Rorschach personally escorted Martin's body to the precinct morgue and comforted Martin's parents, promising again and again that he would send the killer straight to hell.
Convicting people was a judge's job. In Rorschach's world, there were only two words: judgment and execution.
And for a piece of garbage like Gus, the "judgment" step could be skipped altogether.
But trouble never comes alone. Before he could grab his guns and go settle the score, the phone at Fiona's house rang.
Inside the Gallagher home, he walked into a room full of fear and panic.
"One of Carl's classmates saw the whole thing. I already checked the school cameras. You can see it clearly—a black Mercedes pulls up, two men get out. The footage is crystal clear."
Lip, the only one in the house still barely keeping his cool, was doing his best to explain what had happened.
"They didn't say a word, just pulled guns and forced Carl into the car, then tied his hands and feet. These guys are pros, Rorschach. Take their photos and run them through the police database, you should be able to ID them."
He pulled up a photo on his phone—a screenshot from the security recording. The faces of the two men in black were clearly visible.
Rorschach studied them for a moment, then shook his head. "Running them through the database is a pain. Just the paperwork will take days."
"Jesus Christ."
Lip buried his face in his hands and cursed. "That's exactly why this city's going to hell. Goddamn bureaucracy."
"So we're just never going to find Carl?" Fiona asked, voice trembling.
She clutched his arm, completely at a loss. "What do we do now, Rorschach? You'll think of something, right?"
Standing behind him, Ginny frowned at the scene.
Then she stepped forward and offered, "I can ask my dad to run them through the national offender files. We could find those two kidnappers fast."
Everyone in the room turned to her in surprise, eyes suddenly full of hope.
Rorschach shut it down immediately, glaring at her. "You want to drag Counterterrorism into this? You think things aren't messy enough already?"
"But…"
"No. I already know who took Carl."
He cut her off, eyes dark as he stared at the photo on the phone.
At a time like this, who else would be snatching up the people close to him besides that bastard Gus?
He did not tell Fiona the truth. He felt sick at the thought of dragging them into this, but he knew that telling them a major drug lord had their kid would only make them panic harder.
After warning them to stay inside for the next few days, he left with Ginny.
"Where are we going?" she asked, face tight from the string of shootings and the kidnapping.
"We aren't going anywhere. I am."
He yanked open the cruiser's door, pulled his service pistol from his belt, and tossed it onto the seat.
What he was about to do, a police-issued gun would only complicate.
He shoved Ginny, who was about to argue, into the driver's seat, pointed a finger at her, and said, deadly serious, "For the next few days, you either stay at the precinct or go straight back to D.C. No going anywhere alone. Got it?"
Then he turned to leave, planning to hit home first for heavier hardware.
Ginny was not stupid. From the call he had taken earlier and everything that had happened since, she had already guessed that someone was targeting the people around him.
Watching his back as he walked away, she thought for a moment, then slammed her palm down on the steering wheel like she had made up her mind.
——————————
Time was tight. Instead of hunting through each of Gus's stores and plants one by one, Rorschach called Mike directly.
Once he had the address, he headed straight for a villa in the North Side.
As a celebrity in Chicago's restaurant scene, Gus lived exactly where you would expect. Fountains, gardens, a pool—the works.
But today, there was something different in the air around the place. Tense. Lethal.
A line of gunmen stood at the front gate, and more patrolled the yard.
When they saw Rorschach pull up, they all turned hard eyes on him, more than a few hands sliding quietly to their grips.
He acted like he did not notice, just drove through the gate and into the drive.
By the time he got out, Mike was already waiting at the door.
"Rorschach, coming here now is not smart. Gus is done playing nice with y—"
"Say one more useless word and I'll put a bullet in you right now."
Rorschach's voice cut across him like ice.
As he crossed the threshold, he paused and added, "And your daughter‑in‑law, your granddaughter, Mike—if I walk out of here alive today, I'll butcher every last one of your relatives."
