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plan no matter what.”
    “You can count on me, Lieutenant.”
    Reg and Kyle drove to Buck Seal’s house on Summer Street, and Kyle was behind the wheel according to plan.
    “So what’s up at Buck’s place? We gonna ask him if he felt bad about giving his mother that hot foot?” Reg asked.
    “Shut up and pay attention. I’m in charge of this detail. Remember these?” Trapp pointed at his sergeant stripes.
    “Oh boy, do I ever.”
    “Good. Buck’s holed up inside his house. His brother told Lieutenant Chapman he’s probably got weapons.”
    “Wow! Sounds like serious shit to me: a lieutenant and a sergeant, running point on this caper.”
    “I’m in charge of this caper!”
    “Does the Lieutenant know you’re in charge? I mean if he’s a lieutenant? Doesn’t that, like, trump your status of entry level mediocrity?”
    “No tricks! No bullshit! I’m the sergeant and you better do what you’re told.”
    “Well, I surely will. I still remember those stripes. I’m doing great so far, right?”
    “And you damn well better remember I’m calling the shots on this assignment. You got it?”
    “Yep, unless the Lieutenant drives all the way to Buck’s house to see how we’re doing. If that happens? Won’t he be in charge?”
    “Shut the fuck up!” Kyle was experiencing the onset of one mad bastard of a headache and it was all Reg’s fault.
    They were parked across the street and several houses away from Buck’s dilapidated house. Decay was everywhere. There were no front windows, only boards. Buck Seals was ready for all manner of calamity, including hurricanes, tornadoes, and race riots. A yellow sign was on one side of the front door. It promised the visitor that the occupant didn’t call 911 and that promise was reinforced by a large hand holding a revolver. The guest would even be able to see bullets in the cylinder of the gun if he or she were foolish enough to stand on the front steps.
    Another sign was even more proactive. The words were timeless: “Smile, You Are Being Videotaped.” There was a picture of a happy face with surveillance cameras for eyes just to let the mailman and others know that Buck wasn’t kidding around. Above the sign was an electric hair blower mounted on the edge of the roof pointing down at potential visitors. It was connected with a plastic clothesline that went all the way to a tree near the corner of the house. The other end of the plastic clothesline was tied around a curling iron that was nailed to a large tree branch. Several clothespins were still hanging from the clothesline.
    The back door was boarded up as well as all side and back windows. The exterior was insulbrick and sheets of paneling had thick nails pounded through and then turned over and affixed to a roof that was over a half century old. The sharp, pointed nails served as Buck’s only real exterior defense system, however, even the squirrels knew enough not to walk on that roof. The only way in and out of his house was the front door, and Buck aimed to record anyone foolish enough to try.
    “The plan?”
    “You need to walk up to that front door and knock real polite. Ask Buck if he’s feeling alright. Tell him how his family’s worried.”
    “You coming with me? We usually do this kind of stuff in twos. Not that you ever handled these sorts of complaints.”
    “Nah. I’m good. I think I’ll just stay by the car and watch your back.”
    “You can’t even see the front porch from here. You know that, right? You should walk me part of the way. Stand behind a tree or something. It’ll be fun.”
    “Nah. I’m still good.” Kyle was smiling.
    “Maybe we could get a pizza or something and I could carry it to the door with a fancy borrowed delivery hat. Get the lay of the land and fake Buck out if he answers the door. I might maybe get the jump on him and challenge him to an Indian leg wrestling contest. You could tell Chapman how you thought the whole thing up by yourself.”
    It sounded