Chapter 5 - FIRE AT THE WAREHOUSE
The Racine Avenue municipal storage facility was a sprawling, soot-stained brick labyrinth located in an industrial industrial zone near the river, where the wind off Lake Michigan carried the sharp scent of rotting ice and diesel exhaust.
By the time Theo Park and his four-man tactical detail pulled up in unmarked black SUVs, the padlock on storage unit 402 had already been forced open.
"Boss," muttered Jenkins, one of Theo’s most trusted enforcers, stepping out of the vehicle with a suppressed submachine gun hidden beneath his heavy coat. "Looks like Moretti beat us by ten minutes. The side door is unlatched."
Theo’s face hardened. He pulled his own sidearm, the metal clicking sharply in the freezing air. "Move in silence. No civilian casualties, but anyone wearing Moretti’s colors doesn't leave walking."
They slipped through the side entrance into the dim, towering aisles of metal storage lockers. Dust motes danced in the pale beams of their tactical flashlights. The air smelled of old cardboard, damp wool, and neglect.
Clatter.
The sound echoed from aisle four.
Theo raised his hand, signaling his men to fan out. He crept forward silently, his boots making no sound on the concrete floor. Peering around the corner of a towering stack of plastic storage bins, he saw three men in heavy leather jackets rummaging frantically through an open wooden crate marked CASTILLO - 2004.
"Damn it, it’s just old kitchenware and baby clothes," one of the thugs muttered, tossing a rusted iron skillet aside. "Where are the ledgers?"
"Keep digging," hissed the second man, pulling a heavy crowbar from his belt. "Boss said there’s a lockbox wrapped in oilcloth. If we find it, we get a payday that sets us up for life."
Theo stepped out from the shadows, blocking the only exit from the aisle.
"You're looking in the wrong box," Theo said softly.
The three Outfit thugs spun around in shock, hands scrambling for their weapons. But they were dealing with professionals trained by the best security apparatus in the Midwest. Before the first thug could clear his holster, Jenkins and two other guards stepped out behind them, their suppressed weapons locked squarely on the intruders' chests.
"Drop the iron," Theo commanded, his voice like cold steel. "Unless you want to spend the rest of eternity sleeping under the Chicago river."
The first thug cursed under his breath and let his pistol clatter to the concrete floor. The other two quickly followed suit, their hands raised high in the air.
"Who sent you?" Theo demanded, stepping closer. "Moretti?"
"Go to hell," the lead thug snarled defiantly.
Theo didn't flinch. He raised the butt of his pistol and brought it down across the thug’s jaw with a sickening crunch. The man collapsed unconscious onto the concrete floor. Theo turned his cold, piercing gaze to the remaining two.
"Now," Theo whispered. "Do you want to answer the question, or do you want me to ask again?"
The second thug swallowed hard, his eyes wide with stark terror. "Yeah! Moretti! He sent us! He’s looking for dirt on Choi! He heard about the kid and the old lady, and he thinks Choi’s hiding a skeleton in the closet!"
Theo nodded slowly. He tapped his comms earpiece. "Boss, we secured unit 402. Moretti sent three scouts. They were looking for the oilcloth lockbox."
Through the earpiece, Daniel Choi’s voice came back, calm, steady, and terrifyingly cold. "Did they find it?"
May you like
"No, sir. We got here first."
"Bring the box to me," Daniel ordered. "And as for Moretti's scouts... make sure they deliver a message to their boss when they wake up. Tell him that if he ever looks in my direction again, I won't just dismantle his crew—I'll erase his entire family tree from the city records."
