“Turn here,” Pode said. “It’s on Brooks right before Electric. The garage apartment in the back. Slow…that’s the house.”

It was a tan one-story cube with security bars on the windows and doors. It wasn’t unusual to find prisonlike houses here, because the neighborhood was bad—tiny stucco cells or government housing units spray painted with graffiti. Even the streets and sidewalks were tattooed. This was gang heartland and life was expendable. A jaunt from the front door to the driveway could prove fatal if it was a night for busting.

He drove by and saw a faint illumination on top of the garage. Parking a half block down, he called in for immediate back-up, giving firm instructions to approach without lights or sirens.

“Who’s in there, Cecil?”

“Just the perv and a projectionist.”

“Who’s the projectionist?”

“I just call him Joe.”

“What’s he armed with?”

“He isn’t armed.”

Guy must have a machine gun, Decker thought.

“Mr. Rich Perv have a bodyguard?”

“Not that I know of.”

Figure at least one guard.

Two cruisers arrived in less than a minute.

“Stay put, Cecil. Don’t try anything dumb.”

Decker got out of the Plymouth and briefed the four uniforms. They conferred, and radioed in to their superior. A minute later a bull-necked black cop named Lessing came back to Decker.

“Ordered to go in and take it,” he said. “I’ll lead.”

“It’s your territory,” Decker said.

“You want in?” Lessing asked.

“You bet,” he answered. “Place is probably guarded and armed.”

“Let the insider do the talking,” suggested a six-foot female who reminded him of Marge. Her partner was toting a shotgun.

“Good idea,” agreed Decker. “Pode will get us inside and we’ll make the bust. I need that film. It’s material evidence for a homicide I’m working on.”

“Let’s go,” Lessing said.

“Fourteen-L-six’s here,” the woman said, as another black-and-white pulled up.

“We can use all the help we can get,” Decker said.

Two more uniforms came up, also carrying shotguns.

“I’ll go get our card key,” Decker said. He went back to the Plymouth, uncuffed Pode’s hands and feet, and pulled him out of the car.

“You’ve got to get us inside, Cecil. The place is a barbed-wire camp.”

Pode nodded. “I’ll tell you what to do.”

Decker laughed and pushed the fat man forward. “You’ve got a nutty sense of humor, my man. You’re coming with us. But don’t worry. You said no one’s armed.”

They walked the half block, and Pode led the seven officers up the outside stairs to the garage apartment. They took their positions. The entire rear of the structure was a mesh of steel wires and bars. Sitar music was coming from the inside.

“Get us inside,” Decker whispered to Pode.

The fat man was bathed in his own sweat.

“I lied,” he whispered back. “They have guns.”