“Yesterday morning, I went back to tell the others. I begged them to just leave, but they wouldn’t. They said the war was about to start, and we all had our assignments. Mine was to go to your house,” he said, looking at Sandy. “They said if I didn’t they would kill me, so I put on the black suit and agreed to do it, but when they went into the kitchen to cook up some dope, I slipped out the back door, took off the clothes, took the dog, and never came back.”

“Do you know what happened to Steven and Gabe?” Coletti asked.

James White shivered. “No, but I know what happened to Phillip,” he said gravely. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if the same thing happened to them.”

Charlie Mann was in the passenger seat of a black van with tinted windows, which was parked near a house in Kensington. He was wearing a helmet and bulletproof vest, and his right hand was resting on the butt of his Glock nine-millimeter.

A narcotics sergeant was in the driver’s seat, and ten other officers were sitting in the back of the van, their M16 rifles at the ready and their helmets and vests firmly in place.

A half block away, there were three twenty-fifth district wagons and two unmarked cars from homicide. At the rear of the house was a second narcotics van. They were all waiting for Mann to utter the word go.

The house on tiny Tulip Street had long been the most notorious shooting gallery in Kensington. It was the place where addicts went to shoot heroin so pure it boasted brand names like Playboy and X-Factor. In that house, dealers provided creature comforts like fresh needles and prostitutes, rented rooms and fishscale cocaine. Veteran addicts rubbed shoulders with young beginners who learned firsthand that Philadelphia had the most potent heroin in the country.

“This is Dan 61,” Mann said into his radio. “I need 2501 and 2502 to take up positions on the north end of the block. Dan 25 and Dan 27, you’re on the south end with 2503.”

“Okay,” each officer said, as they moved their vehicles into position.

Mann looked at the narcotics officer on the seat across from him. He nodded, and Mann set the raid in motion.

“Squad one, go,” he said into his radio.

The van’s back door swung open and the cops jumped out in pairs.

“Squad two, go,” Mann said, and the officers in back of the house jumped out in pairs as well.

Mann and the sergeant exited the van just as battering rams hit the front and back doors in unison. They could hear the sounds of people scrambling inside the house. In five seconds, however, the door was forced open and the sound of scrambling footsteps was overshadowed by the sounds of shouting voices.

“Police! Don’t move! Get down!”