The Law Is Coming

Del Quentin Wilber: It is 6:24 a.m., the sun has not yet risen and the parking lot remains a lattice of shadow and orange-yellow streetlight as Deputy U.S. Marshal Willard King and four other deputies march toward the target of their raid, an apartment in Upper Marlboro where they think a fugitive is hiding.

King, wearing a bright red winter cap, gray sweatshirt and jeans, stations one deputy outside the rear of the complex in case the fugitive — a 23-year-old robber wanted for skipping a court appearance — leaps from the apartment's third-floor window. Then he and the three other deputies slip through the unlocked entrance and up the stairs to apartment 303. Cupping his ear to the black door, King listens. Silence. The deputy, who at 6 feet 4 and 225 pounds has the solid build of a college tight end, starts pounding on the door — so hard that its metal frame rattles.

"Maintenance," King screams in a Spanish accent, a common ruse.

No answer.

More pounding. Finally, a rustle and a woman's groggy voice from just behind the door: "Who is it?"

(thanks, Todd)