"It didn't exactly break my heart to give up football, but it sure was a bummer." Cecil had been regaling Eric with tales about his two years at an up-state college back in the 1960s. "It was all because I was having a hard time keeping it under control when the Gift first kicked in. At first, I thought about the pros ... hell, I coulda wrote my own ticket. But I was scared to death I might accidently kill somebody."

"So, what'd you do after you left college?" the detective asked.

Through the window of a four-story warehouse along the East River, the two watched a nearby building where they believed Summerall was hiding with a few of his men. Camille lay stretched on the floor behind them, her head resting on a light jacket, as she tried to catch a few winks. It'd been three hours, and they'd seen no sign of Summerall, but Eric enjoyed the old man's stories, of which there were many.

"You know, life. I thought about the army ... Vietnam was just starting to kick up ... but I met the prettiest girl I ever saw, and next thing you know, we had a basketful of pups. I started working on cars for my uncle, and, lo and behold, I sort of liked it." The old man flashed the detective a sweet grin. "Better than that, I was pretty good at it. Life has been sweet."

"So, how'd the whole crimefighting gig start?"

Another of Cecil's many chuckles followed. The man's heart seemed lighter than any Eric had ever encountered.

"I started telling Camille about that the other night. I guess I've always been drawn to a certain crowd, and I've never been much of a sleeper. So, when the wife and kids were in bed, sometimes I'd go work on cars ... other times I'd go check out the city."

Cecil perked up. "Hey, hey, third window from the right, third floor ...."

Eric raised his monocular and focused. A large man with a heavily bandaged face was easily in view. "Yep, I reckon you broke his nose, after all," the officer whispered to Cecil. He handed the old man the looking glass before taking up his radio and conversing briefly with an ESU officer on the other end. It would be several hours before the team gathered, composed a plan, and went in on Summerall. Until then, more recon would be required.

"Yeah, I see ... no, he's gone now," Cecil muttered, "but we know for certain it's him. Hey, I almost forgot." He turned to the detective and handed him the monocular. "Did you bring that set of shackles?"

Eric pocketed the glass and stepped over to the OD green ruck resting next to his snoozing partner. He handed the thick shackles he recovered from it to Cecil. The old man looked at them carefully, running the metal through his fingers for a few moments before gripping the chain in the middle with both hands. The thick and corded muscles beneath his work shirt bunched and strained for nearly a minute before there was a sudden pop of a breaking link.

"I hope you didn't need to give those back," apologized Cecil as he handed over the now useless manacles.

"Oh, shit." Eric shook his head. "I'll just say they were defective."

"Yeah, well, they're pretty sturdy, actually," said Cecil. "But this Summerall cat's a lot stronger than me. Something like that might slow him down for a few seconds, presuming you could get them on him, but only for a few seconds."

"Any ideas?" asked the young detective.

"I been thinking on that. A good-quality nylon climbing rope has about a 20 percent stretch to it. If you had a couple hundred feet of that, you could loop him up enough times that he might not be able to muscle or wiggle his way free. But your problem is the same, getting him to settle down so you can tie him up."

"Taser?"

The old man seemed to weigh the officer's words.

"Eric, we're all different," he said finally. The old man rolled up his sleeve, revealing a powerful forearm that was a patchwork of scars, both heavy and light. "I got pretty tough skin, but a good sharp knife can cut me. What I really got is awful dense muscle underneath ... sometimes tough enough to stop a bullet. You're partner shot that guy about a dozen times last night. I didn't get a good enough look to tell for certain whether any of those shots penetrated his skin. But I don't think they did, which means it's unlikely the barbs from a taser would stick in him."

"So, if we got the taser prongs right up against him? Or used some sort of cattle prod?" asked the detective uncertainly.

"That might do it." The old man's tone was a skosh more optimistic. "I've been tased a few times. It never put me on the ground, but it sure did slow me up."

"For how long?"

"Oh, a minute or two ... but if that's your plan, you gotta get close." The old man seemed to think for another moment. "You know ... if you're that close, pepper spray or tear gas might at least slow him down. As strong and quick as he is, he'd still be dangerous, though."

"It doesn't sound like we have many options." Eric watched the building a moment longer, hoping for inspiration. "What would you do, Cecil?"

"If I were you?"

The detective nodded.

The old man glanced over to where Eric's heavy caliber rifle leaned against the wall. It was a semiautomatic version of an M-14 combat weapon.

"We used to shoot that rifle when I was in ROTC." The old man's smile was restrained. "Armor piercing rounds?"

Eric again nodded.

"I'd give him one chance to surrender and, if he did, truss him up with as much nylon rope as I could find. If he refused to surrender, I'd put a round center mass. I think that would stop him ... likely it would kill him."

"Ouch."

"I know that's not what you want to hear, bud, but these are dangerous guys. I know you haven't forgotten what went down last night."

"Nah," muttered Eric. "Still .... either way, it doesn't much matter. ESU is going in loaded for bear. They assume their dealing with a guy wearing heavy body armor ... which they more or less are, I guess ... so they'll be shooting AP rounds, too. It'd be nice to interview him, though."

Eric turned to see Camille roll to a sitting position, her lips smacking and eyes still puffy from sleep. He'd grown awfully fond of his partner. Before he could give her his usual, "morning princess," a high-pitched "huh" erupted from Cecil. Eric looked back to see the giant staring at him, a look of inspiration on his face.

"Detective," the man asked, "you keep a shotgun in your car, don't you?"