easily done.  For instance, there's place a block from the station house.  This one operation maybe does $40,000 or $50,000 a day.”

Headlights sweep the street as a car turns onto 113th at the corner.  Through the burlap, Goff watches as the guy parks in the spot they've saved for him in front of Ramone's six-flat.  “That's the wrong car,” says Freeman.  De-De's supposed to be in a Dodge Shadow.  This is a Ford.  Freeman and Goff get out and approach the driver cautiously.  They don't want to scare him to death.  They flash their badges and politely ask him to move on.  The startled citizen is gone in a flash.  They get back in the van and wait. 

A few minutes later, Bob Fischer comes out of the building.  Goff cracks the window.  Fischer says Ramone just got a call from De-De.  “He wants Ramone to come down and pick the stuff up because he's having problems with his starter.  He can't shut the car off.”  Just then another car turns onto the street.  Fischer jumps in back of the van with Goff to get out of sight.  They watch the car roll up to them and pull into the open slot in front of Ramone's building. 

“Blue Honda,” says Freeman.  Still the wrong car.  They get out again.  Goff crosses the street and moves up the sidewalk as Freeman and Fischer approach on the driver's side.  No sudden moves.  They don't want some poor taxpayer jumping out of his skin.  The guy is half out the door when he spots them.  He's got what looks like a pizza in a plastic bag in one hand and a sack of flour in the other.  Goff says, “Sir, we're police officers, would you mind—”

BRRRRRRRUP!  He's cut off by 25 rounds from the machinegun inside the plastic bag.  Goff is hit in the neck.  Scotty Freeman is down.  Fischer, narrowly missed, blasts away with his weapon as De-De jumps back in and jams the Honda in gear. Goff, bleeding at the neck, empties his Baretta at the fleeing car.

Frank Goff has this recurring nightmare—he knows a lot of cops who have this dream—where he's firing and