Chapter 27 - Midnight at Cermak
The abandoned railway freight terminal off Cermak Road looked like a skeletal monument to Chicago’s industrial decay. Towering rusted cranes loomed against the ink-black night sky, while piles of rotting shipping containers cast long, jagged shadows across the frozen concrete.
My black armored Mercedes idled in the center of the vast open yard, its headlights cutting through the swirling mist and falling snow.
I stepped out of the vehicle alone, wearing a heavy black wool coat, my hands empty and visible at my sides.
“I’m here, Viktor!” I called out, my voice echoing off the corrugated metal walls of the terminal. “Show yourself!”
From the shadows near the loading dock, a figure stepped forward. Viktor Vance walked slowly into the pale beam of a distant streetlamp, holding a heavy silver case in his hand. He wasn't alone; two armed enforcers flanked him, their rifles raised and aimed directly at my chest.
“You actually came, Daniel,” Viktor sneered, stopping twenty paces away. A cold, arrogant smile played across his lips. “I have to hand it to you. Most men would have run with their tails between their legs.”
“Cut the speech, Viktor,” I said, my voice cutting through the freezing wind like a razor. “Where’s the guarantee?”
Viktor tossed a small manila folder onto the icy ground between us. “Official federal stay-of-prosecution orders, signed by a judge on our payroll. Drop the flash drive, and walk away. You and the girl can catch a flight to South America by morning.”
“You think I’m stupid enough to trust a piece of paper signed by your bought-and-paid-for judges?” I asked, a dark smile spreading across my face.
Viktor’s smile vanished. “What did you say?”
“I said... you forgot the fundamental rule of Chicago,” I murmured, raising two fingers and tapping the side of my collar.
Suddenly, the floodlights atop the surrounding cranes flared to life, blindingly bright, illuminating the entire freight yard in a brilliant white glare.
From the rooftops and shipping containers above, a dozen laser sights snapped into position—not pointing at me, but painting red dots directly across Viktor and his two enforcers.
“Drop your weapons!” Michael Reed’s voice boomed over the terminal’s public address system, echoing like the voice of an avenging god.
Viktor spun around, panic flaring in his eyes as he realized he had walked into his own ambush. “You son of a bitch!” he snarled, diving for the weapon in his holster.
Before his fingers could wrap around the grip, a single, muffled crack echoed from the crane above.
May you like
A bullet struck the concrete inches from Viktor’s boot, sending a shower of sparks flying into the air.
“Move an inch, Viktor, and the next one goes through your skull,” I said, stepping forward and kicking his fallen pistol across the ice.
