Chapter 7 - War on Pier 42
Midnight arrived with a crack of thunder over Chicago’s harbor.
Pier 42 was lit up like a fortress. High-powered floodlights swept across the wet concrete docks, casting long shadows against rows of towering shipping containers. Armed guards belonging to both Walter’s private security firm and the Moretti Syndicate stood patrol every fifty yards.
Inside the glass-walled penthouse suite of the Pier 42 administrative building, Walter Pierce sat at the head of a massive mahogany conference table.
Beside him sat Silas Moretti—a ruthless, silver-haired man in a tailored Italian suit, sipping expensive scotch from a crystal glass.
“To a new era, Walter,” Silas said, raising his glass with a slick, predatory smile. “With Adrian out of the picture, the entire Great Lakes corridor belongs to us.”
Walter raised his glass, his eyes gleaming with triumphant greed. “To progress, Silas. Adrian’s father was weak. Adrian was emotional. Now, the Whitmore empire finally has a leader who understands real power.”
Walter picked up a pen to sign the master transfer deeds laid out on the table.
Suddenly, every floodlight on the docks went dark!
The entire pier was plunged into pitch-black shadow!
“What the hell?!” Silas barked, dropping his glass. “Where are the backup generators?!”
Before the guards in the room could react, the high-pitched whistle of a tactical tear-gas canister echoed through the room as it crashed through the double-paned glass window!
Thick, white chemical smoke erupted across the penthouse!
Shouts and panicked gunfire shattered the night as Moretti’s guards began blind-firing into the fog!
Downstairs, on the ground floor of the administrative building, Adrian and Gavin moved through the dark corridors like shadows. Equipped with night-vision goggles and silenced weapons, they neutralized Walter’s security guards with swift, non-lethal precision.
Behind them came Claire, guided by Big Mike’s senior union steward, Jim.
They reached the central archive vault on the main floor. Claire stepped forward, her hands steady despite the chaos above. She inserted the tiny silver key into Safety Deposit Box #412 and turned it.
CLICK.
The heavy steel drawer slid open.
Inside lay a thick, leather-bound ledger stamped with the official seal of the Chicago Port Authority, alongside a digital hard drive containing raw, unedited footage of the night Marcus Bennett was murdered.
“I got it!” Claire called out, clutching the hard drive to her chest.
“Claire! Look out!” Jim roared, shoving her behind a heavy steel filing cabinet!
A hail of automatic gunfire sprayed across the doorway!
Standing in the corridor was Walter’s top enforcer, a scarred brute named Vane, holding an assault rifle!
“Well, well,” Vane sneered, stepping into the room, his weapon trained on Claire’s chest. “The night nurse from the hospital. Walter said if I found you, I should put a bullet in your head.”
Claire backed against the steel cabinet, her breath hitching. She had no gun. She had no training.
Then, she looked down at her feet.
Lying on the floor beside the broken desk was an industrial high-pressure steam hose used for cleaning the vault’s environmental filters. The pressure valve was right beside her hand.
Vane took a step closer, raising his rifle. “Say goodnight, nurse—”
Claire slammed her foot down on the main steam valve and aimed the heavy nozzle straight at Vane’s face!
A roaring jet of two-hundred-degree pressurized steam erupted from the hose, blasting Vane directly in the face and chest!
Vane let out a blood-curdling scream, dropping his rifle and staggering backward, clutching his scalding face!
Claire didn't hesitate. She grabbed a heavy brass desk lamp and swung it with all the force in her body, striking Vane squarely across the side of the head!
The massive enforcer crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
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Claire stood over him, panting heavily, her eyes wide. She looked at the brass lamp, then at the fallen mobster.
“I told you,” Claire whispered fiercely. “Never mess with a night nurse.”
