Malone catches Russo’s glance. He says, “Gunshot warrant. We saw known gang members on the prowl, followed them and then heard gunshots. We didn’t have time to call for backup. Anyone have a problem with that?”
“We still owe these people for Billy,” Russo says, passing out the HKs.
Levin looks at Malone.
Malone says, “Arrests might not be our priority here.”
Levin meets his look. “I’m good with that.”
“You still good if there’s a shooting board?” Malone says. “IAB?”
“I’m good.”
Russo says, “We’re mixing it up a little on this one. I’ll breach, Levin goes in first. Malone sloppy seconds. Monty guards door.”
He stares at Malone, like don’t go against me on this. Levin looks at Malone, too—Malone always goes in first.
Malone asks, “Levin, you okay with this?”
“It’s my turn,” Levin says.
“Let’s go,” Malone says.
He fires two shots in the air.
Monty trots to the door and sticks the Rabbit in. Levin slides up beside him, presses himself against the wall and holds his HK at high port, ready to go.
The lock pops.
The door swings open.
Russo tosses in the flashbang.
The interior lights up.
Levin counts to three, yells, “Moving!,” pivots and goes through the door. Rounds hit him instantly, from low to high—into his legs, his belly, his chest, his neck, his head.
He’s dead before his body hits the floor.
Malone drops behind him and sees Trinis in green bandannas crouching behind the stairwell railing. They have Kevlar body armor and combat helmets with heavy visors and night-vision goggles.
They run up the stairs.
Malone flattens himself on his back behind Levin’s body. Hits the button on his radio and yells, “10-13! Officer down! Officer down!,” then stretches his HK out over Levin’s chest and squeezes the trigger.
Rounds come back, stitching into Levin.
Russo stands at the edge of the door, firing shotgun blasts. “Get the fuck out of there, Denny!”
Malone rolls over Levin’s body and fires.
Then he gets up and moves.
Up the stairs.
“Denny! Back out!”
But Russo comes in.
So does Monty.
Malone hears them pounding up the stairs behind him.
He never used to worry about his back because Monty was behind him.
Now he’s worried about his back. Because Monty’s behind him, worried about his back, too, wondering if Malone stuck a knife in it.
Malone hears the Trinis running above him. Fuckin’ kids are a lot faster than him. Racing to the fourth floor, protect the smack and the jefe. But it don’t matter if they win the race, they got no place to go except the roof and that’s a death trap.
But they stop and fire.
Rounds bounce around the stairway like it’s a pinball machine. Off the walls, off the railing.
Malone hears Russo scream, “My eye!”
Malone turns to see him drop, curl into a ball and grab his face. A rust fragment from the railing. Monty presses him down, steps over him, squeezing his heft along the wall as he comes up.
“I’m okay!” Russo yells. “Just come down!”
Malone don’t come down. Instead he runs up to the fourth-floor door, Monty behind him, gun lowered.
Malone steps aside.
Monty kicks in the door.
Malone goes in shooting.
Hears one Trini scream as a round hits him. Bullets come stitching across the concrete floor, throwing up sparks and fragments.
Malone drops to the floor and rolls to the side.
Looks back to see Monty raise his .38.
At him.
Malone crabs back to the wall next to the door. Pushes his back into the wall. Nowhere else to go.
Raises the HK at Monty.
They look at each other.
Monty fires into the doorway.
A Trini twirls out, hit in the groin below the vest. His AK fires into the ceiling. Monty takes him down with two shots to the legs. The Trini jackknifes and falls backward.
The Trinis aren’t gonna give it up; they know they’ve killed a cop and they’re not going out of there in cuffs. Their only options are the back door or killing the surviving police.
Malone swings his gun through the open door and fires, then ducks back as Monty uses the cover fire to move to the other side of the door. Looks at Malone like, we’re in it now. Then he juts his chin at the doorway—go.
Malone launches up and through the door. Feels heavy punches in his ribs as rounds smack into his vest and he goes down.
A Trini walks toward him, a Glock aimed in front of him.
Malone lunges, tackles him around the legs and drives him to the floor. Wrests the gun out of his hand and beats him in the head with it, again and again, until the Trini’s body goes limp.
Then he hears another burst and a body falls hard on top of him. He looks out from under and sees Monty lower his gun.
Monty looks at him.
Thinking about shooting again.
Friendly fire—it happens.
Sirens scream through the night. Flashers pulse outside the door. Malone pushes the body off him.
A body bolts off the fire escape landing.
Monty goes out the window after him.
No heroin in the room. No money counters.
No Castillo.
It was an ambush.
Castillo must have gone out the back before we got here, Malone thinks. He sussed out the surveillance and set me up, knowing I’m the one who always goes through the door.
That first blast was meant for me.
Levin took it instead.
Russo staggers into the room.
Footsteps pound up the stairs and Malone hears “NYPD!” They come down the hallway, firing.
“NYPD!” Malone screams. “We’re police!”
Tries to remember the color of the day.
Russo yells, “Red! Red!”
Malone hears more shots from outside.
Bullets smack into the walls above them. It’s Task Force—Gallina and Tenelli—coming up the hallway, firing in front of them. Russo hits the floor, crawls under a table. Malone squeezes himself into a corner. Takes off his lanyard, throws his shield out onto the floor where they can see it. “NYPD! It’s Malone!”
Tenelli sees him, pretends not to.
She fires twice.
Malone throws his arms across his face. The rounds hit left of his head.
Russo yells, “Fuck! Stop! It’s Russo!”
More feet, more voices.
Uniforms from the Three-Two, yelling, “Cease fire! Cease fire! It’s cops! Russo and Malone!”
Tenelli lowers her weapon.
Malone gets up, goes for her. “You fucking cunt!”
“I didn’t see you!”
“The fuck you didn’t!”
A uniform gets between them.
Russo asks, “The fuck’s Monty?”
“He went down the fire escape.”
They go after him.
Fucking chaos in the streets. Sector cars rolling up, brakes screeching. Shouts, people running.
Monty lies on his back on the sidewalk.
Blood pumps out of his carotid artery.
Malone kneels and presses hard against the neck, trying to stop the bleeding. “Don’t you go out on me, don’t you go out on me, brother. Please, Big Man, don’t you go out on me.”
Russo spins around like a drunk, holding his head, crying.
A radio car from the Three-Two squeals in, the uniforms jump out with guns drawn and aimed. Malone screams, “We’re on the job! Task Force! Officer down! Get medics here!”
He hears one of the uniforms say, “Is that fuckin’ Malone? Maybe we got here too soon.”