There was a long pause.

Decker said, “What’s going on, Rudy?”

“What’s going on is that piece of fat lard shit came after me with a gun! Suddenly I’m surrounded by a bunch of fucking Nazis! What’d I do except try to defend myself!”

“Rudy, they tell me that the lard ass has been shot. Is that true?”

“I was trying to defend myself.”

“I know, and I completely believe you. But if the asshole was shot, it would be good if you sent him out here so the paramedics can take a look at him.”

“Paramedics, my ass. You fucking assholes want to storm-troop the place.”

“How about this, Rudy? I’ll stay out on the front lawn with my hands up in the air. You send out Lard Ass while you keep a bead on me. If you think I’m trying to snow you, shoot my head off.”

“I don’t even know what the fuck you look like?”

“I’ll be the only one standing in the middle of the lawn with a helmet on my head and my hands in the air.”

“How can I shoot your head off if you’re wearing a helmet?”

“Aim for the chest.”

“You’re probably going to be wearing a bulletproof vest.”

“Absolutely, I’ll be wearing a bulletproof vest. The point is, you’ll have the gun but I’ll be unarmed. You have the advantage, and I don’t want to die.”

“And while I’m keeping a bead on you, trying to decide where to plug you, some motherfucking sharpshooter has a bead on me.”

“Rudy, I have no idea what room you’re phoning from.”

“And I have no idea where you’re phoning from. I don’t see anyone out there on the phone.”

“I’m in a police mobile unit. But I have my cell phone. How about this? I’ll walk into the center of the lawn with my helmet and my vest and call you from my cell.”

“Don’t call me, I’ll call you.” He cut the line.

The Kevlar vest and a helmet were waiting for him. The vest fit, and although the helmet was a little tight, he could get it over his skull.

Cressly said, “Try not to get picked off.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“We’ve got guys from all angles—SMPD, LAPD, and our sharpshooters.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Decker thought about being shot, and his mind immediately raced back to the few times he actually had been shot. Banks was a psycho, but on the psycho scale he was nowhere near Hersh Schwartz, and he was universes away from Chris Donatti. He left the van and walked into the middle of the front lawn. Flashbulbs were popping in his face…bursts of light like tracers. When his cell rang, Decker jumped. With shaking hands, he answered the call. “I take it you see me?”