CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

"I'm not a big fan of this idea," Martinez said. "We went kind of light on the last operation because we didn't have any money left for protective gear. Now that we've got the funds, we should just hold on for a few more days until we get the new stuff. Plus, we haven't really done a work-up on this guy, yet."

"This is a high-end target, guys," Ortiz said. "We have a limited window of opportunity, we can put another major dent in the city's supply of crystal meth, and we're probably going to end up with more cash than we know what to do with."

"Hang on, boss," Hodges spoke up. "When did this become about cash?"

"It's not," Ortiz said, a little quicker than he wanted to. "I'm just mentioning the cash because it's there, and we seem to need it these days. Plus, there's going to be more equipment, ammo, whatever, that we need in the future. We're doing this because it's a chance to cut off drug supplies to the city. But we can't pretend that we don't need cash for other stuff."

"Not pretending, boss," Hodges said. "Just taking the temperature."

"Look, guys," Ortiz said. "We didn't discuss anything this much in the past, we just geared up and took care of business. So, what's going on?"

"Nothing going on," Martinez replied. "But we also didn't rush things this much in the past. Just feels a little funny not doing our regular routine."

"He's got a point," Hodges said. "We usually do some analysis, target recon, try to formulate a plan, etc. This thing where we just gear up and go take care of business is not beyond our ability. But it is a little more interesting than what we've done in the past."

"Fine," Ortiz said. "We'll play it safe. Maybe we can find a dealer that doesn't believe in trying to protect himself. I'm just saying this is a good opportunity to really hurt these guys, really let 'em know that we mean business."

Martinez leaned forward and said, "Boss, you're worrying me, again. We're not facing down some legion of doom. There is no 'these guys' that we can prove something to. Plus, isn't that one of the reasons we leave our phones here in the office when we go out? So nobody can track our movements? Well, I'm pretty sure we don't want to advertise to the bad guys, either. It wouldn't take too long for someone to do the math and figure out it's somebody with a badge."

"It's fine," Ortiz said flatly. "I'll take all the trouble out of the equation right now. Nobody will know anything else because we're not doing anything else. We're going back to official duty only. We…"

"Whoa, hang on, boss," Roman said. "What do you mean by all that? You want to shut everything down cause we have some concerns? It's not about trouble, we're all fine with what we're doing. But, do you really want to shut everything down over some questions?"

"No. I want to shut it down because we seem to be getting more and more concerned about everything except stopping these assholes from poisoning our city. When we started this, it was just as dangerous and just as secret as it is now. But there's no use in us going out there to do anything if we're not going to be focused. So, screw it. We'll shut it down."

"Hey, we're all good, boss," Martinez said. "Like he said, I just got some concerns. No need for us to stop now that we're finally doing some good."

"Yeah, I Agree," Roman said. "It would be almost wrong for us to stop now that we're making a difference."

"Okay, fine," Ortiz relented. "But we're either 100% or we're nothing. We can't afford to be anything else."

"I think we all agree on that, boss," Hodges said.

After a few more minutes of discussion, the detectives reluctantly decided to go hunting tonight. Everyone felt the tension. Ortiz was not acting like himself, but they still trusted him, and they still believed in what they were doing. So, they set out to eliminate a drug dealer with very little planning or preparation.

Jimmy went home and tried to sort through all the new information he had come across today. He couldn't understand how that narcotics detective had gotten that one detail wrong. No way he came from Mickey's if the bar was closed that night. Maybe it was all a mix-up, maybe Jimmy heard him wrong. Is it possible that the detective said he was down the street at a bar and Jimmy just assumed that the other cop was talking about Mickey's? Narco guys were into all sorts of weird stuff, at all sorts of weird hours. That was just the nature of their work. Drug users and drug dealers rarely did anything but sleep during banker's hours, so detectives in that bureau had to keep the same odd hours as their suspects.

On the other hand, this narcotics detective seemed to be the common thread in a few different conversations. It could be proof or it could be coincidence. Worst of all, Jimmy wasn't sure how he would proceed if any evidence started pointing at another cop. Murder was just wrong, but siding with drug-dealing scum to ruin a fellow officer might be worse. He needed to bounce some of it off someone else to see if it sounded as crazy to them as it all sounded to him. Erin wouldn't really fully grasp all the details, and he certainly wasn't going to mention any of it to fellow officers in the NYPD. So, he called the only person he could trust right now.

"Marcus, you busy right now?"

"Nope. Just polished off what might have been the finest steak to ever grace Manhattan. And now I'm relaxing with a warm brandy. What's up?"

Jimmy went on to explain his conversation with detective George Romero from Queens. He updated Marcus on the drug-related murder case that Romero was currently working on. And then he went on to explain his conversation with Romero.

"Here's the thing," Jimmy said. "I only remember that single tennis shoe being at our scene over here because Eva made such a big deal about it. I kept dismissing it, but she wouldn't let it go. Then he tells me about that body found over in Ridgewood wearing just one tennis shoe."

