Chapter 6 - The Railyard Trap
The old industrial railyard on the south side of the city was a graveyard of rusted boxcars, rotting wooden ties, and overgrown weeds, shrouded in a thick layer of falling snow and dense river fog.
It was 11:45 PM.
I stood in the center of the main yard, wrapped in my black wool coat, illuminated only by the flickering amber light of a single high-pressure sodium lamp hanging from an abandoned crane. Beside me stood Viktor, holding a heavy tactical rifle. Behind us, hidden in the shadows of twenty surrounding rusted train cars, were thirty of my best men, armed and waiting.
Engine noise echoed through the fog.
Four heavy, black armored trucks rolled into the yard, their tires crunching over the frozen gravel. They formed a semi-circle fifty yards from where I stood. Their headlights cut through the gloom, blinding us in white light.
The doors swung open.
Thirty men in tactical gear stepped out, assault rifles held at low-ready. From the center vehicle walked Marcus Vance.
He was a tall, skeletal man with pale eyes and a thin, cruel scar running from his ear down to his collarbone. He wore a tailored fur-lined coat and carried an ivory-handled cane, though he didn't lean on it. He walked with the arrogant confidence of a man who believed he held all the cards.
"Victor Vane," Marcus called out, his voice echoing off the corrugated metal of the boxcars. "You came alone. Well, almost alone. I see you brought your faithful lapdog, Viktor."
"You have five minutes to live, Marcus," I said, my voice dead and emotionless, carrying effortlessly through the freezing air. "Make them count."
Marcus laughed—a dry, rattling sound. "Always the dramatic one, Victor! Just like my fool of a brother. Julian thought he could play the hero. He thought he could hide that little bastard child from me forever."
"Where is he?" I asked.
Marcus gestured lazily with his cane. Two of his men dragged a heavy canvas tarp off the back of a pickup truck, revealing a wooden crate.
"He's in there," Marcus sneered. "Or what's left of him. He was stubborn to the end. Refused to tell me where he sent the girl. But he didn't have to. I knew she'd come straight to you. It's in the blood, isn't it? Murderers running to murderers."
I felt the silver locket in my coat pocket, cold against my palm.
"You killed Elena," I said, stating it not as a question, but as an execution sentence.
"Elena was a loose end," Marcus said casually. "She knew too much about my Chicago operations. Julian was supposed to kill her, but he caught feelings. He hid her away, let her drop that spawn of yours before I could track her down. But it doesn't matter now. The girl is the last piece. Hand her over, Victor, and I’ll let you keep your city. Refuse... and I burn this place to the ground starting tonight."
I checked my watch.
11:58 PM.
"You're late, Marcus," I said.
Marcus frowned, his eyes narrowing. "What?"
"I gave you five minutes," I said quietly. "Your time was up thirty seconds ago."
I raised my right hand and snapped my fingers.
May you like
High above us, on the roofs of the surrounding industrial warehouses, dozens of floodlights snapped on all at once, illuminating the railyard in a blinding glare of blinding white light.
At the same moment, the darkness between the rusted train cars came alive.
