Rickard would have smiled, but that would maybe warn them that he wasn’t what he seemed. He walked directly toward them, pulled out his handgun and shot them once each in the chest. Both men fell in the street and he barely gave them any further notice. As he approached them he snatched up the mobile phone from where it had fallen in the gutter.

“You should’ve kept your mouth shut, boy! If I see you again, you’re dead.”

Rickard dropped the phone and stamped it to ruin. Then he scooped up the men’s handguns and slipped them into his belt. He had a feeling he was going to need the firepower. From a distance he heard shouting. Likely it was the kid on the bike hollering the alarm to all who would listen.

Rickard knew that to be successful he had to move quickly and decisively. Crash through their defenses, cut them down. His greatest weapon was that punks like these prepared to defend themselves against a dawn raid by the cops, or drive-by shootings by rival gangs. They would never have seen anything like him before.

He ran into the garden, where these men had been standing moments before, and around the side of the house. The shooting must have alerted those inside the house with Alisha, but he had a feeling that their reaction wouldn’t be to mount a defense against someone coming to kill them; they’d be too busy flushing the evidence of their illegal pursuits for that.

Whenever the Miami Dade Special Response Team conducted a raid on one of these crack houses, they came in force. An armored truck nicknamed a Bear Cat would spearhead the raid, men in flak jackets clinging to the sides, before rushing forward behind a shield wall to smash down the doors. Nonlethal flash-bang grenades or tear gas would be launched inside the building, and then the armored officers would go in sweeping and clearing each room in turn. The occupants would be arrested while evidence was secured. It was conducted with military precision. In situations like that, the dealers had their own routines. Usually they laid down their weapons, got down on their bellies with their hands on their heads and waited for the inevitable. Rickard was hoping that their ingrained reaction would play out this time. But—if it didn’t—well, so be it. He’d plenty of guns.