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it. He’d gotten the information he needed. “Thanks, Miss Thelma, I appreciate it.”
    “If you really appreciate it, you’ll go easy on that boy, Darius. An’ you’ll remember who you are an’ where you come from.”

Chapter Te n
    C ASSIAN KNEW THE “ SHACK ” Thelma had referred to. It was a run down, boarded-up townhouse on G Street between Seventh and Eighth—only blocks from Elizabeth Creay’s house—that harbored, at any given moment, between five and twenty lost souls who used the shelter to indulge whatever particular demons plagued them. It was mainly crack cocaine, but crystal meth and heroin were not unusual either.
    The prospect of raiding this particular type of spot was never appealing; by nature it was a dangerous, unpredictable task, made all the more so by the reality that any number of the residents could be armed—and high. As a result, Cassian and Train called in two squad cars for backup so they could mount a full-scale assault on the dwelling.
    They met up with the squad cars a few blocks from the house and parked in back of a gas station off Pennsylvania. Train quickly mapped out their strategy. “Kiper and Halston,” he said, pointing at two of the officers. “You go through the alley and block any escape out the back. Minnelli and Jackson, you’ll go in through the front with me and Cassian.” All four of the cops nodded. “Remember, we’re looking for one guy in particular—Jerome Washington—we’re not looking to clean the place out as a matter of policy. Detain all those inside until we know whether we’ve got our guy. If you see anything obvious—weapons or drugs actually in the possession of anyone you pat down—we’ll take them in, too, but that’s purely a secondary issue. Hold your fire unless you face an affirmative threat. I want to get out of this without anyone getting hurt.”
    The four officers nodded again.
    “Okay, Kiper and Halston, you two take off. We go in exactly five minutes.”
    The two officers headed out, and Jack took a moment to check his weapons. Like most police officers, he carried two, one in a shoulder holster and one strapped to his ankle. He looked over at his partner, who had unlocked the shotgun from underneath the front seat of the car. “That may be a little overkill, don’t you think?” Cassian asked. “Remember what Miss Thelma said: ‘You gotta take it easy on the boy.’ ” He mimicked Thelma Thornton’s high-pitched voice.
    “If you knew what was good for you, you wouldn’t disrespect a woman like that. She’s seen more shit than you’ll ever hear about, and she still keeps her life wired tight.” He nodded toward the shotgun in his hand. “As for this, it’ll let the people inside know we’re serious. If they get the idea we’re being tentative, this thing could get out of control pretty fast.”
    “Speak softly and carry a twelve-gauge?” Cassian asked.
    “Something like that.”
    Cassian shrugged and walked around to the back of the car. He popped open the trunk and took out two Kevlar vests with POLICE stenciled across both the front and the back. He took off his sport coat and threw it in the backseat. Then he slipped his arms through the straps in one of the vests. After he’d buckled himself in, he took the second vest and tossed it on the hood of the car in front of Train. “You forgetting something?” Cassian
    asked, nodding at the vest.
    “Nope,” Train said, shaking his head.
    “Come on, Sarge, the city shelled out millions of dollars so we could each have one of these. The least we can do is wear ’em.”
    Train scowled as he picked up the vest, holding it up in front of his huge torso. “This thing doesn’t even cover me,” he pointed out. “It only works for skinny little white boys.” He tossed the vest back on the hood.
    “Let’s not make this a racial thing,” Cassian cracked. “I don’t want any of our people mistaking you for one of the bad guys and taking you out by