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monologue, and a second of silence between the question and the search was deemed consent. By this standard, Neill prided himself on being able to talk just about anyone into permitting a search, and if there is voluntary consent, then the search is legal even without a warrant, probable cause, or reasonable suspicion.
    “You know, the citizens have a right not to be searched,” he told me one afternoon before he hit the street. “You know,” he repeated with the insistent lilt of indignation that a civil liberties lawyer might use, “they have a right not to be searched. If they tell you no, you don’t have any of the indications that there’s guns or drugs in the car, then no is no, and you gotta let ’em go.
    “I’m sure we’ve all been on dates where, you know, you try to get a kiss and she says no and then you wait a little while and try to kiss her again and she says no again, and then finally she says, ‘OK.’ No isn’t really no. So sometimes you talk to these guys who said no. ‘Well, you said there was nothin’ in the car, right?’ The guy’s like, ‘Yeah.’ ‘Well, if there’s nothin’ in the car, why can’t I search? You know, what’s the problem?’ You know, you kind of look at the guy like, what’s up?” And that works? “Yeah, a lot of times.”
    About 9 p.m., the officers of the Power Shift, some white, some black, some Latino, strolled out of First District on Fourth Street SW, just three blocks from the U.S. Department of Education, and gathered among their squad cars in a nearby parking lot, smoking and joking. They were not rookies. Most were seasoned enough to seem relaxed, although they were about to go hunting in darkness for deadly weapons. When Neill arrived, they mounted up and headed out.
    In their lingo, the police officers wouldn’t just look around. They’d “peep the bandits.” They wouldn’t pull over a car. They’d “cut shorty”—swerve in front to cut off the vehicle. If they set up a checkpoint for ostensible safety checks while looking for guns, they’d “pop the block.”
    The first stop, to peep the bandits, would be through a couple of alleys off K Street SE, leading into a courtyard among the apartments of a public housing project, Neill explained. “That’s a good spot. It’s where I like to start. I got three guns there.”
    The courtyard was full of kids and families relaxing in the summer evening, barbecuing, holding a large birthday party. They gave no cheerful greetings when six patrol cars drove in from all sides and jump-outs flowed through their festivities, but they seemed unfazed, as if this happened every other night. Officers selected a few young men for pat-downs and came up with nothing.
    “They used to call guys on the other side on cell phones and tell them we’re coming,” Neill remarked.
    “Too many people out here in the summertime,” said his driver, Officer Matthew LeFande, who’s a lawyer as well as a cop.
    “In wintertime, it’s better ’cause people are in their cars,” Neill added. Searching cars has its own legal rules, but if you can get somebody for a traffic violation, you can gaze into the passenger compartment while checking his license and registration, and if you see anything suspicious “in plain view”—an open drink that could be alcoholic, for example—you might get consent or have probable cause for a full search.
    The Power Shift was quick and efficient, focused and fast. Four squad cars careened to a stop beside a black man in a football jersey. Neill frisked him and found nothing. In another courtyard, three men sitting on a stoop were approached and patted down. Nothing. “Stand up, let me check, bro,” Neill said to another three on another stoop. “No guns or drugs?”
    The indignant answer came from one: “No, we don’t got no guns or drugs.” He put on a disgusted face at the outrageous suggestion. Neill and a couple of colleagues patted them down, running their hands overand