“We’re in position,” said the homicide lieutenant who was on the line with them. He was one of two officers hiding on the opposite platform. There was also a sharpshooter on a rooftop nearly fifty yards away.

“Where’s Joey?” Mann asked, using the code name for the drug dealer.

“He’s not here yet,” the lieutenant whispered into the phone. “But we can’t wait anymore. We’ve gotta move now.”

“Okay, honey,” Mann said, reaching into his jacket and gripping the butt of his gun. “I’ll see you when I get home.”

A train’s flickering light rounded the bend, prompting most of the commuters to move toward the edge of the platform. Mann darted between them, pushing ever faster toward the suspect.

“Hey, watch it!” a woman said when Mann stepped on her foot.

“Sorry,” he said, moving faster as the train approached the station.

The woman was about to turn away when she noticed Mann’s hand in his jacket. She watched in horror as he dropped his briefcase, drew his weapon, and started toward the suspect.

“He’s got a gun!” she shouted, and the platform exploded in chaos.

Women began screaming as Mann broke through the crowd. Men started pushing toward the arriving train. The suspect looked around, his face contorted into the pitiful expression of an addict in need of a fix. When he saw Mann charging toward him, his drooping eyes grew wide, and he bolted in the other direction.

The detectives on the opposite platform were trapped in their positions when the train pulled into the station. The sharpshooter on the roof was unable to get a clear shot. The commuters on the platform were screaming and running toward the train.

Mann was their best hope to catch him.

He sprinted after the fleeing killer, who reached into his waistband and grabbed a .38.

Mann took aim and hoped for a clean shot, but Mary Smithson had already beaten him to the punch.

“Stop!” Smithson shouted as she stood and aimed her weapon at the suspect.

Trapped between Mann and Smithson, the hit man did as he was told. He stopped, and as terrified commuters looked on, he held the .38 at his side.

“Drop the gun!” Mann bellowed from behind him.

A smile spread across the hit man’s face. He closed his eyes and slowly raised the gun toward Smithson. As he did so, Smithson’s finger tightened on her trigger, but Mann fired first.

The bullet exploded through the back of the hit man’s head. As he fell to the ground, Mann fired another round through his torso.

There was a moment of tortured silence as the commuters absorbed what had just happened. Out of the hundreds of people who had witnessed the shooting, Mann was the first to speak.

“Are you all right?” he asked Smithson as the killer lay dead between them.