Out beyond the Lone Star bonfire, cop cars lined Madison, their flashers strobing in spasmodic syncopation. In their cyanotic light, I could see two dozen cops braced against the vehicles. Hunkered down over their rifles, they scanned the front of McKuen’s Scrap and Salvage Yard for any sign of a target. Behind them, gathered in the sanctuary of an armored car. some Lone Star officers haggled among themselves over tactics and strategies for their assault.