Manhunt (Michael Bennett 10.50)

On the fourth landing, I said, “You ready for this? It doesn’t matter what happens, you’ve done a good job getting us this far. Now we have to use our heads.”

“You don’t have to talk to me like I’m some kid out of the academy. I have four years’ patrol experience and two years in the detective bureau. I’m only new to homicide. Homicide detectives are no

t the only ones that make arrests.”

“I don’t have to talk to you like that, but I enjoy it. That’s one of the advantages of being senior.”

I appreciated the smile that spread across Antrole’s face. Feeling out a new partner is always an ongoing process, but this guy was all right.

He said, “This suspect might be the key to some of the unsolved homicides connected to the heroin dealers up this way.”

“Could be.” Antrole was looking at the big picture—rare with new homicide detectives. It showed a ton of promise.

The fourth-floor hallway was empty. That was always good. I paused at the stairwell and just listened to the sounds of the apartment building for almost a full minute. Nothing unusual. Latin music from one apartment. Someone talking loud in another.

As we carefully made our way down the hallway, I heard a TV playing a daytime talk show loudly in another apartment.

The cheap carpet was uneven over a wooden floor that broadcast sound. A wide set of windows at the end of the hallway took the edge off the gloomy vibe of the building.

Then we found ourselves in front of apartment 416. Antrole slipped to the other side of the door and drew his Glock service weapon. I pulled my pistol, too, though I thought it was a little premature.

We listened to the door and I put my hand against it to see if I could feel any vibration. Unexpectedly, it pushed open a few inches.

I looked to Antrole, who angled his head to see into the apartment.

That was odd. Drug dealers in this neighborhood rarely left their doors unbolted, let alone open. It was nice to catch a break once in a while.

From my angle, I could see the suspect we were looking for sitting on a couch under a wide, dirty window. His head leaned back on the rear of the couch. He wasn’t moving. I motioned to Antrole that I saw someone inside.

The young detective nodded and turned before I could tell him to wait.

A shadow passed the open door, and I heard someone inside. It was a single word. Some kind of command. I wasn’t even sure what language it was. But the subsequent gunfire was unmistakable.

The door appeared to explode and Antrole jumped to the other side of the doorway, his gun up.

I crouched quickly and fired a couple of rounds into the apartment. I didn’t see a target; it was just to keep the shooters behind cover. We had to move and move quickly.

The gunfire didn’t slow down.

This was an ambush.

Chapter 3

Alexandra “Alex” Martinez aimed her Canon EOS-5D Mark III Digital SLR camera at the tallest of the three young men, who were dressed only in tight white underwear. The abs of all three looked like ice trays and their arms had just enough meat. But the tallest of the three, Chaz, was special. The camera loved Chaz.

Alex realized she was barking at the model next to Chaz when he got too close. It was like having a Matt Groening character pop up in a Renoir.

The top of this building in the Morrisania neighborhood in the Bronx provided an interesting urban backdrop, and conveniently put her in position for another assignment. Photographing nearly naked models was fun, but it didn’t pay the bills.

This wasn’t a coincidence. Alex had planned the photo session to the last detail, including the location. Just like she did everything else.

She checked her watch. They’d been at it for more than two hours, but she could wrap it up just about any time she wanted. That was the advantage of being prepared: you usually got the shots you needed quickly.

Then she heard it. A couple of pops, seeming to come from the next block.

The models craned their necks, looked over the side of the building in the direction of the sound. She could look down on 161st Street and see the front of the building the gunfire was coming from.

She turned away from her crew as a smile crept onto her face. It was even more gunfire than she’d anticipated. Michael Bennett had been executed.