…It was a bright, bitterly cold day on Hegeman Avenue. The building was pitch black as Quinn, Gilliam, Cooney, and Waseem groped their way up to the third floor. They were suddenly blinded when an apartment door flew open at the top of the stairway. There stood a tall Black man looking down on them, silhouetted by sunlight – the exterior wall behind him had crumbled away long ago. His hands were deep in the bulging pockets of a London Fog raincoat, holding what Gilliam presumed to be 9-millimeter automatic pistols.
Facing a Black adversary for the first time on the JTTF, Gilliam remembered a slug he took in his left calf on Linwood Street, a heroic wound that hastened his transfer to the JTTF. Gilliam, shielded by his mates standing two steps higher, unholstered his Glock. There was no way he was going to get shot again.
The big man spoke and asked what the quartet’s business was. Cooney, the rookie, pushed past his squad mates to explain ever so earnestly they were looking for a Johnny So-And-So who claimed to live on the third floor.
“Hmm…” Mr. London Fog looked down at the littered floor, pretending to think. “Yes, I seem to recall such a person. He doesn’t live here no more, seein’ as there ain’t no fuckin’ roof or outside walls left. But, if I see him,” he smiled, “I’ll tell him you’re lookin’ for him.”
Mission accomplished, Quinn, Gilliam, and Waseem backed down the stairs until they were in darkness again. But not Cooney. Before his “training Agents” could stop him, he proceeded up the stairway and was shot in the shoulder.
Mr. London Fog – Freddie Hernandez – was arrested a week later when he walked into the 75th Precinct to explain to the Desk Sergeant that it was all a terrible misunderstanding, seeing as his shoddily constructed “9’s” sometimes accidentally spewed bullets. “First time I hit anybody, though. To my knowledge, of course.”
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Atomic Duet - An FBI Story 