could arise with the job. They say they live by a simple code that keeps their consciences clear: Help first if you can, shoot second. Early on, after arriving at a few scenes before paramedics, they went so far as to take an emergency-oriented first aid course.
People do accuse them of being crass voyeurs or profiteers trading on other people's misery, they said. They're used to brushing the jabs aside.
"I guess I'm of the mentality that everyone wants to see the same things I do," Austin said. "People want to see it, so we shoot it. If we didn't shoot this stuff, it would still happen."
It's not all excitement and big payoffs.
There is plenty of mind-numbing down time, waiting for something to happen. And sibling jealousy eats at one when the other gets to go to a major blaze or shootout. But for people as addicted to the chase as the Raishbrook brothers, the worst seems to be the gnawing, incessant stress that comes with knowing you could always miss the big one.
The scanners, which troll through hundreds of frequencies used by dozens of agencies, spew out a constant stream of possibilities. Many that sound promising end up duds, and vice versa.
The brothers rarely have a clear sense of what is going on at a scene when first word comes over the radio. Their nights are full of high-pressure, split-second decisions. Howard recently picked up a call about police officers following a suspicious car. Thinking it could turn into a full-blown police chase, he headed for it. When another call came about an overturned SUV in the opposite direction, he fretted over what to do for a few blocks, then pulled a hasty U-turn. His regret was palpable when the accident turned out to be minor and a chase ensued across town.
He and his brother would stay out all night if they could.
"I'm like a gambler who can't get up from the table and walk away," Austin said. "I hate calling it a night. If I go in now, I could miss the best pursuit in the world or miss the chance to be in a gang shootout. If I go in, I could miss the greatest night of my life."
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joel.rubin@latimes.com
