“The hell I’m not!” Adams reached inside his jacket.

Rapp made no effort to stop him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m calling the attorney general, is what I’m doing!”

Rapp let out a protracted sigh, followed by, “Put your phone down.” He’d figured this was how Adams would react. Rapp took his gloved right hand, brought it up by his left shoulder, and unleashed a backhanded slap that caught Adams square in the nose. The blow was just enough to stun. Rapp did not want him bleeding-at least not yet.

Adams yelped like a dog and dropped the phone at the same time. He instinctively brought both hands up to cover his face and began complaining loudly.

Rapp grabbed the phone and started patting Adams down; sliding his hands around his waist to make sure there wasn’t another phone or pager that he didn’t know about.

“Take your hands off me!” Adams demanded.

“Stop moving,” Rapp ordered as he quickly searched the jacket pockets.

“This time you’ve gone too far!” Adams shouted. “There is no way you’re going to be able to weasel your way out of this. Kidnapping, assault . . .”

Rapp ignored the list of charges and told the driver, “It’s just the one phone.”

The driver nodded and put out his hand. Rapp gave him the phone and a second later the driver pulled over, rolled down his window six inches, and handed the phone to a man standing on the street corner.

Rapp turned his attention back to Adams, who, while done listing the potential charges, had now moved on to expressing the joy and satisfaction he would receive from watching Rapp brought to justice.

“Glen,” Rapp said, “that’s not going to happen.”

“The hell it isn’t!” Adams said emphatically.

Rapp sighed. “The chance of your ever seeing me brought to justice is zero.”

“You don’t know me very well, if you think for a minute I’m somehow going to be talked out of going to the attorney general with this.”