They get there, open the door, look inside, see somebody on the sofa who appears to be dead. The guy slams the door and the iron door on them. Uniform called swat. We go. They start negotiation with him.

We go into that house, gassed up with our masks on, listening to him talk to negotiators for three hours with two dead bodies no more than three feet away from us, listening to this guy saying, “I don’t care who comes in, I’m going to kill them. I know you’re out there. I know they’re in my kitchen. I can hear them.”

Quiet as you want to be, you’re still going to make noise. You’re breathing through the masks. Plus the guy knows his house, the creaks and noises. Three hours, nonstop.

Finally the negotiator says, “We’re going to try a technique where we’re going to bring him down. If you confront him with a group of guys, chances are he’s going to give up.”

Well, as soon as Felix made entry into the living room, jumping over those two dead bodies, he opens up on us, firing two rounds. Felix was able to get off one shot, caught the guy in the left arm with the shotgun. I shot two rounds with my MP5 sub machine gun. I missed. The shotgun had knifed him around sideways leaving five rounds in the wall in a pattern of softball size where he had been. The guy ducked back in the bedroom.

The tactical lieutenant said to us, “Our guys need to see him. Tell him to turn all the lights on.”

We tell him, “We need you to do us a favor, Bob.”

The guy turns them all off, and comes back on the line, proud as a peacock, “OK, I turned them off.”

“No Bob. We need them on. Turn all the lights on.”

“Oh, sorry.” He drops the phone and goes through the house turning the lights on. He’s compliant, but confused, like a little kid.

We can’t see because there’s a fence there, but Tactical radios us, “OK, they’re on.”

Now, without consulting anybody, the negotiator says just like this, “No, Bob. I wanted a Bud Lite.” We just all burst out laughing and laughing.

Then he starts laughing.