The widower father of two children, a nice house in the burbs and a sweetheart down in the Tarheel State he was getting pretty close to proposing to… All those domestic things tended to add up on the negative side when you were asked to be a sitting duck on an undercover set. Still, Bell couldn’t help but do his duty—particularly when it came to a perp like this 522, a rapist and killer, a species of criminal that Bell had a particular dislike for. And, truth be told, he didn’t mind the rush from ops like this one. “We all find our levels,” his daddy had often said, and once the boy realized that the man wasn’t talking about misplaced tools he embraced that philosophy as a cornerstone of his life. His jacket was unbuttoned and his hand poised to draw, aim and let fly with his favorite pistol, an example of Italy’s finest firepower. He was glad Lon Sellitto had stopped his banter. He needed to hear this fellow’s approach, and the slam slam slam of the pile driver was plenty loud.
