The gunshot wasn’t loud, certainly not enough for the neighbors to hear; the silencer was very effective.
But…
Mike turned his head away, no longer looking at the wall, feeling a wave of nausea.
He stood up and quickly searched the living room.
Over a dozen small plastic bags were scattered on the coffee table, filled with white powder and pills.
Beside them were electronic scales and sealer bags.
Under a table against the wall sat a black briefcase.
Mike opened it.
Inside were stacks of US dollars, mostly in twenty and fifty-dollar denominations.
A rough estimate put it at sixty or seventy thousand.
*Yes!*
Fortune really did favor the bold!
Mike suppressed his inner excitement and continued the search.
In a living room cabinet, he found three large cardboard boxes.
They looked like laundry detergent boxes, but when opened, they contained bulk packages of white powder and pills pre-sorted into transparent plastic bags.
Mike’s eyes lit up with joy.
There were at least ten kilograms of illicit goods here.
He glanced around, confirming there were no cameras.
With a thought, he turned over all the contraband to the system.
[Ding!
Large quantity of contraband detected.
Purity: High.
Quantity meets mission standards.]
[This batch of contraband involves the weekly transaction volume of a local gang.
Estimated merit point reward upon completion of the “Gang Homicide” plot mission: no less than 300 points.]
[Please handle the scene appropriately and continue the mission.]
The corners of Mike’s mouth curled upward.
No less than 300 points, and the mission was still ongoing.
It looked like he was in for a massive haul!
He found the lone shell casing and picked it up.
Locating the deformed bullet in the wall, he pried it out with the bald man’s folding knife.
Joe, still unconscious in the bathroom, hadn’t seen him.
Mike felt there was no need to silence him.
“Woody” Danny could arrive at any moment.
Mike quickly cleaned up any traces he had left, stuffing the tape with the glass shards into his trash bag.
Finally, he picked up the briefcase and the trash bag and left through the back door.
Before leaving, he intentionally left the back door open.
Mike returned to his car, took off the neck gaiter, and wiped the dark foundation off his face with wet wipes.
He didn’t start the car until he had changed his clothes.
It was eleven-thirty by the time he got home.
Mike hauled the trash bag and the briefcase into his basement.
He took a few minutes to shower and changed into his patrol uniform.
As midnight approached, Mike finally arrived at the precinct parking lot.
Frank was leaning against the patrol car smoking, his silver thermos resting on the hood.
“Sorry, I almost overslept.” Mike tossed his backpack into the backseat of the patrol car.
“It’s cold tonight,” Frank said, getting into the car.
“The second half of the night is going to be brutal.”
“I took your advice and brought a heavy coat.” Mike sat in the passenger seat.
Frank had already completed the hand-off.
The patrol car rolled out onto the midnight streets of Brooklyn.
They handled a domestic dispute between a couple and a report of a smashed car window.
At 2:10 AM, the radio crackled: “All units, Code 10, vicinity of 147 Pine Street.
Caller reports suspected gunshots.
Nearby units please respond to investigate.”
Mike’s hand tightened around his thermos.
Frank grabbed the radio.
“7-Adam-5 received.
En route.”
The sirens wailed, and the car accelerated into a turn.
Sure enough, the legend that the killer always returns to the scene was true—and he was no exception.
They arrived at Pine Street ten minutes later.
A patrol car was already parked in front of Villa No.
147, its red and blue lights flashing.
Two officers stood outside the iron gate, shining flashlights into the yard.
It was John John, recently out of the hospital, and his partner.
“Frank!
Mike!” John lowered his voice.
“Back door is open.
No answer to calls.
There’s a guy down in the living room.
I suggest you don’t look too closely.”
“Called for backup?” Frank asked.
“Yeah, detectives and the ME are on the way,” John said.
“We haven’t gone in yet.”
Mike peered through the gap in the front gate.
The living room lights were on, and there was a familiar figure on the floor, though he had been flipped over.
“The caller was the elderly couple at 145 next door,” John’s partner added.
“Said they heard a series of muffled thuds around two o’clock.
The old man came out, saw the back door open, and called it in.”
Frank nodded.
“Let’s set up the tape.
How are you feeling lately?”
“Not bad.
Thanks to you guys helping out, otherwise Huggins wouldn’t have been so quick to give me time off.