"You—!"
The chill in his tone made Mike's blood run cold. He glared at Rorschach, but could not get a word out.
A moment later, Rorschach stepped into the house.
Gus sat behind the desk in his study, just like always, in a spotless white shirt and suit, frameless gold‑rim glasses perched on his nose. He sat straight in his chair, a slight smile on his face as he quietly looked Rorschach over.
"Give Carl back," Rorschach said the second he stepped in, eyes locked on him.
"Heh."
Gus chuckled. "I could've sworn you once told me you didn't have friends or partners."
Rorschach took a step toward him, hand drifting toward the holster at his waist.
Gus remained perfectly calm, meeting his gaze. "The game's just getting started. And you're already losing your cool?"
"Remember what I told you? I'm going to deal with everyone close to you, one by one. I hear you've made a couple of new friends lately. Those two idiot Irish brothers. Oh, and that pretty little partner of yours…"
Rorschach froze.
He drew in a breath and said, almost like he was backing down, "If you want revenge, I'm right here. Do whatever you want. Just let Carl go. He's innocent."
Gus slowly shook his head. "Too late, Rorschach. Way too late."
He looked at him with eyes as flat as a dead pond. "Do you know how many dirty cops in your precious department are mine? How many eyes and ears I've got on every corner in the South Side? Everything you do is under my thumb. If I wanted you dead, I could do it anytime."
He stood and turned toward the window, giving Rorschach his back like he did not care in the slightest whether the cop shot him or not.
Rorschach's eyes flicked once. He stepped forward quickly—and then, even faster, stepped back.
"As for that brat, he's already on his way to New York," Gus said, raising a hand to point north.
"Oh, and one more thing…"
He looked back over his shoulder, lips curling in a strange smile. "If you want to kill me, go ahead. Try."
Rorschach's eyes narrowed to slits.
If he killed Gus now, he would have to fight his way through more than fifty gunmen in the house.
That was not even the real problem. Dealers worked for money; with Gus dead, there was no guarantee they would stick around to avenge him.
The real issue was what he did not know—whether Gus had already planted people around the Irish brothers, around Ginny, the chief, his neighbors, his colleagues.
If he pulled the trigger here, would someone outside pass the word and tell those watchers to move on their targets?
Those people would not even necessarily know Gus was dead.
The man always kept a countermeasure in his pocket. If he was willing to sit alone with Rorschach and show his back, it meant he had already accounted for the risk.
Rorschach gave him a long look, then turned and walked out without a second's hesitation.
In that brief moment, he had gotten what he came for. Barring surprises, this would be the last time he saw Gus alive.
No—there would be one more time. But when that happened, Gus would be looking into the barrel of his gun.
Gus did not try to stop him. If anything, he seemed to be letting him go on purpose. As he had said himself, if he wanted Rorschach dead, he had plenty of chances.
What he wanted was for Rorschach to watch everyone around him die, one after another—to drown him in pain and regret, and then deliver the final blow.
Outside.
The moment Rorschach slid into the driver's seat, he saw a scrap of paper on the dash with a license plate number scribbled on it.
He raised an eyebrow. He knew that handwriting—Mike's.
The old man had blinked first.
He memorized the plate and pulled away from the villa at speed.
Once he reached an empty stretch of road, he stopped, reached under the passenger seat, and took out a headset and a receiver.
Back when Gus had turned to stare out the window, Rorschach had already planted a bug under the edge of the man's desk.
He flipped on the headset. After a burst of static, Gus's voice came through.
He was on the phone—with the Salamancas.
Rorschach's face did not move as he stripped bullets out of a mag and slid them back in, one by one.
Just like Gus had said, the game had only just begun.
And now, it was his turn to play offense.
If you're enjoying the story, please keep reading. If you have some votes to spare, throwing them this way would be a big help—the plot is about to pick up speed.
(End of Chapter)
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