The radio blares: “Man with a gun.”  All available police officers  headed to the scene.  The radio broadcast included information about a man who had just threatened someone with a gun and then vanished into the residential neighborhood.  It was dusk and his clothing description was very general.  I rode the side streets and looked for other signs of the offender.  Another supervisor, Sergeant Mike surveyed the dark street and viewed a young man sitting on the front stairs of an unlit house.  This young man was sweating profusely and his heart was beating like a drum.  The Sergeant collected this fellow, walked him back to the street and ordered him to place his hands on the squad.  All was going according to plan when, with cat-like reflexes, the subject pushed off against the car and bounced back into the Sergeant, while shouting “Fuck you bitch.”  Next, he was sprinting down the sidewalk with the Sergeant in foot pursuit.  At this point it’s no contest, between the young stud in his prime with the old-time sergeant of police.  Out of nowhere, a figure was sprinting alongside the Sergeant.  The Good Samaritan inquired,  “Do you want me to get him for you?”   The Sergeant, naturally replied “Yes.”  With that, the mysterious savior jetted away, leaped and caught the offender in mid-air attempting to scale an eight-foot chain link fence.  The Good Samaritan grabbed hold and body slammed the evader into the ground, bouncing his head off the pavement.  The Sergeant handcuffed the stunned thug.  As he regained consciousness after the initial shock, he looked up and said to the Sergeant, “You da man.”  The Good Samaritan was nowhere to be found.  The sprinter was now arrested.  While in the District he screamed and threatened every officer he came in contact with, except the Sergeant, the guy who he thought took him down.   When his eyes met the silver-haired Sergeant, with the look of admiration he repeated, “You da man!”