Wolfe fired. The thug with the AK47 went down, a bullet in the forehead.
The AK skidded over to the edge of the sidewalk. Wolfe ran up the steps, scooped up the weapon and ran back, bullets humming by him.
Then he was through the door and into the dim room. She took a small flashlight from her pocket—the flashlight was on a keychain.
“First chance I ever had to use this…”
The beam illuminated a dusty, cobwebbed sofa, a few chairs. A hole had been knocked into the farthest wall.
Voices came from the street. “Just shoot through the door and kill the motherfucker!”
“He shot Kewpie right in the head, man, I’m not getting close to that fucking door.”
“Just give me the damn gun…”
“Motherfucker that’s my gun! You got a niner!”
“I need more heat than that, now gimme the fucking Ar-five!”
“I think we oughta wait for Tranter, man. He said we wait here, he come and clean it up.”
“Sounds like we go this way,” Seline said.
She led the way through the hole in the wall. On the other side they found a concrete floor with a hole broken in it, and a web-laced aluminum ladder stretching down into the darkness.
“Great,” Seline muttered. But she put her gun in her pocket and started down the ladder. Wolfe put away the pistol, put the strap of the AR15 over one shoulder and followed her down.
Wolfe had just gotten halfway down the ladder when a burst from an AR15 came spitting through the hole in the wall from the next room, the rounds zipping over his head.
He hurried down the ladder and found they were in a sub-basement—in one wall another gap had been smashed through. The rusty sledgehammer that had done it was leaning up against the wall by the hole.
“They going to follow us down here?” Seline asked.
“I think they’ll wait for orders on that. May as well go through that hole too. Wouldn’t want to miss out on another scenic Chicago hole in the wall.”
They followed the thin flashlight beam through the hole and found they were in an old rain runoff tunnel, dripping but not coursing with water.
“It’s going the way we were driving,” Seline pointed out. “Should we follow it?”
“No better options. You hear what that guy said about Tranter?”
“Who?”
“Detective Tranter. A sleazebag with Chicago PD. Only he works for Verrick too. And the Club. I think he’s kinda the intermediary between Verrick and the Club. And these Chunkies who just chucked a bottle of burning gas at us have started working for the Club. So that means they’re working with Tranter, when he needs ’em… And he’s apparently coming here to ‘clean this up’.”
“Meaning he’s gonna bring a lot of cops down here?”
“I doubt it. That’d cause too much talk around the ol’ department. No, the prick is probably calling Verrick right now asking what to do.”
“You think they know where we’re going?”
“Hope not. With any luck—no. They’d have waited for us there if they did. I figure the Chunkies know about me… and you. And they saw us coming.”
“We should get the hell on, then.”
“A sound strategy. You’re like a female Napoleon.”
“Oh shut up.” But she laughed softly and led the way with the light.
He unstrapped the AK and kept it ready.
The floor was wet and slippery but they went as quickly as they could. The tunnel stretched on endlessly, occasionally streaked with light from manhole covers and drainage grates. They’d gone what must’ve been several blocks when Wolfe said, “Hold on.”
They were just entering the vertical shaft of a manhole. A steel ladder went up the side. A little light came down…
“You thinking of going up there, Wolfe? Might get your head shot off like a gopher if you stick it up there.”
“No, I’m gonna try something else.” He handed her the AK57. “Keep an eye on the tunnel for me. And better turn off that light—save the battery.”
“Yeah okay.”
Wolfe climbed the ladder, almost to the top. He listened. He heard no traffic going by. He reached up, and pushed on the manhole. It moved, just a little. He pushed harder—it came unstuck from the asphalt, and he moved it a few inches aside. He listened again. Nothing.
He took out the PearcePhone, put it on speaker, and lifted it up so it would have a chance of getting a decent signal. Then he shifted it through its scanning modes with his thumb. It took him a while to locate Tranter’s phone number…
Tranter hadn’t changed it. Arrogant or sloppy. “…They tell me he’s there with that woman, Verrick. Our guys in the Chunkies spotted him.”
“You gave them his description?”
“Hell I gave them that photo of him… He’s somewhere in that four-block area. I can get it blocked off so we can operate kinda quiet. You know, I got some guys in the department who’ll block off the street for me, no questions, if they get a little Paypal bump for it…”
“Can’t they go in there and do the job?”
“You don’t own the whole department. Neither does the Club and neither do I, Verrick. Told you that before.”
“Okay, fine, then have ’em block off the area and I’ll send in… well, tell ’em to ignore anything they see flying over the area.”
“Flying? You mean like choppers?”
“No, it’ll come out of a helicopter. So that too.”
“Out of a… you mean some kinda drone?”
“Yeah, and so what?”
There was silence on the line for a moment. “Whatever. If any of them go down they’re your responsibility.”
“Yeah, they’re not marked in anyway that’ll… just don’t worry about it. I’m sending them in—it’ll give us a chance to test them in Chicago airspace, make sure the control signals work okay. Just get your men on the street to point the way. Let ’em know they’re going to see drones.”
“Next the gangs’ll want their own goddamn drones.”
“Might sell them some, too.”
“You’re not serious.”
“Just do what I said, Tranter.”
A click, and Verrick hung up.
“That’s just what we need,” Wolfe muttered.
“What?” Seline asked. “I couldn’t hear much from here.”
“Tell you in a minute.”
Wolfe went through his speed dial, found the one he wanted, dialed it and put the phone to his ear.
“Wolfe? Where you at?” Pearce’s voice.
“You can’t see my position?”
“Yeah. I see it. Kind of a weak signal. Wait—you underground?”
“Yeah. Drainage tunnel. About five blocks from where I need to be. Tranter’s called Verrick—he’s sending in drones.”
“The clowns?”
“The drones, Pearce.”
“They can’t get to you down there.”
“These could—and the Chunkies know I’m underground.”
“Chunkies? As in Chunky Crunkies?”
“Yeah. Shuggie thinks they’re working for The Club. Anything you can do to help us out here?”
“There? Underground? I don’t know. You’ve got the phone—you could probably do most of what I could do. If I burst any water pipes, it’ll make it as bad for you as them.”
“Okay, fine. Just so you know where we are. I’m gonna try something else.”
“Wait—”
But Wolfe was dialing another number. Shuggie answered. “Who that?”