"Mr. Gus, we found several missing children in your factory. Were you aware of this?"
"That place hasn't been mine for years. I sold it a long time ago. I have no idea what's been going on there."
"Then why were you at the scene?"
"I was just passing by and thought I'd take a look at the old place. It used to be one of my businesses. Little nostalgia never hurt anyone, right?"
"Two hours ago, multiple shootouts broke out downtown. One side was a drug cartel, the other side was trucks from your fried chicken chain. Why would a cartel rob your trucks?"
"How could I possibly know? I'm not a criminal; I can't read their minds. Maybe they think my chicken joints are stealing business from their Mexican restaurants. Who knows?"
"Then why were your drivers armed?"
"Because they all have carry permits. In a city like Chicago, having a gun on you just makes you feel a bit safer."
"…"
Gus parried the questions with ease, polite smile never leaving his face, as if nothing that had happened tonight had anything to do with him.
Just as the detective was about to press further, a knock sounded at the door. A second later, Chief Griffin stepped into the room.
It was already late at night. Dragged out of a warm bed by a phone call, his face was dark enough to drip.
"Gus."
"Chief Griffin."
Gus moved to stand and greet him, but the cuffs on his wrists kept him chained to the table. All he could do was nod politely.
The chief gave him a long, hard look, then waved the interrogating officer out. Once the door closed, he sat across from Gus.
The two men stared at each other in silence, neither willing to speak first.
Smack.
Suddenly, the chief slammed his hand on the table.
He shot to his feet, grabbed Gus by the collar, and glared. "Dealing I can grit my teeth and tolerate. But now you're running a human trafficking ring on my turf? You really think I won't take you down?"
Gus's smile did not flicker. "It seems you've misunderstood me, Chief Griffin. I'd advise you not to throw accusations around without evidence. Over the past few years, I've donated a million dollars annually to your department alone. That doesn't include what I give to other agencies. I doubt the mayor will sit quietly if a law‑abiding businessman like me is slandered like this."
"Heh." Griffin let out a cold laugh. "You really think once word gets out you're dealing and selling kids, the mayor will still cover for you? He'll be the first one to cut you loose."
"I don't understand what you're talking about. But if you have no evidence, I'd appreciate being released." Gus raised his cuffed hands a little and answered calmly.
The chief said nothing, but the veins bulging on his forehead betrayed his fury.
The bitter truth was that he had nothing solid to nail Gus with. The trucks were burned to ashes, and the registered owner of the dry‑cleaning plant had vanished.
On top of that, this Black businessman funneled tens of millions into government every year, and the mayor himself stood over him with an umbrella.
Smack.
He slammed the table again, then turned and walked out without a word.
Compared with when he came in, all he left Gus this time was the back of a man boiling over and powerless.
Once Griffin was gone, the smile slowly faded from Gus's face.
Tonight, he had not only lost five truckloads of product, he had also watched his ticket into the New York market go up in smoke. Worse still, he now had the full attention of the Chicago PD.
All thanks to the Salamancas and that bastard Rorschach.
His face hardened like cold steel. After a moment of thought, a deep chill filled his eyes behind the lenses.
Elsewhere.
Outside the burned‑out Salamanca stash house Rorschach had torched earlier.
An old man with white hair and a cane stood staring at the ruins. His features were twisted and dark, his eyes bulging like those of an enraged vulture.
"We found this on a body that was burned to a crisp…" One of his men carefully held out a charred necklace.
Seeing the blackened cross, Hector finally exhaled. His hands trembled as he took it, his legs wobbling under him.
"Tuku… my nephew Tuku…"
He clutched the cross tight, rare grief flickering across his face.
Jose quickly stepped in to steady him.
Inside, Jose was reeling. He was the only one in the family who knew about Tuku's deal with the little cop.
He remembered clearly: Tuku had just wanted to knock off a few of Gus's trucks to cover his gambling loss. How had that blown up into multiple shootouts downtown, their own stash house in flames, and Tuku himself reduced to charcoal?
It had barely been a few hours since Tuku set his plan in motion.
Everything had happened too fast, too suddenly.
"Uncle…"
Jose did not dwell on it. He decided to lay everything out.
They had lost a small army of gunmen, millions in product had gone up in smoke, and the family's number three was dead.
It was too big. Even if he stayed silent, Hector would dig out the truth sooner or later.
A few minutes later, after Jose finished, Hector fixed him with a stare. "So you're saying Tuku lost a pile of money betting on a fight, then decided to rob Gus's shipment to patch the books?"
"That's right."
Having neatly cut himself out of the story, Jose forced himself to stay calm. "The intel came from that cop, Rorschach. But it's obvious now that he left out the part about armed escorts. And it's very likely he also tipped Gus off about our stash's location. That's the only way things could have gone so bad."
Hector shot him a cold glance. He still trusted this distant nephew—otherwise he would never have handed him the family finances.
His rage was for Tuku's staggering stupidity.
This had Gus's fingerprints all over it from the start.
That damned Black dealer had lured them into striking first. That way, he had an excuse to explain things to his Mexican suppliers and a perfect opportunity to bleed the Salamancas.
"That idiot Tuku. A cop walks in off the street offering to 'cooperate' and he doesn't smell a trap?"
Hector shook with fury, his blood pressure spiking until his entire head flushed crimson.
He glared at the blackened ruins of the warehouse. Millions in product and his own nephew were gone, reduced to ash.
"Gus. Rorschach."
He ground their names out between his teeth. "Go. Call Mexico. Get Lalo and the twins, Marco and Leonel, up here. Then we'll show them…"
"The warm-up is over."
(End of Chapter)
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