Get down, get down! Get below the windows!’ I yelled at Vj Jamilla.
I was afraid she might be hit by rifle fire. Kyle could be out there, and I knew that he could shoot. She went down and lay facing me, and also the man I had tackled coming in the door. He looked as confused as I felt. Who the hell was he? What had just happened? And where was Kyle?
Jamilla had her service revolver pointed at his chest. Her hand was amazingly steady. His nose was bleeding badly from where I’d hit him. He was well-built, probably early thirties, short-haired, a light-skinned black man.
Everything was complete chaos in my brain.
‘Who the hell are you? Who are you?’ I yelled at the dazed, bleeding man on the floor.
‘FBI,’ he panted. ‘I’m a Federal agent. Put down the gun. Put it down now.’
Jamilla was yelling too. ‘I’m San Francisco PD, and I’m definitely not putting down my gun, mister. What are you doing in my apartment?’ she shouted. I could almost see her mind working and she wasn’t thinking nice thoughts.’Talk to us!’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t have to answer your questions. Wallet’s in the rear left pocket. Badge and ID. I’m FBI, goddamnit!’ &............