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STATE COP DANNY ESPOSITO is surprised to see the two black SUV’s, SOUTHAMPTON TOWN POLICE written in huge letters on the side, parked out in front of the house, lights flashing.

What are they doing here?

Esposito slams on his brakes, pulls right up onto the lawn, jumps out of his own car, shows his State Police badge to the first cop trying to stop him.

When he looks past the cop, he sees what’s left of the front of the house.

“What the hell happened here?” Esposito says.

“What happened ?” the kid from Southampton Police asks. “What happened is that somebody turned this guy’s house into a fucking rifle range.”

“Anybody inside get shot up?” Esposito asks.

The cop shakes his head.

“Nope.”

“Shit,” Esposito says. “I was afraid of that.”

“You wanted somebody to get hit?” the cop says.

“A guy can dream,” Esposito says.

Every window in the house has been blown out. There are bullet holes in the door, top to bottom, and between the first- and second-floor windows. The flashing lights from the patrol cars show the glass in the front yard glistening like a hailstorm just blew through.

“Gotta be some kind of AR-15, right?” Danny Esposito says.

“Hell, yeah,” the kid says. “One of them sport rifles.”

He puts air quotes around sport.

Esposito points toward the BMW in the driveway.

“ Is the homeowner here?” he asks. “Or did he miss all the fun?”

“Was here, and is,” the kid says. “He must be one lucky bastard.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Danny Esposito says.

They both see the blown-out front door open then. And there, standing in the entrance, wearing a bathrobe with the belt hanging down behind it, what appears to be a glass of whiskey in his meaty hand, is former Commander of Detectives Paul Harrington.

Esposito heads straight for him.

“Looks like somebody tried to send you a message,” Esposito says to him.

Harrington throws down some of his drink.

“Next time they should just send a text,” he says, and walks back inside.