Ocean Avenue had become a stagnant pool of chrome: SMPD patrol units in white and light blue, LAPD’s cruisers in black and white, unmarked cars, ambulances, fire trucks, and acres of news vans. Decker parked wherever he could and slowly inched his way closer to the hot spot, walking behind the protection of steel that the cars afforded. He darted his way over to Tito Diaz and Rip Garrett. Garrett had dressed in a suit and tie, but Diaz was still in jeans.

Decker said, “What the hell happened?”

Garrett was seething. “I asked for unmarkeds to the scene. When I got here, I saw cruisers. I thought at first that SMPD fucked up, but then I found out that they were responding to a 911 call from someone inside who was shot—”

“Holy moly—”

“Tito and I have just spent the last twenty minutes bringing SMPD up to date. They’re not happy with us right now.”

“We conferred with them every step of the way,” Decker said.

“Yeah, but I don’t think they believed that we were on to anything. That’s why they gave us permission to operate in their vicinity.”

“Who made the 911 call?” Decker asked.

“I haven’t heard the voice, but it was a man.”

Diaz added that he had heard it was Cecil Dobbins.

“How bad is it?”

Tito shrugged. Decker looked at the dilapidated building in front of them. It was probably a beautiful private home in the 1920s—a three-storied, white-wood-sided Greene and Greene bungalow style with a wraparound porch. Decker could imagine a family lolling about on a summer’s eve like tonight, enjoying the cool sea breezes.

That hadn’t happened for a very long time.

The place hadn’t seen a paintbrush in decades. Even with the minimal outside lighting, he could make out peeling paint flaking off like snow. Historically, it was great that the building retained many of its original leaded windowpanes. For their purposes, the cut glass hindered sharpshooters’ visibility.

Garrett said, “SMPD has sent out for a hostage negotiator.”

“What about a back door?” Decker asked. “He can’t guard two portals at once.”

Garrett said, “SMPD managed to get a few people out through the rear, but then he started shooting.”

“Didn’t hit anyone,” Diaz said.

“And it’s definitely Rudy Banks?”

Garrett said, “One of the women that SMPD rescued identified him from a picture. She also told us about the hostages.”

“We think he has three women locked up,” Diaz said. “Maybe even Dobbins.”

Garrett added, “We know the cell number of one of the ladies.”

Diaz said, “I think SMPD is just waiting for the negotiator before a call is placed.”

Decker felt his pocket buzz and answered his phone. The voice over the line had a strong Irish brogue. “I’m flipping the bloody channels and a picture of Rudy in a blond wig flashed across my screen—”