It wasn"t a pleasant sight. The two dead teenagers were draped across the booth"s table top, lying face down side by side, with their blood covering the seats and walls. Each of the victims were wearing leather jackets and baseball caps. They were young gang members and their tickets had been punched out at fifteen and seventeen years, respectively. They had been shot several times each with a 9 mm automatic. The spent brass cartridge shells were littering the tile floor of the establishment between the pools of blood. I could smell traces of the cordite as I walked around the now empty drug store, with Nut and Flack standing to one side watching, and with the remaining patrons of the drug store outside in the cold being interviewed by uniforms.
Two men walked into the crowded drug store