"Did you press him for any more facts on that case," Marcus asked.

"No," Jimmy replied. "I didn't want to spook him."

"What do you mean by that," Marcus asked. "You're both murder police. It would have seemed pretty natural, all things considered. I mean, you guys just got married, like it or not. His latest homicide case and yours have you bound together, for better or worse, richer or poorer."

"Yeah, I know," Jimmy said. "But the thing is, I'm getting so worked up over this possible connection to at least one other cop that I'm starting to get paranoid about telling anyone anything. It feels like, if I say or ask the wrong thing, everyone's suddenly going to know that I might be looking at another cop for all these murders. And I really can't open that mystery box until I know beyond any doubt that there is something there. C'mon, man. You know that accusing a fellow officer of something ain't nothing to play with. "

"Jimmy," Marcus said. "You're thinking too much. The only way you're going to get any of the information you need is to start asking for it."

"I know, I know," Jimmy said. "I thought that I kept putting off contacting Bronx Narcotics today because I was just busy as hell. But the truth dawned on me tonight — I didn't contact them because I'm terrified of where it might lead."

"Look, get the bullet casings tomorrow and then find me. We'll see what we can do about getting those processed. May not be anything that you can use in court, but it can definitely tell us if we're looking at the right person or not. Also, find out whatever you can about that other case, the body in the alley. It's a long shot, but if it's connected to your original crime scene, who knows what doors that might open."

"That's what I'm afraid of, Marcus. I don't want to imagine a cop being behind this mess. Do you know what a shit-storm this could cause?"

"At the moment, it can't be any worse than the rest of the situation is. You don't have a choice, you have to find out. If it is or isn't this other cop, then you need to know that, either way. Get back to focusing on the case. Do what you're supposed to do, Jimmy. Follow the evidence."

Ortiz and the other detectives had driven from the Bronx over to Queens. Now, entering the neighborhood of Jamaica, they found their target. It was a two-story home with open fields on either side. There was an external heavy-duty security gate shielding the front door. Their information indicated that this was the home of an upper-level meth dealer. The intended victim was a middle-aged white male with ties to a notorious local motorcycle club. There was supposed to be a huge cache of both drugs and money at this location, though the exact amounts were unknown.

As they approached the house the van slowed and Hodges, wearing all black clothing and a tactical vest laden with a two-way radio and various extra magazines for his MP-5 submachine gun, jumped out of the van. He quickly ran into an empty field adjacent to the house and disappeared into the darkness.

Stopping about a hundred feet short of the house, the other three waited to hear from Hodges.

Every man was equipped with an earpiece and a throat mic to allow them hands-free communication over their radios. After about a minute, everyone's earpiece crackled, followed by the sounds of Hodges' voice.

"Okay, the back of the target is clear. One large steel door at the rear entrance, looks like a typical residential door, shouldn't be a problem. Multiple windows on the West side and rear of the target. All windows are draped or obscured, I can't get a head count of any occupants. Multiple motorcycles are parked in the rear of the house. From the way they're parked, they could be visitors, or they could just be parked here for storage. Lights on in various rooms of the first floor. Second floor looks dark. Again, cannot make out the number of occupants inside. Advise on status."

"Roger that," Martinez said, his voice echoing through both the van and everyone's radio. "We have a large security frame over the front door, no activity out front, windows are obscured in front, and we can't see inside, either. Status is still green. Standby."

Martinez looked over at Ortiz and asked, "Well, we don't know who or what's inside. Are we still going in?"

Ortiz looked up and down the street before returning his gaze to the target house.

"Well, the motorcycles in the back tell me we're probably at the right location." Ortiz said. "Rome, take us to the other side of the house. Let's see if the view gets any better."

With the vehicle lights turned off, and the brake lights temporarily disabled, Roman slowly edged the van along the curb of the street. As they slowly moved forward, all three detectives had their eyes glued to the house, scanning for any clues or hints that would give them more information about their target. When they had moved about a hundred feet past the house, Roman stopped the van and put it in park. All three men continued staring at the house.

After about a minute went by, Ortiz said, "Fuck it, we go. We'll need to offset breaches so that we enter in unison. Rome, grab the breacher and go meet Hodges out back. You guys set up, and we'll make our approach when you guys are in place."

"Roger," Roman said as he exited the driver's seat while leaving the motor running. He came around the van just as Martinez opened the side door and handed him a large hammer and a steel bar with what appeared to be a huge claw on one end of it. Roman took the tools and disappeared into the field on the side of the house.

A few moments later, Hodges' voice came over the radio. "I'm headed for the back door. Yard is clear on your side. Meet ya there."

Another minute passed, and then Hodges said, "We're set back here. Begin your approach and advise on the offset."

