It took about four hours of what the firefighters called “surround and drown” until smoke stopped pouring out of the charred remains of the restaurant. By that time, debris from the fire had clogged the storm drains and water from the hoses had pretty much flooded the street. It was March, and the cold seeped up into Erin’s body through her wet shoes. She’d loaded Rolf back into her car, and wished she’d done the same for herself. She tried not to shiver. Vic, doing his stoic Russian bit, gave no sign of discomfort. Webb was working his way through his second pack of cigarettes.
In the meantime, they had one useful witness. A kid, Tim Oney, sixteen years old, claimed to have seen the whole thing. He was more excited than traumatized, unable to hold still. Webb asked the questions, while Erin and Vic listened.
“What happened?”
“We had early dismissal today from my school, so they let us out at 1:30.”
“What school?”
“Bard High School, over on Houston Street. I picked up some snacks on the way home. I was gonna get together with a couple buddies and play Call of Duty until Mom kicks them out. I got Mountain Dew, a box of Twinkies, and some chips. Is that important?”
“Anything you remember might be important. We’ll decide that. Just tell us what you saw.”
“Anyway, I was walking past Antonio’s when I saw these three guys. They were wearing long black coats. They walked up to the windows and pulled out guns from under their coats, just like in the movies. You know, like the lobby scene in The Matrix? It looked like that. You know, when Neo opens up his coat and he’s got all these guns, and…”
“Kid, I’ve seen it.”
“Oh, yeah. Sure. Well, it was like that, except they only had one gun each, at least that I saw. Maybe they had more under their coats. But they hauled out what looked like an AR-15, an SA80, and a Benelli M4.”
“You recognized the guns?” Vic broke in.
“I play a lot of FPS.”
“FPS?” Webb asked.
“First-person shooters, you know, Call of Duty, Counterstrike, Halo.”
“Okay, kid. That’s good. That’s the sort of details we need. Are you sure about the guns?”
“Yeah. Well, the SA80 and the AR-15 for sure. I’m pretty sure the shotgun was a Benelli. It had a pistol grip.”
“What happened then?”
“They just started shooting, right through the windows. And it was loud. I mean, seriously loud. I think they tone down the noise in games. It was scary, but kind of cool, too, you know? Like, there’s this action scene happening right in front of me. I should’ve got my phone out and taken a picture, or some video, but it was so fast, you know?
“Anyway, they shot the shit out of the windows, and people were screaming and running around outside. I guess they were screaming inside, too. Then some cops showed up and yelled something, and the guys with the rifles shot at the cops. But they didn’t hit any of them. Then the guy with the shotgun took out a Molotov cocktail, you know, a bottle full of gas, and he threw it inside. The weird thing was, he didn’t light it first. You know, in the movies they always have a rag sticking out the top that they light with a lighter? But this one wasn’t lit. But that didn’t matter, because as soon as it hit inside, it blew up. It was a big frickin’ fireball, man. It’s a good thing for those guys that the windows were already shot out, or the glass would’ve cut them all up. I could feel the heat all the way from the other side of the street.”
“You’re sure the bottle wasn’t already on fire when it went inside?” Erin asked.
“Yeah. Maybe he threw it into the kitchen and hit the stove? It would’ve been a hell of a good throw. I think maybe it had something that wasn’t just gasoline in it, maybe something that went off when the bottle broke and the air hit it? I’m gonna ask Mr. Reynolds, my chem teacher. He knows a lot about chemical reactions and stuff.”
“What happened then?”
“The two guys with the rifles kept shooting to keep the cops pinned down. Then they took off running around that corner.”
“Did you see their faces?”
“Yeah, but they were wearing hats and sunglasses, and they had the collars on their coats pulled way up, so I didn’t see much.”
“Were they white? Black? Middle Eastern? Italian?”
“They were white guys, I think. They had on gloves along with the masks, so it was hard to tell. But yeah, they were white. At least, one of them was. I saw his neck over the top of his coat.”
“What else can you tell me about them?”
“They had nice shoes.”
“Nice shoes?”
“Like, the kind of shoes guys wear if they work in an office. Not like sneakers, you know? Black shoes, black pants, black coats, black hats.”
“Kid’s a good witness,” Erin said, once they’d let Tim go.
“Plays too many video games,” Webb said. “I’m glad I have daughters. But yeah, he caught a lot of details. It definitely sounds like a professional hit. But he didn’t see the fourth shooter.”
“He wouldn’t have,” she said. “The fourth guy was around back the whole time.”
Finally, the fire captain announced the fire was out and the site was secure. The CSU team moved in to start sorting out the bodies from the rest of the burnt-out rubble. The meat wagon had arrived in the meantime, driven by those two guys from the city morgue, Hank and Ernie.
“Jesus, not them again,” Vic muttered.
“You think they volunteer for the bad homicides?” Erin wondered aloud.
“Wouldn’t surprise me.”
Hank jerked a thumb toward the back alley. “You want the brainless wonders or the barbecue?”
“Let’s save the leftovers,” Ernie said. “They gotta take pictures first. Meantime, I’m gonna live la vida loca.”
Hank raised an eyebrow.
“C’mon, man, Ricky Martin?” Ernie prompted. Then he
