The DEA agents silently took their positions around the dilapidated warehouse, pistols raised.
Jones gave the hand signal. Three officers kicked the door in. The grunts running the lab were caught flat-footed. Didn’t even put up any token resistance. They were led away in manacles.
Jones took his team in to reconnoiter. His jaw nearly dropped when he saw a twenty-foot high pile of what eventually tested out to be pure benzedrine sulfate, all packaged neatly in gelatin capsules.
But victory felt hollow. He groaned, knowing exactly what the Post’s headline would be:
“Feds bust meth ring, find ‘Benny’ Hill.”
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