Ortiz and Martinez hopped out of the van and began casually walking down the street towards the front of the house. Martinez was hugging the steel breaching bar next to his leg as they walked, keeping his eyes fixed like a laser upon the front of the house. Ortiz had a shotgun hugging his leg while his eyes darted all around the surrounding area, scanning for hazards and potential witnesses. As the pair reached the front door, they slowed their pace and stepped very softly. They paused at the front door, and Ortiz turned his back to the house so he could scan the street and the areas around the house. Martinez softly said, "We're in position. I'm c hecking the security gate now."

Martinez reached out and gently grabbed the handle on the large security gate, pushed down on the handle, and began to slowly pull the giant door toward himself. Moving a fraction of an inch at a time in anticipation of a loud squeak or other sound that the door might make. When the door was almost completely open, Martinez removed a small wooden block from his pocket that had a large slot cut in it. He reached up and slid the block of wood down over the top of the security door, bracing it between the door and the door frame. Slowly moving away from the door, the wood block pinned the giant door in the open position. Then Martinez gave Ortiz a thumbs up and said, "Security gate pinned open. Going to try the front door now."

As Martinez slowly reached for the front door handle, Ortiz still had his back to the building, still scanning the surrounding area. Martinez softly gripped the door handle and tried to give it a turn. It was locked from the inside. Well, he thought, at least the security gate was open.

Martinez said, "Front door is locked. We breach in five, four, three…"

As Martinez began to count backwards, he raised his breaching bar and placed the claw pointing inward between the front door and the door frame. At the same time, in the back of the house, Roman was placing his breaching bar in the exact same position against the rear door. Just after Martinez counted down to one, he said, "Go!"

Both Martinez and Roman smacked the back of the claw on the breaching bar with a small five-pound hammer, dropped the hammer, took a step back, and each one used both hands to crank the bar backward towards their body. The rear door of the house flew open with a resounding screech of metal being contorted against its will. The front door of the house, however, did not pry open as easily. Barely moving an inch, Martinez began reseating the claw while futilely jerking back and forth on the bar in an attempt to force the door open the rest of the way. It was pointless; the door was not opening any more than the inch that it originally moved.

Ortiz, who had swung around toward the front door in anticipation of running inside behind Martinez, just stood there muttering obscenities at the door.

Within moments of the attempted breaching of both doors, their radios came to life with Hodges shouting, "Fail, fail. We have a second door just inside. Repeat, we have a second door and it's not opening."

Everything seemed like it was taking forever. Later on, Ortiz would recall this moment and think that they must have been out there for twenty minutes. In reality, everything had taken place in less than two minutes. It was a full minute of effort before Martinez shouted into his radio, "Abort, abort, abort. Fall back to the van. Repeat, fall back to the van."

As Martinez turned to run toward the van, Ortiz was not retreating. He jumped in front of Martinez and shouted, "No, we have to get in here."

Martinez shouted back, "Boss, it's not happening. This door is blocked with something and they can't open the back."

Pushing past Ortiz, Martinez whipped around and grabbed the "drag handle" on the back of Ortiz's tactical vest and started to yank him backwards. As he pulled on the handle, he heard a series of loud explosions. He wondered to himself, what in the hell could it be? Maybe Ortiz had rigged some sort of small explosive to the back of his vest — something that was entirely possible since Ortiz loved to pull little pranks on people. Then everything went black.

As Hodges and Roman were running toward the front of the house and preparing to veer off to the right so they could head to the van as directed, their radios came to life. They could hear Ortiz, but they couldn't make out what he was saying. Later on it would be discovered that, when Martinez grabbed the back of Ortiz's vest and then fell away, he had dragged Ortiz's throat mic and earpiece away from Ortiz's head. The wires were currently hanging precariously over his shoulder and flopping around across his back.

When Hodges and Roman cleared the front corner of the house, they found Ortiz just standing in the front yard, repeatedly firing his shotgun through one of the living room windows. Martinez was on the ground and not moving. Hodges changed directions and ran around the front of the house towards Martinez. As soon as he reached him, Hodges picked him up and carried him over his shoulder while running toward the van.

At almost the same time, Roman had run toward Ortiz and, stepping behind him, grabbed the same handle that Martinez just had. With a quick twist of his upper body, combined with a yanking motion over his shoulder, Roman effectively pulled Ortiz off of his feet. Lifting him up behind him, the two men appeared to be connected at the back and shoulders. Roman took off in a dead run toward the van, with Ortiz bouncing around behind him like a badly fit backpack.

With the side door still open, and the van still running, Hodges slung Martinez off of his shoulder and into the van. He then jumped into the van and immediately began checking over Martinez. Roman was right behind him. By slinging his hand and arm forward, as if throwing a softball pitch, Roman yanked Ortiz over the top of his shoulder and sent him unceremoniously flying into the van. A moment later and Roman was behind the wheel, smoothly but quickly driving out of the area.