Sirens sound in the near distance. I know multiple agencies are responding. Coshocton County. Holmes County. I know they’re already setting up a perimeter on the little-used roads surrounding the facility. Searching the immediate area.

“You get a look at him?” Glock asks. All the while his eyes scan the interior of the building, the door, the open area at the rear.

I shake my head. “No.”

“Vehicle?”

Another shake.

“How many shots?”

“Three.”

Shouts sound at the front of the building. “Sheriff’s department! Sheriff’s department!”

“Clear!” Glock calls out. “Painters Mill PD! Over here.”

I glance over to see two uniformed Coshocton county deputies enter, eyes sweeping, sidearms drawn. One carries a shotgun.

“You think Kester is stupid enough to pull something like this?” Glock asks.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” I hold his gaze. “He was pretty pissed last time I talked to him.”

His jaw clenches. “You sure you don’t need to get yourself checked out?” He motions toward the busted rail. “That’s a five-foot fall.”

I don’t like the way he’s looking at me. Like he’s worried and pissed off and once I’m out of the picture he might cut loose with something unbecoming a cop.

“I don’t want you talking to Kester when you’re half-cocked,” I tell him.

“Chief, if that motherfucker’s taking potshots at cops, someone needs to shut him down.”

“Find out where he’s living,” I say. “Get a search warrant and pick him up.”

The sound of voices from the front of the building draws my attention. Deputy Fowler “Folly” Hodges and a second deputy I don’t recognize come through the door.

“I’m probably going to be tied up here for a while,” I tell Glock. “If the judge gives you any shit, tell him to call me. Take Skid with you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Giving me a mock salute, he turns to leave.

“Glock.”

He stops and turns.

“And if it’s not too much trouble, be careful.”

*   *   *

For the next three hours, I put my best cop face forward, going over every aspect of the incident with Coshocton County Sheriff Arnie Redmon, while Deputy Fowler writes down every word. I yuk it up with the twenty-something paramedic who checks my vitals and my pupils and proclaims I have a few more years to live.