The goons who had come with Tuku were stunned.
Before they could react, they watched their boss, still holding a submachine gun, get disarmed in an instant—the weapon ripped from his hands and the barrel shoved straight into his mouth.
"If I didn't want to grab that Black bastard Gus, you really think I'd bother working with some lump of muscle and meth like you?"
Rorschach looked Tuku over like he was trash, then shoved him away, popping the magazine from the Uzi as he did and tossing it into a nearby dumpster.
Seeing the immediate danger pass, Tuku's men rushed in with their guns up, faces dark, muzzles trained firmly on Rorschach.
Tuku spat a bloody gob onto the ground and glared at Rorschach with even more hatred.
That one move had knocked out at least two of his teeth.
But instead of ordering his men to turn Rorschach into Swiss cheese, as they all expected, Tuku did something else.
He waved a hand to signal them to lower their guns, then stared Rorschach down and said coldly, "No one who disrespects Tuku lives to see the next day."
"Heh."
Rorschach just chuckled. Threats with zero bite did not even rate a reply.
"You planning to stand here talking useless shit," he asked, glancing at his watch, "or are we gonna get to the point? Let me remind you, I'm not wasting my hard‑earned vacation time on a low‑tier dealer like you."
Motherf*cker.
Tuku was screaming on the inside. In all his years, he had never met such an arrogant cop.
And a patrol cop, at that.
"You…" He clenched his jaw so hard it looked like his teeth might crack, forcing himself to calm down.
Pointing at Rorschach, he growled, "You'd better actually know where Gus's stash is. Otherwise, I promise you'll die screaming."
Rorschach ignored the threat entirely. "From the first day I put on a badge, I've been building a case on Gus's organization. Believe me—nobody in this city knows him better than I do."
"…"
Suspicion flickered through Tuku's eyes. He was not doubting Rorschach's ability to investigate Gus; something else did not add up.
This little cop had been digging into Gus for years and was still breathing?
Since when was Gus so soft‑hearted?
Rubbing his sore jaw, Tuku asked, half convinced, "So where's the warehouse?"
Rorschach did not answer right away. He raised two fingers. "I'll give you the location, but I've got two conditions."
"First, you move fast. Within two days, I want to see Gus's face twisted with rage."
"Second, I don't want anyone else knowing we ever met here today."
When he finished, Tuku only shrugged, clearly unconcerned.
Even if Rorschach had not brought them up, this was already his plan.
There was less than a week until his uncle's audit. He had to hit a shipment and move it quick. And he knew better than anyone how much his uncle hated Gus, the Black dealer who had stolen their business.
If he robbed Gus's load, the old man would probably be so happy he might even forget to ask how Tuku and Jose had "borrowed" family funds in the first place.
As for whatever connection he had with Rorschach—fuck that. He wished the cop had never existed. Then all the credit would be his alone.
"Those are details. What matters is you'd better really know where that stash is."
"Relax. You're not nearly smart enough to be worth lying to. Now get in the truck. We'll drive."
Rorschach turned and climbed into his pickup.
Watching the fearless way he moved, Tuku clicked his tongue, then, instead of getting into his own convertible, yanked open the pickup's passenger door and hauled himself inside.
Rorschach gave him a quick, sideways look and said nothing, just floored the gas and pointed the truck toward the spot he had arranged with the Irish brothers.
Tuku hurried to roll the window up. In the evening breeze, the whole dump reeked so badly it turned his stomach.
"Why'd you pick a shithole like this to meet?" he grumbled. "You couldn't find somewhere warm and clean?"
"Oh, I wanted to meet at your mother's front door. But it's a little crowded there these days," Rorschach said without looking back.
"…"
——————————
South Side outskirts.
Murphy, the younger Irish brother, stood with a cigarette in his mouth, watching a food‑processing plant from a distance.
A few hours earlier, he and Connor had been staking out the dry‑cleaning plant where the kids were being held. Then Rorschach called and told him to get out to this spot fast, find a good hide, and wait.
He did not know why, but he came anyway. Now he stood in an abandoned lot, keeping his head down and his eyes open.
Before long, his phone rang. Rorschach on the line, asking for their exact location.
A few minutes later, a pickup rumbled into view, flanked by two convertibles.
"Murphy."
Rorschach hopped out and waved. Murphy dropped his cigarette and jogged over, eyes flicking over the group of hard‑looking Mexican faces behind him.
Something about them set his nerves on edge.
Rorschach slung an arm around his shoulder and, before Murphy could speak, jumped in. "He's my lookout. I put him on this place days ago. The target is that food‑processing plant up ahead. I can say with certainty this is Gus's cooking lab. Product's loaded onto the fried chicken trucks and spread all over Chicago."
"Shit. Using fried chicken to move dope? That bastard Gus is a goddamn genius," Tuku muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.
No wonder Gus could flood the city with his supply. On the surface he ran chicken joints; behind the scenes, he hid drugs on the trucks shipping food out to every branch.
He gave Murphy another once‑over, then strolled over to his car. Seeing the fast‑food wrappers and cigarette butts piled inside, some of his doubts eased.
Rorschach continued, "Tomorrow night at ten, five trucks will roll out of that plant. Aside from fried chicken, every one will be loaded with packaged crystal. You've got the time and the place. What you do with it is up to you."
Tuku nodded, staring at the plant with a hungry grin. "Hahaha, I can't wait to see the look on Gus's face when this hits."
He did not waste any more words. After assigning two men to keep eyes on the plant, he gave Rorschach a long look, then roared off with the rest of his crew.
His mind was already made up: once he grabbed Gus's shipment, he would circle back and put a bullet in the cop too.
Like he'd said—nobody who crossed him lived to see the next day. And if they did, they damn sure would not see the third.
Once they were gone, Murphy glanced at the two Mexicans still watching the plant and asked quietly, "Boss, this is the guy you brought in to go toe‑to‑toe with Gus? He doesn't look that bright."
Rorschach shrugged. "I didn't find him. He came looking for me. One look at that face and you know he's the kind of scumbag who'll do anything except something decent. Perfect tool."
Then he patted Murphy's shoulder and asked softly, "You get a good look at the rest of his crew, faces and all?"
Murphy nodded slightly. "You're not thinking…"
"Oh, I am." A cold smile tugged at Rorschach's lips. "Might as well use this chance to flush some toxins out of this city."
(End of Chapter)
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