"A judge," he repeated. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to correct you. But the Bible is a hobby of mine. A passion, really, since I was in a Catholic boarding school. I'm particularly fond of the Old Testament. Are you familiar with the judges?"

Hood had to admit that he was not. He assumed they were like contemporary judges, though le didn't say so. When he was running L.A., he had a plaque on his wall which read, When in doubt, shut up. That policy had served him well throughout his career.

"The judges," Hausen said, "were men who rose from the ranks of the Hebrew tribes to become heroes. They where what you might call spontaneous rulers because they had no ties to previous leaders. But once they took command, they were granted the moral authority to settle any and all disputes."

Hausen looked out the window again. His mood darkened slightly. Hood found himself seriously intrigued by this man who hated neo-Nazis, knew Hebrew history, and appeared, as the old game-show host Garry Moore might've put it, "to have a secret."

"There was a time in my youth, Herr Hood, when I believed that the judge was the ultimate and correct form of leader. I even thought, 'Hitler understood that. He was a judge. Perhaps he had a mandate from God.' "

Hood looked at him. "You felt that Hitler was doing God's work, killing people and waging war?"

"Judges killed many people and waged many wars. You must understand, Herr Hood, Hitler lifted us from defeat in a World War, helped to end a depression, took back lands to which many people felt we were entitled, and attacked peoples whom many Germans detested. Why do you think the neo-Nazi movement is so strong today? Because many Germans still believe that he was right."

"But you fight these people now," Hood said. "What made you realize that Hitler was wrong?"

Hausen spoke in hard, unhappy halftones. "I don't wish to appear rude, Herr Hood, but that is something I have never discussed with anyone. Nor would I burden a new friend with it."

"Why not?" Hood asked. "New friends bring new perspectives."

"Not to this," Hausen said emphatically.

Hausen's lids lowered slightly and Hood could tell he was no longer seeing the park or the people in it. He was somewhere else, somewhere depressing. Hood knew he was wrong. Together, they didn't make a patriach or a judge. Together, they were a pair of guys haunted by things that had happened to them years before.

"But you are a compassionate man," Hausen said, "and I will share one thought with you."

From behind them, Stoll said, "Hold on, sports fans. What have we here?"

Hood looked back. Hausen put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from going to Stoll.