Can not understand the meaning of shot here

I lean back in my chair, relieved and, I’ll admit, exceedingly proud of myself. I had given our false alibi without a hitch. It was so convincing that even I almost believe it. But then Hernandez reaches into a drawer, removes a photograph, slides it across the desk.
“Could this be the man you saw?”
It’s a mug shot of a young punk of a man. Wild eyes. Neck tattoo. The papery skin of a junkie. The very same junkie whose nose collapsed beneath my forehead. Seeing his face makes my heart momentarily stop.
“Yes,” I say with a gulp. “That’s him.