Chapter 9 - The Culvert Crossfire
“Get down!” Marco roared, drawing his Sig Sauer and shoving Isabella, Ellie, and me behind the thick engine block of the armored SUV.
Four heavily armed men poured out of the trailing sedans, their tactical gear glistening in the rain, their suppressed carbines snapping up toward our position.
“Mr. Moretti!” a harsh voice echoed through the downpour from behind the blinding headlights. “Drop the key and step away from the culvert! You’re walking into a mass grave!”
Vincent didn't flinch. He stood out in the open, the rain soaking through his tailored suit, his hand gripped tightly around the iron key. He turned slowly toward the armed men, his expression a mask of pure, unadulterated fury.
“You think you can bury what my family built?” Vincent shouted back over the roar of the storm. “My uncle is in federal custody. Your funding is frozen. Put the weapons down now, and I’ll let the marshals write you up as trespassers instead of cartel foot soldiers.”
The lead operative laughed harshly, taking a step forward. “The syndicate doesn't have bosses anymore, Moretti. We have creditors. And the debt gets paid in blood!”
He raised his carbine.
Before he could pull the trigger, a sharp, deafening crack echoed from the dense tree line above the ravine.
Crack.
The lead operative dropped instantly, his carbine clattering against the wet gravel as he crumpled into the mud.
From the shadows of the woods, a second shot rang out, blowing out the radiator of the front sedan in a cloud of hissing steam and white smoke.
Marco blinked in surprise, lowering his weapon an inch. “Boss... that wasn't us.”
A figure stepped out from behind an ancient oak tree, holding a long-barreled hunting rifle casually across his shoulder. It was Chief Alvarez of the Winnetka Police Department, flanked by three unmarked squad cars that had silently boxed in the cartel vehicles from the rear.
“Federal warrants, gentlemen,” Alvarez called out, his voice cutting through the rain like a knife. “Drop your weapons or my snipers take off your kneecaps!”
The remaining three operatives looked at each other, glanced at the smoking sedans, and slowly let their weapons drop to the ground, raising their hands in surrender.
Marco exhaled a long, shaky breath, holstering his weapon. “Well. Looks like cavalry still exists.”
Vincent didn't celebrate. He turned back to the dark mouth of the concrete culvert, knelt down in the mud, and pressed the heavy iron skeleton key into a rusted, padlocked iron door hidden behind a curtain of thick vines.
May you like
Click.
The heavy iron bolt slid back with a hollow, echoing snap that sounded like a gunshot in the night.