Today is my last shift before my vacation, and I run into this.”
Mike also stepped forward to help with the crime scene tape, cordoning off the property together.
Several neighbors wrapped in robes stood at their doors, watching.
At 3:10 AM, the detective team arrived.
Detective Liam Carter stepped out of a black SUV, followed by Detective Ryan and a young woman from the Forensics Department.
The woman wore black-rimmed glasses and carried a silver evidence kit, her movements efficient.
“Status of the scene?” Liam asked after hearing John’s report.
“Preliminary assessment: one deceased,” John said.
“Details unclear.”
Liam turned to the young woman.
“Erin, start with the perimeter.”
“Understood.” Erin had already donned gloves and shoe covers and began taking photos.
Liam looked at Frank and Mike.
“You two stay to help with the lockdown.
Let John head back to write his report.”
The scene hadn’t been fully processed yet, so this was a way of looking out for John, but everyone—including the other patrol unit that had arrived to assist—was cooperative.
Liam and Ryan entered the villa.
Ten minutes later, Ryan walked out, his expression grim.
“Two dead.
Looks like gang business.” Ryan sighed, pulled out a cigarette, and took a deep drag.
Mike listened with a calm face.
So Joe was dead too.
The guy must have been suspected by his own people.
The “muffled thuds” the old man next door heard were likely the sounds of the Buffalo Gang gunning him down.
“Dispute over the spoils?
Or a turf war?” Frank glanced toward the living room.
“I saw small plastic bags.
Typical stash house.”
“Hard to say for now.” Ryan nodded.
“Shame we didn’t find any large amounts of cash or drugs.
Probably moved or stolen.”
“Frank, Mike,” he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
“Anything unusual in this sector lately?”
Frank shook his head.
“Pine Street is usually quiet.”
Liam nodded, then suddenly looked at Mike.
“When you were looking inside from the back door just now, you looked a bit surprised.
Find something?”
Mike resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
These guys were sharp; he really was too green when it came to controlling his expressions.
Mike met his gaze.
“I just thought the scene was contradictory.
The guy in the living room was executed with one shot to the head, but the guy in the bathroom was gunned down.”
Liam lit another cigarette and narrowed his eyes.
“Go on.”
“There might have been two groups of people,” Mike said.
“I’m not entirely sure, but there’s one thing to note.” He tapped his own wrist.
“The guy in the bathroom…
he’d been tied up.”
Ryan’s eyes lit up.
“Huh?
You’ve got good eyes.
It took me a while to notice that!”
Mike shrugged, not bothering with modesty.
“I was a quarterback in high school.
Strong and sharp.
My speed was just a bit lacking, otherwise a college scout would have picked me up.”
Liam gave Mike an appreciative look and flicked away some ash.
“Erin!
How is it?”
The forensic officer walked out of the villa, holding an evidence bag.
“Looks like I’ll be busy until dawn.
.38 and 9mm Luger shell casings.
I found seven in total in the bathroom.
But the guy in the living room was definitely taken out by something larger than a 9mm.
It was brutal, yet I can’t find a shell casing or a slug!”
“Time of death?” Liam asked.
“The bathroom victim’s body temp is slightly higher.
Maybe two hours later than the other one,” Erin said, pushing up her glasses.
“Details will have to wait for the autopsy.”
Mike remained calm, but he sighed in frustration internally.
While that Desert Eagle was cool, it was too distinctive for this kind of work.
If he used it again and the case caught the NYPD’s attention, someone would eventually connect the dots.
After speaking with Detective Liam, Erin looked at Mike.
“Are you Mike Lee?
Officer Carter mentioned you.
I’m Erin Chen, newly transferred to Forensics.”
“Welcome,” Mike said.
“This scene is too weird.
I have to get back to work.
See you around.” Erin waved.
“Good luck.”
After Mike spoke, he rolled his eyes again internally.
These people were all as sharp as tacks.
Frank went to the car to rest.
Mike took his post outside the cordon, occasionally glancing at the light spilling out from the villa.
Joe was dead; that suited his purposes perfectly.
And it seemed Boss Jack of the Buffalo Gang had a hair-trigger reaction.
If he was willing to gun Joe down just on the suspicion of defecting to the Blood Angels, then a retaliatory strike against the Blood Angels was inevitable!